Why do we Even Give a Fuck?
Why do we even give a fuck? Why care how mothers birth and babies are born? What the mother’s experience is? Her sense of being, bonding, self? Is it some personal agenda, a crusade of some sort? What makes us available at three in the morning to drive across town to rub a labouring woman’s back with scented oils? Why sit for hours on end encouraging, believing, knowing that she can do it? Why wait wait wait patiently? Sit for hours on end? Wait for this delicate yet awe inspiring process to unfold? Why trust? Why keep your hands to yourself while a mother rocks her hips, finds her rhythm, learns to trust herself? Why wait for the cord to finish pulsating? Why bother with slippery slimy skin to skin while a woman discovers she is a mother and falls in love like she never knew possible? Why wait and watch and wonder and see while the newborn, sticky with vernix, unfolds from her intra uterine state, licks her lips and slowly shuffles towards her mother’s nipple? Why the fuck would we want to do this work? We must be...
Read MoreFire
I cannot write without somehow paying tribute the fire that ravaged the mountains of Cape Town this last week and the men and women who worked tirelessly to fight the flames and save the homes, families and animals affected. I also want to extend my condolences to the families of Nazeem Davies and Bees Marais…I am very sorry for your loss. Mountain fires are a way of life here in Cape Town and we all accept and expect them in a way at this time of the year, when it is dry and the South Easter blows, but I think we have to agree that the fires this last week affected us on a grand scale and seemed relentless. On Tuesday night, after that very very hot day, I lay in bed listening as the wind picked up and I was sure I could smell smoke through my open window. I went outside, it was about two in the morning, and I saw many lights on in many of the houses. I think many Scarbarians were also listening and waiting attentively. A vague orange glow seemed to be coming from over the mountain. I went back inside and went online to try and find out what was going on and saw via Twitter and Facebook the streams of posts and photos regarding the fires in Noordhoek, Kalk Bay, Muizenberg, Clovelly, Tokai, Hout Bay and Constantia. Friends were evacuating their homes and the fire seemed out of control. I felt quite helpless watching these posts on my stream and my own memories around being evacuated when there was a fire here in Scarborough seven years ago were evoked. In 2008, when I was 38 weeks pregnant with my youngest daughter, a fire ripped through Scarborough, burning homes. I was visiting a friend here in the village with my children on the day for an afternoon play but it soon became evident that staying put was not a good idea. The fire seemed to be advancing very quickly and had already engulfed some homes, the mountain was ablaze and Scarborough filled with smoke. We went down to the beach where we also slowly became smoked out, it eventually became difficult to breathe. There we were, two mothers, on the beach, no car (her husband was up the mountain fighting the flames, mine was playing a concert – he is a musician) , with 5 children, one of us pregnant, getting smoked out. Eventually we were spotted by a sympathetic paramedic who drove us to Kommetjie where we ate pizzas with our sooty faced children until family and friends could come and collect us. That evening we could return to Scarborough and thankfully neither of our homes had burnt down – although other friends were not as lucky. But I remember the thin trickle of black dust that seemed to rain down on us after that, covering everything. Around two weeks later, I gave birth to a sweet baby girl – Kaira, after 4 hours of labour, at home. Life goes on, I...
Read MoreWhat is it About Birth?
What is it about birth? It is as though time suspends itself and something unique unfolds from within the labouring woman. She has purred, sighed, breathed, whimpered, cried her way through her contractions, these life giving pains which make her rock her hips, make her moan and groan, make her eyes roll back in her head, make her sweat, make her hate, make her angry, make her one, make her have to give in, give up, surrender. And as she surrenders something primal is unlocked and this, this essence, this power takes over, her body is no longer her own. She sits on the loo, or she squats, or she kneels, or she lies on her side.She grunts and moans, red slime drips down her thighs, she feels overwhelmed. She may stand up, she may look up, she may feel with her hand as the head of the baby slowly stretches her perineum. She seems more alert now. There. Present. She may crouch down, or breathe, or gasp, or moan, or scream as her baby’s head emerges, not quite believing the sensation of this slimy little head stretching stretching stretching her wide open. The head emerges and hangs, almost lifeless. The world holds its breath. Then a splutter, or a crackle, or a bubble of spittle and a grimace. Then slowly, slowly, the baby’s head turns – as though ready to face the world and with a newfound power, the little body ejects itself, swimming forth in a gush of blood and water and shit. Again, it is as though time has suspended itself as the baby, still aquatic in its features and colour, begins to move, sometimes throwing its arms back and stretching its back like a ballet dancer, and sometimes uncurling slowly slowly slowly as though waking from a deep sleep. A gurgle, a crackle, a soft cry. Slippery body, oily white vernix, blinking eyes, stretching fingers and toes. Cord pulsating. Body breathing. Mother touching. Stroking. Smelling. Kissing. Whispering. Crying. Laughing. Grateful. Astonished. Astounded. Holding. Loving. Ecstatic. Triumphant. Perfect. Beautiful. Primal. Sublime. What is it about birth?...
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