There was a rustle of leaves right next to them. She jumped and Hasana’s eyes widened. She was in the grips of another labour pain—they were coming much quicker now—and she looked as if she wanted to cry out.
Hasana grabbed a piece of dry bark and pushed it between her teeth.
Violet felt as if she couldn’t breathe because even taking a breath made a little noise that someone might hear. That could reveal their position.
She put her fingers silently to her lips, praying that Hasana wouldn’t let a noise escape.
The leaves rustled again and Violet strained her ears. She couldn’t hear footsteps. She couldn’t hear voices. And somehow she didn’t think these men would come through the forest quietly if they were looking for her.
The rustle continued. Then a small reptilian head appeared, followed by a body slithering along the ground.
A snake. The rustle had been a snake.
Violet didn’t know whether to let out a sigh of relief or not. Was that type of snake poisonous?
She pointed with her finger and Hasana shook her head, gripping the tree bark with her teeth. A snake was the last thing on her mind right now.
Violet watched as the snake seemed to look in their direction once then slithered off without another glance.
Maybe bringing Hasana into the forest hadn’t been such a good idea.
She waited for a few more seconds, listening for any other noises. But there were none.
She placed her hands on Hasana’s belly. The baby was in the correct position. Its head had engaged and the labor seemed to be proceeding well. The baby was a good size. Maybe too big for a first-time mother?
Violet hoped not. She didn’t have access to a theatre if an emergency Caesarean section was needed. She didn’t even have access to a set of forceps if the baby’s head became stuck on the way down.
Hasana was going to have to do all this on her own.
She checked the position of the baby again. The head was crowning. It was time for Hasana to push.
Something washed over her. She was about to face her greatest fear all over again. Only this time the pain wouldn’t be hers, it would be someone else’s. She had to be strong. She had to be strong for Hasana.
She had to push all her thoughts and fears aside. She had to get through this.
Stillbirths weren’t unusual in Nigeria. But more than half of them occurred while the woman was in labor. Most happened in rural areas where skilled birth attendants or midwives weren’t available.
That hadn’t been the case for Hasana. But there were five major reasons for stillbirth. Childbirth complications, maternal infections, congenital abnormalities, fetal growth restriction and maternal disorders such as diabetes or pre-eclampsia.
Violet was running through all these in her head. The baby felt a reasonable size so there couldn’t be a fetal growth problem. Urbi had told her there had been no complications during the pregnancy, so she was assuming pre-eclampsia, diabetes and maternal infections were not a possibility. There was no way to know if there were any congenital abnormalities—not until the baby was born.
Back home in the U.S. women were screened for congenital abnormalities and things were often picked by obstetricians doing detailed scans. But Hasana had had none of these tests available to her. They wouldn’t be able to tell if something was wrong with the baby until he or she was born.
Hasana’s muscles contracted tightly again—another contraction. And Violet held up her fists and scrunched up her face, miming pushing.
Hasana let out a cry, pushing with all her might. The time for being silent had obviously passed. The baby’s head appeared between her thighs.
Violet’s actions were second nature. It didn’t matter that this baby was already dead. She’d gone back into junior doctor phase and was checking around the baby’s neck for a cord. There was nothing there. Nothing restricting the baby’s breathing. Nothing that could have led to its death.
Another push and the shoulders appeared, quickly followed by the rest of the slippery body. Violet caught the little baby in her hands, grabbing one of the blankets to wrap it in.
A baby boy. Hasana had a baby boy.
She wiped his little face. Praying against everything that he would breathe. But his pale lips against his dark skin showed that would never happen.
He was perfect. In every single way.
Her heart felt as if it could break all over again.
Hasana lay panting, exhausted after the delivery of her sleeping child.
There was no obvious congenital abnormality. No obvious reason for this baby to have been born asleep.
Just like hers. Just like her own daughter.
It didn’t matter that nothing here reminded her of home and her own experience. It didn’t matter that this forest floor was about as far removed from an Atlanta hospital as it was possible to be.
All that mattered was the perfect little boy in her hands. The little boy who should have been breathing.
She lifted him to her shoulder and held him for a few seconds. The umbilical cord was still attached, still making him part of his mother. She would deal with that in a few seconds.
She took a deep breath. Baby. New baby smell. It surrounded her in all its wonder. If only this moment could be different. If only she could be handing over a screaming baby to his mother.
She didn’t care about the potential kidnappers in the forest. She didn’t care about being silent anymore. She only wanted to will this little baby to life.
A single tear dripped down her face.
Life was so unfair. This little boy should be taking his first breaths. This little boy should be allowed to grow. He should have a life ahead of him.
He should be able to learn to crawl and to walk and talk. He should be part of a loving family. He should grow from childhood to teenage years, to adulthood. A life probably with intermittent hardships but a life worth living.
Instead, in her arms she had a silent, beautiful baby boy.
She helped Hasana sit up. She didn’t have syntometrine to inject and help with the third stage of delivery. She was lucky to have something to clamp and cut the cord.
There was no one to translate for her now. Hasana spoke mainly Hausa, and she herself only English. But, here in the middle of the forest, they would have to muddle through.
She handed over the baby to Hasana. “You have a beautiful son, Hasana.” She couldn’t help the tears that fell down her cheeks. Hasana would think she was crying for her son—and in a way she was. She was crying for every sleeping baby that had ever been born. As only a mother could.
She wrapped her arm tightly around Hasana’s sh
oulders, watching her embrace her little boy. She watched as Hasana dropped kisses on each of his eyelids and lifted his hands from the blanket and counted his tiny fingers.
It was almost as if she was embracing his perfection. The fact that in every way he looked like a healthy baby.
Her shoulders were racked with sobs and her tears soaked Violet’s buba shirt. The light was beginning to dim among the trees. But Violet didn’t want to pull her watch out and check the time.
Time here was more precious than anything. Hasana needed this time to spend with her son. To mourn his loss. To start the long grieving process that Violet knew inside out.
The hopelessness.
The despair.
The endless questions.
Everything would change once they returned to the village. Her family and friends would take over. Probably arranging a burial and blessing for the baby. Doing what they thought was best for Hasana.
But right now, right here, there was no need for any of that.
This was a time for mother and son to be together.
And although the rest of the world might not understand, this was the most precious time of all.
The one thing you could never get back.
And Violet had all the time in the world.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LUKE PULLED THE truck over to the side of the road. “Now we go on foot.”
Evan’s eyes scoured the surrounding area. They hadn’t reached the village yet but the last thing he wanted to do was announce their arrival.
They’d met Jaja on the road. He’d been hysterical and had wanted to come back with them. But it was obvious he wouldn’t be of any use. He was jabbering incessantly and still shaking with fear. It had taken all Evan’s self-control not to shake him by the shoulders to get some sense out of him.
Finally, they’d managed to find out a little more. The men had arrived in the village around 3:00 p.m. There had been four of them, all in one truck. They’d fired shots into the air and had demanded to know where the American doctor was.
Jaja had been on the other side of the compound, next to the truck in which Violet and the rest of the community workers had arrived. He hadn’t had time to look for the others. He knew that Violet had been with the local midwife, Urbi, and the others working between houses in the villages. The armed men had been between Jaja and his colleagues. And as he’d jumped into the truck and sped away to raise the alarm, they’d fired at him. The evidence was all around the body of the truck.