Apocalypse

{March 21, 2011}

We did visit the orphanage again on Monday morning and met Mrs. Nebretu who spoke almost no English.  Nebretu had left us a note saying he regretted not being there but had been called to a meeting and he hoped to see us later that night.  She showed us the newborn pictures of Kate, which we took pictures of as they couldn’t give up the originals.  I was sure it wasn’t her, but they insisted it was (we asked about 3 different times if they were sure).  After much examination, I do believe they are her pictures because those are her lips…she has sweetheart shaped lips which are quite unique!  And you know how those day-old baby pictures are…ugh.

After saying our final good-byes at the orphanage, we went out to that corner marketplace for more absorption.  Then we decided to brave the hospital.  People seemed to come in and out freely through this stone archway, so we gave it a shot and walked in, too. 

We were quiet and just walked.  This was quite a scene.  Eric described it later quite perfectly.  It was apocalyptic.  It was as if a nuclear bomb had gone off 30 years ago and these were the survivors emerging like rats from the cracks of nearby hills and caves, scrounging for food or help or medical care.  They were bloody, aching, broken, like a war zone.  People wandered everywhere.  People that had no business being at the hospital….as if it were the town square itself.  Long lines ran out of the pharmacy.  Patients who couldn’t walk were carried between two friends.  A man walked holding an IV bag, moaning.  Wounds were bandaged with dirty rags.  People limped with canes.  There were beggars everywhere. 

The compound was huge with at least 20 different 1-story building connected by messed up stony, concrete and gravel walkways.  They appeared to each have a specialty such as “eyes,” “surgery,” “emergency,” “pharmacy,” or “storage.”  Almost no signs were in English, but there were a few.  The buildings were rusted, filthy, with broken windows and peeling paint.  It was like an old, old, elementary school.  Long buildings with lots of doors to the outside, as if classrooms, but these were the rooms with patients.  Some buildings were abandoned, some looked abandoned but were actually storage or kitchen facilities.  It was all open air.  The natural landscape was overgrown and unkempt.

We never could find a main building, like admitting, where we might find an English speaker who could point us to the Maternity Ward.  I really just wanted to see where Kate was born.  See where her birth mother had walked.  

We asked anyone in a white lab coat if they spoke English.  Most did not, but we used sign language to try to get directions to maternity or “gyne” as we realized it was called.  We meandered through a maze of buildings just observing, searching.  With no guide and obviously not belonging there, with a camera rolling to boot, we were being risky now.  It felt risky.  We saw a police officer looking around.  We were out of our league, but kept going.  We walked through the open air emergency room, filled with patients in beds and I won’t describe what else we saw there.  Remember?  Apocalyptic.

In the back of the compound, we finally found it.  Maternity.  I could hear babies crying.  This was it. 

And it was so appalling what we saw.  Bare concrete floors and walls.  An open room had some random things stacked about, including a screen that had MATERNITY scrawled in blue pen as if one of the Charles Manson gang had written it.  Eerie. 


We had gone this far, I was going to keep going.  I walked through the opening in the wall and directly into the pre-term labor room which was connected to Labor and Delivery.  On the pre-term labor side were about 10 beds or gurneys covered in purple vinyl.  There were no bed linens.  The vinyl was ripped and worn.  Some of the beds were empty and had clear fluid on them.  Ugh. Everything was rusted, dirty, filthy.  It was scary. 

A woman writhed in pain, her body wriggling.  She was on her side, her belly swollen.  She was alone in a room filled with people.  I looked away.  Several others were at various stages of labor.  As with everywhere else, people just milled about, aimless.

To the left were two makeshift rooms separated by those screens.  A self-printed computer sign was posted that said “Labor & Delivery.”  Many people were milling about over there and we didn’t dare get any closer.  A suspicious doctor asked us what we were doing.  We explained our purpose there, but her understanding of English was very limited.  She told us we would never find the birth mother and they didn’t know who she was.  I tried again to explain that’s not why we were there but just to gain an understanding of the process a birth mother would go through while here at the hospital.  Was there someone we could speak with?  It wasn’t translating.  She didn’t ask us to leave, but brushed us off and went toward the Labor and Delivery side of the room.  We took that as our cue to leave, and quickly. 

Another doorway went to a long hallway.  Again this is all open air.  There are no doors closing off the outside, or if there is a door, it’s propped open as are many of the windows.  There were flies.  We breezed past, room after room filled with babies and parents, all suspicious at the farangos (foreigners) walking past.  It was time to go; we no longer should be there.

There was one sweet picture I’d like to carry in my mind as I remember those scenes.  In one room we passed was a young father, sitting attentively next to a new mother who rested in her bed.  She actually had a blanket.  Next to them was a rusty bassinet with a gauzy blanket over it holding their resting newborn.  He looked up as we passed and he smiled.  Someone was having a happy moment in this place.

We taxi’ed back home and spent the rest of the afternoon in seclusion, writing, editing photos and videos.  We needed more oasis.

Nebretu and his family joined us for dinner in the smoke filled, bug-free dining room.  They had never been to the hotel before and never to a restaurant as fancy. And I’m sure the kids had never seen a swimming pool before.  They were in awe of the whole place and we enjoyed playing aunt and uncle for the night with their two boys (9 and 2).  It was wonderful to be able to host them as a small thank you for all they had given us, and to Kate.  We had never imagined that our trip to Bahir Dar would unearth as much information and exposure as we were afforded.  They are to be honored for the work they do every day in that orphanage.