A gift

So my friend Stella announces in late June that her daughter is going to have a baby very soon. I'm thinking that "soon" meant, well soon. Silly me, I'm in Africa. Tanzanians have a very different concept of time--whether it be for meetings, buses, deliveries or babies. Four weeks later Eunice was still very much pregnant and I'm sure Stella was tiring of me asking if she'd had that baby yet. But finally one day in late July Stella called me up and said her daughter was finally off to the hospital and could I give her some money for the hospital fees. I was happy to help as it wasn't a lot of money and folks here don't have insurance. So her and I get some money from the bank and drove across town to the Catholic mission hospital where Eunice is waiting to have her baby. We got there around 11 AM. In terms of African hospitals it was pretty nice. Eunice was in the ward which she shared with 2 other ladies. I'd never met Eunice before but she was the spitting image of her mom. She was obviously uncomfortable but I was impressed that she didn't look more miserable especially since she didn't have any drugs. Heck, she didn't even have a bed sheet (and remember this is a good hospital). Anyway, I just stayed long enough to pass my greetings and drop Stella off.

Two hours later Stella called me to say that Eunice had delivered a healthy baby boy. I was really impressed. Three hours after that she called again and said they were ready to leave the hospital and could I give them all a ride home. What am I supposed to say but, sure. So I quickly arrange for childcare for the boys as I figured this might take a while. Stella lives really far away and it was now the beginning of rush hour. Meanwhile I'm thinking "what the hell have I gotten myself into?" I've only recently gotten comfortable enough to drive from our house to the children's school and now I've got to drive over an hour away in a car through African rush hour with a baby that's only three hours old??? And never mind the fact that I don't have a car seat?

Now before you all roast me to a cinder about the car seat you have to realize that I just didn't have an other option. Most people here don't have cars, probably 95% of Tanzanians use public transportation to get around. Car seats are very rare and expensive. In the 6 months we've been here I can't recall ever seeing one at any of the stores I've visited. Some folks do use them (we do) but really there just isn't the car seat culture like in the US. Which is too bad because road accidents are common and deadly here. So before I continue on and further convict myself let me just say that had I happened to have an infant car seat with me I doubt they would have consented to use it at all. There was no way Stella was putting that baby boy down. She was one proud grandma.

So we all pile into the car: me, Josie (long story but she had to come), Stella, Stella's brother, Eunice, and the new baby. I'm quite certain I have never driven as slow or careful since I was 18 and taking my driver's test (though hopefully a tad better). I knew roughly where Stella's house was and it was not close. I'd venture to say it was halfway to Nigeria. Stella said it takes 50 minutes to get to her home by private car (but remember the whole Tanzania-time thing). After an hour we finally turned off the main road and headed back to her house. It was still another 30 minutes to her place down what was surely the worst road I have ever driven. Honestly it was horrible. It was like driving down a dried up creek bed...except worse because we were always going up or down extremely steep hills.

Meanwhile Stella and Eunice have announced that I need to name the baby. Good Lord, talk about pressure. Isn't enough that I have to drive your three hour old child through the African bush without a car seat? Now I have to give him a name that will follow him for the rest of his life? So I hem and haw and say that surely they'll come up with a better name and quickly change the subject. Finally we arrive at Stella's tiny house where she lives with her husband, Eunice, and now two grandsons. The first grandson Jimmy is two and takes one look at me and screams in terror. Josie and I drop our friends off, stay for a few minutes to be polite and then head home. It's late and we're tired.

A few days later Stella comes over. I ask about Eunice and the baby and she says everyone is doing well. I ask what name they've chosen and she says "we're waiting for you to pick one". Damn. I really thought I'd dodged that one. So I say "well how about a Swahili name?" Meanwhile I'm thinking what Swahili name would be good? Which ones are for boys and which ones are for girls? Do folks here in Tanzania name people after events that occurred around their birth or what? Really, I have no idea. Thankfully, Stella saves me from eternal embarrassment. She says "Yes a Swahili name is good. Maybe a gift." So I say OK--well how about zawadi--the Swahili word for gift. Is that a boys name? "Oh yes, zawadi is a very good boy's name. I'll tell Eunice you named him zawadi."