02/28/2024
Volunteering in Kenya, Friendship with Midwife Penninah, and African Naming Traditions (Published in Midwifery Today, Winter, 2023)
By Mary Burgess, LM, CPM, Owner of Moonbelly Midwifery and Lynden Birth Center in Lynden, WA, USA, and Penninah Mukhebi,
Midwife, Nurse, at FreMo Birth Centre in Kawangware Slum, Nairobi, FreMo Medical and Birth Centre, Kawangware-Nairobi Kenya
I met Midwife Penninah Mukhebi at the FreMo Birth Centre in Nairobi, Kenya, where I was offering volunteer midwifery for the month of May, 2023. I traveled there by myself, and was welcomed with open arms and complete kindness by the FreMo staff, including their director Moffat Osoro, a kind, well-spoken Kenyan man.
An American midwife, Kelly Milligan, had recommended this site to me when I reached out to her, saying that, even with a population experiencing incredible poverty and very few resources, FreMo was providing gentle, woman-focused births and achieving favorable outcomes. I wanted to learn more. Also, I was unwilling to go somewhere where the women were being maltreated during labor and postpartum and in which I was expected to participate. No way. In my hometown, I offer gentle births and wanted to further my knowledge of this in a landscape very different from my own. FreMo was the perfect fit for me.
FreMo Birth Centre
FreMo is a private hospital located in the heart of the Kawangware Slum of Nairobi. The neighborhood was a swirl of color and sound and humanity in motion. The air was thick with smoke at times, as people burn their garbage, and there was a near constant throng of the sound of cars, motorbikes, busses, honking horns, roosters crowing, dogs barking, radios blaring, voices and laughter. Brightly painted matatus (like
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passenger vans), windows open and filled with dark-eyed faced, raced past with their music blaring. People going every which way all at the same time, many walking with large bundles on their head and clothes made of colorful cloth. It was a visual and auditory cacophony. Ibises flew overhead regularly cawing and calling, sounding like babies crying. The Jesus Revival Centre, located across the road, pumped out music and praise and announcements 24/7, especially on Friday and Saturday nights, when it roared so loudly that it was difficult to sleep.
There were also times of deep quiet and incredible peace. In those times, it was delightful to sit in the garden, flower gaze and talk with a friend. It was a time to read, to open the windows and let the cool breeze through, to lay down under the mosquito net and close my eyes for a moment, or gaze at the moon, knowing that my friends and family back home would soon see the same moon.
The temperatures were warm and muggy most days, and I often had sweat dripping down my chest and back. Other days, it rained so hard that I became instantly and incredibly soaked from head to foot if I had forgotten my umbrella, even just running the 50 steps from my room to the maternity ward.
Most people, including postpartum mothers and their babies, take time each day to sit in the beautiful, warm, bright equatorial Kenyan sun, which they consider to be medicinal and health-giving. In my month there, only one case of newborn jaundice presented, very different from where I live in the Pacific Northwest, where babies often turn yellow due to lack of sunshine.
I stayed there at FreMo, in an apartment located on site. In it was two small rooms, each with a queen sized bed. The beds were covered with mosquito netting and there was a small sink. Another midwife,
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Christina Kimont, a senior student from Toronto, Canada, was there with me for the first two weeks of my experience. The shower and toilet were located in separate areas a few buildings over. I was brought three home cooked meals per day by cook Mercie, and fell in love with Kenyan food, especially ungali (a firm round of maize or corn flour cooked in milk or boiling water until it holds strongly together), mendhazi (fried dough, like barely sweet donuts) and Mercie’s chapati (thick, buttery, brown homemade tortillas), which I would have happily eaten everyday. Beans and rice were staples, as well as fried cabbage. A few times we had avocado, tomato and onion salad made with fresh vegetables from the open market across the street, or fresh pineapple slices.
I attended a dozen births and newborn exams, helped with breastfeeding and postpartum care, resuscitated one baby and taught neonatal resuscitation to the entire staff, co-taught prenatal classes, helped with other mothers and babies coming in for various concerns like mastitis, a bleeding umbilical cord stump, reduced fetal movement, labor checks, and other concerns.
I also had the incredible opportunity to attend many home postpartum visits in the slum with Midwife Winni, which was learning filled. We were always warmly greeted by families living in the smallest of apartments without running water or inside bathrooms. Hallo, Hallo, Jambo! Come in, Come in! Thank you for coming. Please, join us for tea... Sometimes, electricity was only available at night and the families possessed very few belongings.
Getting to these homes was incredibly difficult with insane traffic, van-swallowing potholes that popped you out of your seat and your head hit the ceiling of the van, and on the narrowest of dirt roads. Driver John, always smiling, was invincible and always got us there and back again safe and sound, never once hitting a wayward rooster or goat, mangy
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dog or unattended small child who regularly crossed the roads at unpredictable times.
I fell deeply in love with many babies with dark, beautiful eyes and soft, glossy black curls, loved holding their curls against my cheek and gazing into their pretty deep-brown eyes while the mother dressed or showered. I became adept at walking among what seemed like acres of wet laundry drying on lines and avoiding the cold drops which would sometimes drip down the back of my shirt.
A Friendship Between Midwives
I made good friendships with dozens of staff members. Many of us continue to write to each other regularly on WhatsApp, especially one midwife in particular, Penninah. She and I spent almost everyday together. It was such a joy to spend time alongside her, learning and sharing. We caught babies together, yes, but we also would fill the quiet times in between births with restocking supplies, talking, sharing stories and learning about each other’s lives and work. We may dress differently and speak different languages, have different cultural traditions, backgrounds and foods, but midwifery remains the same all across the world. Our shared work with mothers, babies, and families was an instant place of connection.
One hot afternoon, Penninah and I walked together down into the bustling market. Another time, we bought pineapple Fanta sodas at a tiny shop next door and sat in the garden, drinking warm sodas and talking together. She would use her strong teeth to bite the lids off, and my teeth would hurt just watching her do that! She often would come to my room in the evenings if maternity was slow and we would share a meal and laughter. Lots of laughter!
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Midwife Penninah
Penninah is of the Bantu people, and the local language is Luuhya. Her village lies in Kenya on the Ugandan border, where her home is located and where her husband lives. She came to Nairobi for work and visits home every few months, as there is very little work in her village. She hopes, one day, to return home and open a small birth center there, where she would enjoy hosting midwives from all over the world to come, help, and learn from her.
Penninah’s mother was also a midwife. She has many older sisters and they all became teachers, and her father urged her also to become a teacher, but Penninah followed in her mother’s footsteps into the world of women, babies, and childbirth.
Having spent a month alongside Penninah, we have grown to be close friends. Not only was she an excellent midwife, but also a delightful human. I told her, at the end of my month at FreMo, that if the only reason I traveled across the world was to meet her, it would have been worth it. I look forward to knowing her forever and working alongside her again someday soon.
One evening, she came to my room after dinner, and as we often did, we sat and talked. Mostly, I listened. She had just had her pretty, short cropped natural hair done. I asked her questions about midwifery in her country and her experiences, how she would solve this or that problem. She often replied in long stories, her white teeth and broad smile bright against her deeply dark skin. We sat together on the small, short couch and the hours would roll by as we learned about each other’s lives.
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That evening, she talked about African naming traditions, or the names babies are given depending on what time of year they are born or which day of the week they are born, etc. Several minutes in, I stopped her, and asked permission to write down all she was saying. She agreed, and I wrote it down word-for-word. I was fascinated and thought other midwives from around the world would enjoy this information as well. We have edited it together, and my humble hope is that I have spelled all the names correctly. I only wish you could have heard her tell this in her delightful, thick Kenyan accent, and could sit beside her and erupt into heads-thrown-back, mouths-wide-open laughter as we often would when the subject would stray. If you ever have an opportunity to visit her and learn alongside her, do not miss your opportunity.
She spoke about the names babies are given and the significance of the names. She added that babies were often given these names in addition to other “regular” names, but this was the name the child was known by in their village, even if they choose to “officially” go by their other given name.
African Naming Traditions
“Babies are given names depending on the season they were born, if they are a boy or a girl, and what day of the week they are born, and more,” she starts. “Their name will reflect the season, or the activity of the season, the weather, and many names are given as protection over the baby. Sometimes, only a name for a son is offered, and there is no special name given to a daughter at that time. Often the names between boys and girls are similar, differing only by a letter or two.” She continues:
Seasonal Names:
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January or February is the dry spell in Kenya. A baby born girl born during this time is called Nasimiyu, and a baby boy is called Simiyu.
Babies born in the end of February are born during the time we cut bushes to prepare for ploughing. Girls born then are named Nasambu and boys are called Wesamba.
If a baby is born in March or April, that is the rainy season, and they are given the name “Rain.” For girls the name for Rain is Nafula, for boys, Wafula.
The months of April, May, and June are the season of weeding. Baby girls born in this time are named Naliaka, and baby boys are Nalianya. Less common names during this time are Nelima for girls and Welima or Wanyonyi for boys.
If a baby is born in May, it are born in the hunger season, when children die due to starvation. These babies are named “Children of Hunger.” For girls, Nanjala, and for boys, Wanjala.
Babies born in August are born during the harvest season when villagers are harvesting all their grains including millet and wheat, and also legumes. It is a very important season where everyone everywhere is harvesting all they have grown. These babies are given the name “Harvest.” For girls the name is Nekesa, and for boys, Wekesa.
If born at any time of year when people are brewing their grains into alcohol, the baby is named “Brewing local alcohol.” Girls are Namalwa, boys are Wamalwa. Penninah said her full name includes Namalwa, as she was born during a time people were brewing alcohol, but she never uses that name on official documents.
Names for Days of the Week:
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Monday: Babies born on a Monday are named for “Meeting Day,” as Monday is the day the village chiefs meet to discuss local issues. A baby girl born on a Monday, however is not given a certain name, but a baby boy is called Barasa.
Tuesday/Wednesday: Neither girls nor boys are given a special name if born on a Tuesday or a Wednesday.
Thursday’s children are called “A Child Born on a Thursday.” Girls are Namisi, boys are Hamisi.
Friday’s children are called “A Child Born on Friday.” Girls are rarely given special names on Friday, but sometimes called Mwajuma, and boys are given the name Juma.
Saturday: Girls have no special name. Boys are called Nyongesa, or “Child Born on Saturday.”
Sunday: Children, both boys and girls, born on Sunday are called “Sunday.”
One of the most profound and wonderful things about my time in Kenya was how prayers to God and love for Jesus was woven into nearly everything. There were prayers offered of course before meals but also before staff meetings and during parties. It was common for a laboring mother to ask to have prayers spoken over her and her baby, and often a mother would pray during labor. I prayed aloud for mothers and sang Christian songs to babies at the mother’s request. I speak the name of Jesus over you...
Most people attend church every Sunday, so Sundays were considered holy days. Naming these babies Sunday, then, both boys and girls, honored that this child was born on a sacred day, a blessed child.
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Twins:
No matter the s*x, the first-born twin is named Mukhwana, and the second-born is Mulongo. The baby who follows them is Khisa, followed by Khamala then followed by Nabangi.
Born en Route:
Babies born on the way to the hospital and who are born at a small junction or on a small road have a special name. Maybe the mother is walking a long distance and the baby is born while walking or the baby is born in a car or a bus. Girls are named Nangila, and boys are Wangila, meaning “Born on the Way on a Small Road.”
Babies born on the way but on a large road or highway are called “Born the Big Road/Wide Road.” Girls are Namokhosi, and boys are Mukhosi.
Born After Loss:
A baby born after a parent has lost a previous child or children are named with a protective name and special rituals are done to keep them safe and to ward off evil. They speak over that child the blessings, wrap them in a traditional cloth or hide, and give the baby a protective name.
A girl might be named Namonywe. Penninah describes a long line of black ants marching in the forest. If you step on them or touch even one of them, they will turn on you, bite you, “And AHHH!” She quickly breathes air in through her teeth, “Fill you with their poison! You’ll hurt so much, you will sweat, you will run away and never step on them again!” This name, Namonywe, is that: A long line of black warrior ants. “Evil spirits, if you even think of touching this baby girl or harming her, we will
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turn on you and bite you and hurt you!” Namonywe is a name of protection for a baby daughter born after a baby has died.
She may also be named Nabangala, meaning, “I’ve just picked!” She says, “This name tells Death: Don’t come and pick this one. This child should live!”
A boy born after a child has died may be called by several different names, including Kundu. “This is a bad thing you have seen! An ogre! A bad and frightening creature! Kundu is to scare away Death!”
He also could be named Kuchikhi: Like a tree that was pushed down or cut down for firewood, but the stump of the tree remains. This is Kuchikhi, the stump of the tree that remains after the tree has been taken down.
A boy may also be named Wamonywe or Kuloba. Each of the names is meant to scare Death away, in hopes that this baby will live and be strong and survive. These are all names of protection.
Volunteering at FreMo
I thank God for the opportunity to have spent time with Penninah and everyone at FreMo. It was an incredible experience. My month in Kenya opened my eyes and my heart. It changed me, added to me, built new understanding and knowledge of how, even amidst wide-spread poverty and daily struggle, birth works. Women have incredible strength. Babies exude resilience. Kindness, love and joy exist everywhere, and the work and heart of midwives spans the globe. I grew as a person and as a midwife and felt my heart expand in new and unexpected ways. In addition, I now have life-long friends on the other side of the world.
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Many midwife friends have asked me how they can do this, how they can volunteer their midwifery skills at FreMo and spend time with the midwives there and both learn and share. Midwives and student midwives interested in this should contact Laureli Morrow, CPM at Global Midwife Response (www.globalmidwife.org). This was my starting place, the information hub and also the vetting process for midwives traveling abroad. The vetting process remains an important piece in that, working with any vulnerable population, the possibility of doing more damage than good in short-term volunteer positions strongly exists.
To volunteer in a developing nation, it is vital to be helpful and never harmful, to come with an open heart, the best intentions and no agenda. A midwife must remove any “savior cape” she might wear, and know that at times she will experience incredible discomfort and must remain positive. Moffat told me before I arrived, “You will want to save everyone, and you will not be able to do so. You will want to change the circumstances of your clients, and you will be unable. Just come, heart wide open. Be present with the women you serve, learn, share, and offer care as best you are able.”
If you do find yourself at FreMo, you will not regret going. In fact, it will change your life, too, and you will likely work very hard when you return home to figure out ways to help support FreMo financially and also start to plan your next volunteer trip to Nairobi. And if you do have the opportunity to go, please give Penninah and everyone there a big hug from me.
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