I love Mother’s Day. Not only because I’m a mum, but because I believe it is important.
Too often, the vital role that mothers play in our society goes unrecognised. If anyone needs a day of rest and celebration, it’s the mothers of the world.
Mother’s Day has important historical significance. In ancient times, the Greeks and Romans held festivals in honour of their maternal goddesses, notably Rhea and Cybele.
In 16th century England it was a day when domestic servants were allowed a day’s holiday to return to their “mother” church at home, and a rare opportunity to spend time with their families.
In the US, Mother’s Day was first celebrated in the 1900s, and began as a day to recognise those women whose sons had died in war.
Today it is one of the world’s most celebrated events.
For me, it is a day to cherish my own mother and all she has done to support me. It is a day when I’m reminded how lucky I am to be a mother to my wonderful daughter and son.
It is also a day to reflect on motherhood more broadly, and its enormous impact on the lives of women. Not only its many joys, but the many challenges and hardships it brings.
It is a time to remember that grief and loss still accompany motherhood for too many women in the world.
So this year on Mother’s Day, I will be thinking of Stella.
Almost three decades ago, traditional birth attendant Jullian delivered her first baby.
In her village in Central Province, the closest health centre is a two-hour walk so, with the woman already experiencing severe labour pains, Jullian had been summoned to help the expectant mother give birth at home.
More than 24 hours later, the baby was born healthy, the mother had survived an agonising ordeal, and Jullian could breathe a sigh of relief. It was an intense and emotionally overwhelming introduction to her new role as a traditional birth attendant, one which she began with no formal training.
In those early days, Jullian’s arsenal of midwifery equipment was rudimentary at best. “There were no hand gloves, so I would put on plastic bags on my hands. To cut the cord I would use a type of bamboo as a knife. I used whatever I could find.”
Nor was her working environment any better. “It’s a long walk to the clinic, and sometimes women can’t wait, especially in times of emergency. Women worry that they might give birth on the road, so they decide to stay at home instead.
“I would spread old clothes or 50kg produce bags underneath the women during their labour. The string from the bags could also be used to tie the umbilical cord.”
For the approximately 3,000 women who live in the villages of Kivori, the delivery options are extremely limited, if non-existent. A basic clinic can only be reached by a long journey on foot, and the district health centre is over an hour’s drive on a poorly maintained road.
Public motor vehicles – the only form of transport available and equivalent to travelling on a large and overcrowded produce truck – do not travel this road on a daily basis. The cost of using this service is also prohibitive.
There are no doctors available in Central province, so to reach a hospital for more specialist care means a five-hour journey to Port Moresby.
For these reasons, women like Jullian perform a vital and sometimes life-saving service. For the majority of pregnant women, they are the only childbirth support available.
During the early years of her work, Jullian was fortunate to learn some additional midwifery skills by shadowing the Community Health Worker – the equivalent of a basic nurse in Australia in terms of qualifications.
