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It was just before dawn and the roosters had yet to crow when Stella, eight months pregnant, went into labour.

She was carrying her seventh child, and there were red flags early on. A month before, she had felt the baby tumbling around in her belly. But when the pain and contractions began, everything fell quiet.

“I felt something was wrong,” Stella says.

“I couldn’t feel the baby moving and there was a bad smell coming from me.

“I told my husband, ‘there’s something wrong with me, you need to take me to the hospital’.”

Stella waited for an hour in pain before she and Francis stumbled in the dark in their village in Kivori, in remote Papua New Guinea, and found a driver who would take them to the nearest health clinic, a 10km drive away in Waima.

Stella clenched her teeth in agony as the car made its way on the dirt track filled with ruts and potholes.

When they finally arrived at the small health clinic – usually attended by two healthcare workers and visited by 6,000 people from the surrounding villages – it was empty.

In a panic, Stella and Francis looked for another vehicle that would take them to the next nearest clinic, a 12km drive away in Beraina.

“I pushed and pushed and pushed for an hour at Beraina,” Stella says. “But there was no sight of the baby, so I asked them to transfer me to Port Moresby General Hospital.”

The trip to the capital, Port Moresby, was fraught with difficulties before it even started. An ambulance was available, but the driver was nowhere to be seen.

“It took 20 minutes before we left,” Stella says. “They had to walk all the way to his home to tell him to come.

“I went to the ambulance and got on and was lying down with a nurse, and just began pushing.”

Stella, drenched in sweat and tears, arrived at Port Moresby General Hospital three hours later.

A little boy wrapped in a blanket lay lifeless in her arms.

“When my baby came, the umbilical cord was around his neck three times,” Stella says.

“The nurse cut the cord off and hit the baby on the bottom, but there was no sign of life.

“The nurse took the baby, put him in my hands and said, ‘sorry, mother’.”

The little boy was Stella’s seventh and last child.

He was also her fourth baby to die.

There’s a traditional saying in Myanmar that goes “treat your husband as a God and treat your son as a boss”.

Win May Htway knows it well. As a young girl in Myanmar, this phrase summed up what was expected of her and how she should act.

Win May, however, had different plans.

“I have always seen myself as a person not guided much by traditional norms,” she says.

Win May has made a career out of defying the expectations in a country that has tried to put limits on what she should hope to achieve.

She is one of three local women who have risen to the role of Country Director in the six national offices that ChildFund Australia manages.

Inspired by the line “the child is father of the man” from a William Wordsworth poem she read in school, Win May has dedicated her life to promoting equality and opportunities in Myanmar.

“The social and cultural norms that affect girls still persist in our society, she says. “Gender should not be a barrier for girls to have the same opportunities as boys to develop to full potential,” she says.

“Not just in Myanmar but everywhere; every child and youth must have the same rights and opportunities to grow to their potential because everyone is a human being, a person, regardless of their gender.”