A baby abandoned in the night
My name is Rahima. I am 23 years old and I have been working as a midwife for a year at a government hospital in northeastern Afghanistan.
One night, three women suddenly rushed in while I and two colleagues were busy caring for patients in the maternity ward. They were two middle-aged women and a teenage girl who was moaning in pain. The flustered and anxious women were looking for a midwife for the girl.
I stepped forward, and guided the girl to a bed. But as soon as I tried to examine her, she screamed and refused to let me. I explained that if she didn’t cooperate, we wouldn’t be able to deliver her baby.
The girl was wearing a black chapan (traditional Afghan robe) and fiercely resisted our attempts to remove her clothes. Her tight pants and multiple layers of clothing were all soaked in blood. Only with the help of the two women were we able to hold her legs down and pull her clothes aside. Suddenly, I realized the baby’s head was already emerging from her womb.
The girl was crying and writhing in pain. Every time she let out a loud cry, the two women harshly demanded she stay quiet. She looked no older than 16 or 17.
Amid some struggle and chaos, the baby was born but it wasn’t breathing. Its face was flushed and blue. I immediately called for a more experienced colleague. She rushed over and said we had to put the baby on oxygen right away.
Less than an hour after they had arrived, I saw the two women hurriedly dressing the young girl who had just given birth. They were clearly preparing to leave. I asked, “What will happen to the baby?” One of them whispered, “Take this child … Sell it.” I was too stunned to speak. Moments later, they left the hospital.
The abandoned baby eventually regained consciousness in the oxygen chamber.
The next morning, I went to the hospital’s security office. One of the guards warned me to “quietly get rid of the child” to avoid problems for my career and the hospital’s reputation. He revealed that one of the men who had accompanied the women said,“Forgive us this time — give it to whoever wants it.”
The guard told me, “My daughter, if you can take this baby home and give it to a childless Muslim family, it will be a virtuous deed. It seems the girl was raped. No father would abandon his child like this in a hospital.”
Later that morning, our supervisor and the head of the women’s department said, “Under Taliban rule, the exposure of such matters causes trouble for the hospital and midwives.”
No one at the hospital would take responsibility for the baby. Everyone blamed me for delivering it in the first place. Then came word from the emergency department that we needed to remove the baby from the oxygen machine to make room for another newborn.
Meanwhile, I called my fiancé in France. He suggested we transfer the baby to a private hospital. After consulting with my mother, we took the baby to a private medical center. The costs were high – I sold my ring to pay for four nights of oxygen treatment at 1,500 afghani per night. The baby’s breathing stabilized, but signs of asphyxia remained visible on its face.
My family was worried. My brother was furious that I’d taken responsibility for a fatherless child. He said I shouldn’t have brought it home because neighbours would talk. One of my aunts, who is childless, wanted to take the baby, but her husband objected, saying the father might someday come forward to reclaim it.
In the end, my brother-in-law introduced me to a family in Kabul who were looking to adopt a baby. The wife, a schoolteacher, couldn’t have children of her own after undergoing a hysterectomy. She and her husband gladly agreed to adopt the baby for 10,000 afghani and promised to properly care for the child. They were overjoyed and signed legal documents pledging to raise the child as their own.
The pediatrician assured me the effects of asphyxia would fade with time. When I handed the baby to its new family, I felt profound peace. I refused to take money for my ring, but they insisted on reimbursing my mother.
My family remained fearful that if the Taliban discovered what we’d done, there could be serious consequences. In this country, even helping an abandoned newborn can be considered a crime. But I had fulfilled my human duty.
I still keep in touch with the adoptive family. That tiny baby has grown into a beautiful child and is well cared for and loved. But I’ll never forget the terrified face of the teenage girl who came to the hospital bleeding and sobbing, then fled like a criminal. What became of her? Was she a rape victim? Did her family care for her after she left the hospital, or was she punished for giving birth?
Khadija Haidary Zan Times journalist has written this narrative as told by Rahima.
