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Being Pregnant in Post-Colonial Nigeria: Are the Fears Justified?

My Personal Take on Pregnancy in Nigeria: Between Fear and Hope

By Elizabeth BarlettaPublished 4 years ago 4 min read
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I’m about to walk you through my personal experience with pregnancy in Nigeria. From giving birth in Nigeria to maternal health in Nigeria, I’m going to share everything with you, right up to family planning after pregnancy in Nigeria!

The Present

It’s December 2019. I am sitting in the small balcony of our 2-room apartment, watching the crowded streets of the Yaba suburb. I am gently rubbing my already visible tummy, and I can’t help myself from being a little worried about what the future may hold. Although I know, I probably shouldn’t.

I am 4 months into my second pregnancy in Nigeria, and so far, everything worked out just fine for me here. It’s a lovely morning, and my husband Idara just walked out the door to take Acano, our 5-year old son, to the kindergarten. I remember the first time giving birth in Nigeria, and how terrified I was at that point. All those rumors and philosophies surrounding maternal health in Nigeria kept me up for so many long nights in a row.

In the end, everything went well and, by God’s Grace – they call it Amarachi here, I managed to deliver a gorgeous healthy baby boy in a decent private hospital, with modern enough prenatal and birthing conditions.

My name here is Iya Acano, which translates to Mother of Acano, I am 31 years old, and I am one of the lucky ones. But let me start earlier.

The Journey

It’s July 2013. I am graduating from the University of Tulsa with a degree in Economics. The whole ceremony was genuinely breathtaking. So much joy, so much cheering, so much pride. I remember thinking that that was going to remain the happiest moment for the rest of my life. And it did, right up to the day I married Idara and, of course, up until I had my first pregnancy in Nigeria.

It’s October 2015. I am on a plane to Lagos, sitting right next to my husband. I am fearful and excited at the same time. I am trying to learn everything I can about Nigerian culture, history, and social life. On my left thigh, I have a vast catalog, filled with amazingly sweet baby items. From the best cribs to the best swaddle blankets, I am having a really hard time deciding.

On my right thigh, I have a large stack of papers on Maternal Health in Nigeria, printed out right before we left Tulsa. I am happy to learn that Nigerians place considerable value on parenthood and childbearing in particular. At the same time, I am disconcerted to find out that in Nigeria, an average of 1 out of 13 mothers dies upon childbirth. I am about to have my first pregnancy in Nigeria, and I am shocked learning that wealthy families here prefer to leave their country and deliver in more developed countries like the UK or the US. I’m on the verge of a panic attack as I read about private hospitals in Nigeria that specialize in maternity and family care. An optimal delivery here resumes to a mere back-birth directed by a doctor, and a shot of oxytocin afterward, for releasing the placenta and contracting the uterus once the whole thing is done.

My name is Elizabeth, I am a 25-year old recently married white woman, expecting her first child, and about to wander into the great unknown. Frightened, I grab my husband’s hand, and I ask him if all of this is true. I ask him about the rumors surrounding maternal health in Nigeria, about the hospital conditions, about family planning after pregnancy in Nigeria, and finally, about why some black parents don’t vaccinate children. He looks at me with a gentle smile on his face and says, “Relax, no wahala”… No problem, everything’s going to be just fine!

The Future

It’s November 2019. I’m on the balcony, sipping from my cup of rooibos tea, and I realize how right he was. Due to our fortunate financial circumstances, my husband being an esteemed teacher at the University of Lagos, we were able to afford the best medical conditions for our first pregnancy in Nigeria. I delivered Acano in a middle-class private hospital, surrounded by experienced personnel, modern equipment, and top facilities.

But that was our personal blessing. And it’s not to say that that’s how things go around here all the time. My heart skipped a beat and shrank in pain when I read about the tragedy of Folake Oduyoye. Unable to cover her medical bills, she was literarily restrained in the medical facility where she gave birth and subsequently suffered an infection, up to the point where she tragically passed away. And the worst of it, this was not an isolated case! When it comes to pregnancy in Nigeria, things can go wrong for a frightening number of reasons.

My name is Elizabeth , and I am 5 months away from giving birth in Nigeria for the second time. And while I’m pretty sure that everything will work out great for us once again, I am determined to take a stand and raise awareness on the certain limitations of maternal health in Nigeria.

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