Madam minister, there’s more to be fixed at China-Friendship Hospital

I watched a video of the junior Health minister Sarah Opendi, who in an attempt to net corrupt health workers at Naguru-based China-Friendship Hospital, disguised as a patient wearing a face veil.
While the video reveals the extortion that goes on at this facility just like many other government health centres, it did not address access to quality healthcare.
The video came just a day after I had witnessed the worst scenes at this facility.

From, mothers sleeping on cold floors of the hospital’s maternity ward with their new born babies to rude midwives and cleaners.
On September 12, I took a 19-year-old rape victim whose innocence had been abused by three goons nine months ago (story for another day), to the hospital.
There were expectant mothers wailing and rolling on the floor and some on the hospital benches.

I reached out to a woman I thought was a nurse only to learn that she was a cleaner.
As she led us to the labour suite, she whispered in my ear “I hope you have something for me’’.

We got to the labour suite rolling our trolly-bag. I approached a nurse, but before I could utter a ward, she said, “Atte bano abagenda munyonyi! (Look at these ones looking like they are going to catch a flight?)
I decided to carry the bag and put it on one of the benches, but the nurse quickly shouted, “Get your bag off our bench.

Get it off now!’’. She then asked, “Where is your stuff?’’
I did not know what she was asking for, so I responded it is in here (inside the bag). She grinned at me before asking: “Where is your basin, gloves and polythene?’’ We didn’t have a basin and the six gloves we had carried were not enough.
I quickly left to get the missing items.

I asked one of the cleaners for directions to the canteen and she quickly offered to go and buy the basin on condition that I would buy the gloves from her.
She set off and returned 10 minutes later with the basin and then reached into her drawer for gloves which she sold to me at Shs2,000 each.
My girl was in immense pain and had started crying, the midwife looked at her and threw another jibe, “Owaaye nyabo simanya olowoza tugenda kukwata! (Madam, do you think we are going to rape you?)
I was enraged. How could such a statement be made to rape victim?

I struggled to keep calm. The mean midwife was not done yet. “Nyabo genda okabile eri, bwonomala ojakuzala omwana’’ (Madam go cry from somewhere else. When you are done, you will deliver the baby).
I asked if the midwife could at least examine the girl before chasing her away, which she did. With the cervix open to just about 2cms, we had no option but to leave the room back to the corridors with other wailing expectant mothers.

The cleaners showed no mercy either; they pushed dirty soapy water through the corridors soaking the bags, mats and basins.

We struggled to get a formal admission and a file opened for my girl. I had to leave her with a friend to go and work, but followed her case on phone.
All the while, the young girl continued to scream in pain just like the others and pleas for checkup didn’t yield much.

We later hatched a plan. I suggested that my friend finds a nurse she could talk to gently and promise her ‘something’ and this got us the much needed attention. She quickly led ‘my girl’ to the labour suite as she cashed in.
We paid Shs50,000 as ‘kasiimo’ or token of appreciation to the mean midwife. She had demanded for Shs100,000 before she could deliver the baby, but we negotiated.

It was either that or we be ignored.
The young mother, perhaps the youngest in the maternity ward that day, was then led out of the labour suite to the congested corridors before she was advised to find a mat and space on the floor.
It was only after parting with Shs70,000, which was not receipted that we were given a bed for the girl and her baby.

She was discharged the following day with a prescription of drugs which we had to buy.
I can’t help but think about the hundreds of mothers, who have to go through this kind of ordeal. All this left me with more questions than answers. Do we know our priorities? Should we be spending on porn-detecting machines when we can’t provide healthcare for our people?
How many lives will we have lost by the time ‘things’ get better? What will it take to fix Uganda’s ailing health system?

Ms Najjemba is a media and communication specialist