A Chapter Of Life: A Midwife's African Adventure

By Mary Church Anderson

In 1964 Mary Church Anderson decided she wanted to see the world. As a qualified midwife she was given the chance to work in what was then Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia.)

She decided to take the opportunity to leave all that she had known; family, friends and home to begin a new chapter of her life. During her time in Africa she went on

• Language: English
• Publisher: Copperbelt Books
• Release date: Oct 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9780995565418

Book preview

Dedication

To my parents, who encouraged me to go to Zambia for the experience, and to see a great deal of the world.

Acknowledgements

Thanks go to Allan, my husband, who helped to prepare this book. Also to Judy, Mary, and Margaret, whose company made the most of my enjoyable time in Zambia.

Author’s Note

I think of my life as a book, divided into chapters. This book is the chapter of my life as a nurse in Zambia between 1964 and 1967.

Chapter 1

Journey

I remember very clearly the day in 1964 when I decided to go to Zambia or Northern Rhodesia as it was then known. It was Spring, very cold, and I was sitting on the floor beside the fire reading a nursing magazine. My midwifery training had been completed two months previously, and I was in a set routine of work, sleep, and very little social life.

Till then I had been aiming at passing school exams, then general nursing exams, and finally midwifery exams. Suddenly I had nothing to aim for and seemed to be stuck in a rut.

While leafing through the Nursing Mirror I saw an advert which offered an interesting challenge. The advert offered a nursing post in Northern Rhodesia for a year, the contract being renewable if wished. My mother encouraged me to write for details as she realised I wasn’t too happy with my present situation.

I received details by return very quickly, asking me to go to London for an interview, all expenses paid. I told no one at the hospital as I was unsure if I would accept the post. The interview was in May; I arranged my day off on that day, and wasn’t due on duty till late the following day.

The journey was by overnight train, and I arrived in London about 6 a.m.; I was amazed how much warmer London was compared with Glasgow. The train arrived at Kensington Olympia Station instead of Euston Station, as repairs and alterations there were being carried out there. Armed with an underground map taken from an old diary, I proceeded to find my way to where the interview was to take place. After a few trips on the wrong line, and after crossing many bridges to retrace my steps, I eventually arrived.

The interviewer was a very pleasant man called Mr Hope, whose task it was to recruit new staff on behalf of the commissioner of Northern Rhodesia. He had spent many years there and was extremely informative about various aspects of life and work in the country. After the interview, I was directed to another department for a medical examination, and in the afternoon I was sent to a different department for a chest x-ray.

I had planned to catch the 4 p.m. train and arrived at Kensington just in time, only to be told that the train left from Euston not Kensington.

I was so annoyed, as once again I had to negotiate the vast London Underground, which seemed like an endless maze to me. I eventually arrived, only to be told that the next train wasn’t due to leave till about 9 or 10 p.m. I was so tired after sitting up all night on the way down from Glasgow and trailing round half of London, that I booked a sleeper. I had originally thought I would have been home about 11 p.m., and should have been able to have a good sleep before work next day.

When I eventually got home in the early morning I wondered how I would survive the day, but I did. I didn’t tell anyone I had been to London for my day off!

I soon received word that I had been successful in my application for the job. I decided to accept the post, and handed in my resignation at the local maternity hospital. The matron told me she had been expecting it. She knew all about my application for the post as she had been requested to send references – I had forgotten about that. She was very enthusiastic about my going to Northern Rhodesia, as she had spent some years in West Africa and had found it a wonderful experience. I always remember she said that arriving in Africa was like landing on another planet. Her words turned out to be very true. She gave me a lovely necklace as a farewell gift to wear on the many social occasions I would experience there.

There seemed to be an endless list of things to attend to before my departure date of 29 July, including passport renewal, and a yellow fever injection which involved a trip to a public health clinic in Glasgow. Vaccination against smallpox was carried out by a public health doctor who wore bright green contact lenses.

The uniform consisted of a white dress, white or brown shoes and white cap. The Nursing Mirror came to my assistance again, as an advert by Garrould’s of London for white dresses and caps solved the problem of where to buy them.

New summer dresses were next on the list, as my wardrobe was sadly lacking summer clothes due to our awful weather. These I bought in Glasgow.

By a stroke of luck, a large trunk (second hand) was found at a local sale room. It turned out to be ideal. Half of the trunk had four drawers, the other half was a hanging wardrobe. It was made of wood, reinforced with metal. I just hoped it would not be eaten in transit by creepy crawlies! I always understood that tin trunks were more suited to tropical climates.

I had mixed feelings about going, and I dreaded having to come home if I didn’t like it.

Every time I walked into the bedroom and saw the trunk sitting there, gradually being filled with clothes and belongings, my stomach would lurch. Imagine if I got lost. After all I was going about ten times the distance I had travelled to London, and I had got lost there. I was so unsure of my feelings that I avoided telling as many people as possible about the trip, in case I came home before the contract was completed.

Final details were arriving by now: a one year contract, renewable annually; four days long leave per month, which were usually taken at the end of the year’s contract or accumulated if the contract was extended; local leave was allowed, similar to our public holidays here, but taken when wished; £30 was allowed for buying uniforms; my salary would be £850 per annum, rated on post-graduate experience; my title in Northern Rhodesia would be Qualified Nurse; income tax was very low and was paid annually in a lump sum – A receipt was issued as proof of payment, and no one was allowed to leave the country at the end of his or her contract without it.

The journey would be by plane to London, then plane to Lusaka, the capital. The final destination wouldn’t be known until my arrival in Lusaka.

My last hours working at the local maternity hospital were spent on night duty. As I was leaving mid-week, it worked out that I had one and a half nights off, which meant that I worked half a night, until 2 a.m. The labour wards were very quiet and by suppertime all patients had been delivered and transferred to the ward. When I came back from supper I was surprised to find that the staff had set up a table in the empty first-stage room, and had a lovely banquet laid out for me as a farewell party. Everyone wished me luck, and I eventually left at 2 a.m. I was even chauffeured home by one of the girls, as they didn’t think it was a good idea to walk home alone at that time of night, even though I lived only five minutes’ walk away.

The next few days felt unreal. The large trunk was uplifted in advance as unaccompanied baggage. The maximum weight allowed was 50 kilograms, and I later discovered that mine weighed 43 kilograms. The contents were valued at £50, which seems so little nowadays.

A suitcase would accompany me on the journey with any necessities I would need on arrival, for example my uniform, as I was informed that the large trunk might take weeks to arrive at my final destination.

Zambia is a big country covering some 750,000 square kilometres and lying 10 to 18 degrees south of the Equator. Although it is within the tropics, it is cooler than many other parts of Africa, as it is mainly on a plateau. Temperatures in May to August were between 15.6 and 26.7 degrees Centigrade, and between September and April from 26.7 to 32.2 degrees Centigrade. The rainy season started in November and finished in March. The plateau of Zambia is deeply entrenched by the Zambezi River, stretching 2,500 miles to the Indian Ocean – its tributaries are the Kafue and the Luangwa.

As the day of my departure drew near, I thought I would be prevented from going, as there was an outbreak of typhoid in Aberdeen which was attributed to faulty canning of corn beef from abroad; however, it was brought under control and didn’t interfere with my plans.

The big day finally arrived when I would leave rainy Scotland for sunnier shores. I said goodbye to Dad before he went to work. I think he had mixed feelings about my going but didn’t discourage me. Mum was going to fly with me to London and see me off on my journey to Zambia. My sister, Agnes, met us at Glasgow Airport to say cheerio and, as the plane took off, I looked out of the window and saw her standing in the rain, easily identifiable by her red coat and umbrella. I can still visualise that moment to this day: I wondered when I would see her again.

The journey to London was short. On arrival we took the train to the city centre and deposited my luggage at the station to be collected later, and we spent the day with friends of the family we had previously arranged to meet. In the evening we took the train to Gatwick Airport, checked in, and had a meal as we waited for the departure announcement. We had time to spare and so we went into the lounge bar and had a farewell drink.

The flight was due to leave at 9.15 p.m. and arrive at 3.20 p.m. local time the next day. Unfortunately, the departure was delayed and Mum had to leave to catch her midnight flight back home as she was working next day. Just as I remember my sister standing at the airport, Mum often told me that she would always remember leaving me sitting at the airport surrounded by my belongings, and looking so lonely.

I sat for ages watching all the different nationalities milling around the airport. A plane-load of children arrived with tennis rackets and a large amount of luggage. They were all very suntanned and healthy looking. From snatches of conversation I overheard, they turned out to be children returning from some part of Africa to boarding school in England.

I felt as if I was in a dream – that I wasn’t really sitting in Gatwick Airport waiting to go to Africa. However, eventually my flight was announced. I had been terrified I would miss hearing it. Quickly checking my passport and wallet for about the hundredth time, I made my way to the plane along a glass-sided passageway and boarded the aircraft. I felt the plane cold, probably due to the air conditioning. I was wearing only a thin white dress and green cotton coat. I was fortunate to be seated at a window, so had a good view as the plane took off.

The flight was pleasant, and I dozed on and off much of the time. Appetising meals were served which I much enjoyed. I read magazines and a book and, in between, studied other passengers and wondered what their final destination was.

As we flew over Sudan, I noticed passengers were collecting round a window on the opposite side of the plane from where I was sitting, and pointing downwards with great excitement. I discovered that someone had noticed one of the propellers had stopped. Obviously some of the passengers were as alarmed as I was, and we all hoped the crew knew about it too. Our fears were quickly allayed however, as an announcement informed us that as one of the engines had failed we would be landing in Khartoum and that there was no danger as the remaining engines would cope adequately.

We did land safely and were asked to disembark. My first impression of the place was summed up in two words: intense heat. The wind was like hot air blown from a hairdryer, it was unbelievable – now I was glad of my thin dress. We were relieved to stretch our legs and walk over to the airport lounge where cold drinks were served free of charge, and we were able to escape from the hot sun in a cool room with a large fan on the ceiling. Some local residents were wandering about, dressed in long robes which were worn loosely and were obviously very cool. I chatted to a fellow passenger who was going to Lusaka to work for the post office telephones. Like me, this was his first trip to Africa and he also found it all very strange. I never saw him again, and often wondered how he found the way of living there.

Eventually we set off again, with all engines now in working order. Our next stop was at Entebbe in Uganda, where we were allowed off for a short time. I sent a postcard home so that everyone would know I had made part of the journey safely. I never imagined for a moment how Entebbe would be in the news so much, years later when, during the reign of Idi Amin, a large number of hostages were held at that very airport, probably in the same lounge.

The journey continued, but it was dark by the time we approached Lusaka due to the delay, and we were informed that we would be flying to Salisbury in Southern Rhodesia instead, as the runway at Lusaka was too short to land in the dark. I wondered what else could go wrong with this journey.

Salisbury turned out to be a beautiful city, clean and modern, the capital of Southern Rhodesia. The plan was for a bus to take us to the Jameson Hotel, and the next day we would fly to Lusaka, all expenses paid. I met an Irish nurse on the bus to the hotel, and we decided to share a room as we were requested by the management to double up. We were both so exhausted, hot and sticky after our journey that we had a bath and went straight to bed, ignoring the television, radio and other luxuries of this obviously high-class hotel.

In the morning I dressed in all the clothes I had worn the day before which I had washed before going to bed – they were all absolutely dry, it was so warm. We went to the dining room and had a marvellous breakfast. I was fascinated by the waiters who wore white uniforms and maroon-coloured fez hats, and who were so polite.

As we had a short wait for the bus to take us to the airport, we went for a brief walk, along the road, past shops selling carved wooden souvenirs, exotic fruit and many other things we had never seen before. It was still early morning, yet it was so warm. The sky was blue and cloudless, and everything looked so neat and clean in this lovely city. It never ceased to amaze me how the sun shone every day, and I never took it for granted, probably because it was so unlike Scotland.

Our journey to Lusaka was uneventful. Once again I was pleasantly surprised by the modern buildings. As we drove into the hospital grounds I caught glimpses of the hospital, which seemed to be spread across quite a large area and consist of various separate units.

There were six of us newly arrived from the UK. We approached a building which I presumed was the nurses’ home. I discovered later this was called the sisters mess. I began to think I had joined the army. It turned out we were all called ‘sister’: this was a surprise promotion!

After being shown our rooms, which were very similar to those in a UK nurses’ home, we were taken into Lusaka by car to meet the Matron-in-Chief. In the streets there were many Europeans mingling with the Africans, but the Europeans were a few shades darker than we were. We felt quite conspicuous with our white arms and faces, and it must have been very easy to recognise us as newcomers to the country.

The Matron-in-Chief welcomed us and seemed very friendly. She explained various aspects of the work, and about life out there. She then proceeded to hand out aeroplane tickets to those going elsewhere. One girl was remaining in Lusaka, one was going to Kitwe, one to Broken Hill, another to Ndola and the fifth to Livingstone. I was going to a destination which sounded as if came from a Wild West film, and went by the name of Fort Jameson. I had an immediate picture in my mind’s eye of a small village on top of a hill, surrounded by a stockade to keep marauding wild African tribes out. I discovered that Fort Jameson was in the remote eastern province, close to the Malawi border. The reason I was being sent there was because I had midwifery training. The hospital was small with few staff, so I would have to cope with everything and anything, as I soon discovered.

We were free to spend the rest of the day settling in. It was Saturday, so we set off to explore the shops. I was advised to buy any luxuries I might need, as the shops in Fort Jameson were not stocked with much beyond the basic essentials. I bought a tennis racket, as I knew from a printed sheet of information we had been given that there was a tennis court in the hospital grounds.

There was an agricultural show in Lusaka that afternoon, so we all trooped along to have