Bringing life, facing death: Horrific tales of mothers in labour wards

As the world comes together to celebrate International Mother's Day, the official theme for 2025 is “Celebrating Motherhood: A Timeless Bond.” This theme emphasises the enduring and universal nature of the mother-child relationship, highlighting the countless ways mothers nurture, support, and inspire their children throughout their lives. But who and what does it take to safely bring a child to this world and be called “mother”?

When Daisy Mitei, now 31, walked into the Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital in September 2021, she hoped her delivery process would be smooth. She was calm and alert. But that calmness was short-lived, thanks to what she terms the most horrible treatment she has ever experienced. This being her second child, she knew she was in labour. But from the moment she was received at the hospital, her knowledge as a mother was dismissed.

“The nurse looked me over and told me to go home. “You don’t look like you’re due. Maybe come back in a month.” I insisted I was due. He sent me for an ultrasound, and the sonographer, initially cheerful, fell silent. His tone changed. He told me, without giving details, to see my doctor urgently. Only when I pressed him did he mention the umbilical cord was wrapped around my baby’s neck. Still, I was sent home,” she painfully narrates.

She went home, but her instincts prevented her from staying any longer. She returned to MTRH the next evening. Despite her case being an emergency, nobody wanted to attend to her at the hospital.

“I only got admitted because I knew someone who could help me through the bureaucracy. I was in pain and still having contractions. Yet I was bounced between the labour ward and doctors, who kept delaying action and questioning my presence. One even accused me of causing a scene.”

After a long wait coupled with frustration, Daisy was told she would have a caesarean section in 30 minutes. This came with no emotional preparation, and no family member was with her. They had been told to go home.

 “I was alone and terrified.”

What came next felt more like punishment than care. The nurses treated her like a burden.

“I was cold and had layered up to feel warmer; they mocked me: “Umevaa vitu mingi sana na umekuja kuzaa, harakisha!” (“Why are you overdressed, and yet you came to give birth? Undress quickly!” Then, with a catheter inserted, I was told to walk myself down a corridor to the operating theatre—alone.”

In that theatre ward, a little ray of light appeared. The anaesthetist was a bit kind. He talked her through the procedure, explaining every step, helping to calm her nerves. But the surgeon confirmed her fears.

“The umbilical cord was tightly wound around my baby’s neck twice. By God’s grace, my baby arrived safely. I cried from relief,” she narrates.

The journey to recovery from a CS came with a new kind of pain. A nurse tried to pull her out of bed before the anaesthesia wore off. Daisy’s legs gave way, and she almost fell. On top of that, she was blamed for not having breastmilk and for not knowing how to cup-feed her newborn. There were beds, but they had to share them. Two women, each with a newborn, were placed in one bed. Daisy says it was very uncomfortable and with no privacy.

“I asked for help, but I was dismissed, judged, and repeatedly told I was a bad mother. When my baby dozed off after a few spoonfuls of formula, I was told I had made her sick. That she’d be taken to the NICU. I believed it. No one showed me how to care for my baby—only how ashamed I should feel for not knowing.”

Two days later, Daisy and her newborn were discharged. When she got home, she finally took a shower and relaxed.

“My breastmilk came flowing, and I realized then that it wasn’t my body that had failed. It was the healthcare system. Respectful maternal care is not a luxury. It is a right. And for too many women, especially in public hospitals, that right is still being denied in 2025.”

Daisy adds that no mother should walk into a hospital seeking help and walk out feeling broken.

“I knew and listened to my body, but I was silenced. I asked for help, but was shamed. I wanted to care for my baby, but was never shown how. It’s unacceptable that, in this day and age, women are still forced to share beds after major surgeries like a C-section.”

Betty Cheptoo, a 45-year-old businesswoman and mother of three, remembers vividly how she got her first child in 2000. Her water had broken at home, and she started getting contractions.

“I was then taken to the hospital by my mum at around 6 pm. This was in May. When we got to the hospital, the nurses told my mum, “She is a grown woman now; she needs to come in alone.”

But her mother refused and kept telling them to understand that Betty was a first-time mum. “I was twenty years old and naïve. I didn't even know how far along I was with the pregnancy. I kept asking the nurses to check how dilated I was so I could give birth.”

At around midnight, the nurses had all left. Her mother went to look for them, and that is when the baby had to come.

“I climbed on the bed and pushed the baby myself. I pushed so hard and being alone, the baby slid on the green, slippery hospital canvas and almost fell, but I held her with my legs.”

Instead of helping her handle the situation, the nurses hurled unprintable insults at Betty. Betty’s firstborn is now 25 years old and lives with asthma.

“I believe she lives with that condition because she was exposed to too much cold at birth,” she says.

After delivery, Betty had a  post-partum haemorrhage. Instead of stopping the bleeding, the nurses took her to the post-natal ward, where she fainted due to excessive bleeding.

“I had to stay in the hospital for two more weeks for a blood transfusion and close monitoring. But it’s like the nurses did not want me there. They even wanted to discharge me before the doctor saw me. He came and found that I was anaemic and advised the nurses to admit me until I had enough blood.”

Betty’s birth experience with her second child in March 2006 appeared to be better than the first, but it all turned out to be a façade. The hospital was allegedly part of Gilbert Deya’s “ministry” that claimed they could help infertile women conceive "miracle babies" through prayer.

Deya was accused of orchestrating a child trafficking ring by falsely claiming infertile women gave birth after prayer, when in reality, the babies were believed to have been stolen from hospitals and poor families in Kenya.

“It was a private hospital, so I was treated very well. I was given a bed in a room where there was one other expectant mother. Labour pains went on progressively and then stopped at around 9 pm. Then I was told everything would change. I knew I would deliver normally. But suddenly I was told I would have to go through CS.”

Were it not for a nurse called Betty, just like her, her baby would have been sold to the child trafficking syndicate.

“She came and secretly told me there was a woman who had lost her baby, and she suspected they wanted to swap her with mine. I was shocked.”

The nurse told Betty to refuse the CS because the medics had planned to overdose her with anaesthesia so they could steal her baby, who had already been paid for.

“I am so grateful to the nurse, my namesake Betty, who saved me and my baby from a child trafficking scheme. May God bless her wherever she is. My son, Kipkorir Levyryan, is now 17 years old and in form three.”

Although many mothers will agree that the delivery process is entirely in God’s hands, the discrepancies between public and private hospitals in maternal healthcare cannot be overstated, as they directly affect the health and safety of mothers and newborns.

Public Hospitals are often understaffed, with overworked nurses and midwives. More frequently than not, reports of disrespectful or abusive treatment during labour and delivery come from public hospitals where there is limited time and resources for personalized care.

On the other hand, private hospitals typically offer more attentive and respectful care. This could be due to higher nurse-to-patient ratios and comfort measures such as private rooms and available pain management options.

For Laura Otieno, a 31-year-old journalist and mother of one, her journey was pleasantly different. On the morning of 12^th September 2018, at around 7 am, an expectant Laura woke up to pee and noticed some blood. She told her mother, who took her to a private hospital for delivery. Unlike the experience of many mothers in public hospitals, Laura’s experience was executive.

“I remember being surrounded by about four nurses. I was asking one to feed me, another to rub my back, and another to switch the fan on and off, it was such a beehive.  I then had a very strong urge to pee, and they told me to pee on the bed, and I said no, but they told me that it might be the baby coming, so I started pushing.”

Laura felt safe, respected, and comfortable throughout the delivery process. From the pep talks, back rubs, and moving the fan to different positions upon her request. “At one point, I thought I was being stubborn and even apologised, but they said it was not an issue.” She also received the support she needed after birth, both physically and emotionally.

“I wish the government would also consider hiring more nurses and midwives because perhaps it would be nearly impossible to get such personalised service in a public facility. Similarly, doctors should also be gentle with mothers who are giving birth,” she says.

Divinah Bosibori, a teacher by profession, also had a smooth birthing experience at the Kenyatta National Hospital in 2014. Her labour pains took only 35 minutes, and the nurses were kind to her.

“The fact that she was so caring and concerned gave me hope that everything would be okay. She even followed me to the washroom and massaged my back,” Divinah vividly recalls.

After delivery, the medics took time to explain everything she was going through. She was having a post-partum haemorrhage, but she was not scared because they encouraged her and explained how they would manage the bleeding. Divinah, now in her thirties, advises expectant mothers to be intentional about where and with whom they deliver their babies.

“Nursing is either a calling or a profession. So when you go shopping for hospitals, don't look for professionals, look for the ones with a calling,” she says.