I hear the baby crying in my sleep. My mother hands him to me. I sit up to breastfeed without opening my eyes then I hand him back. I know that when I am ready to get out of bed, there will be fruits and katogo, a meal of plantain mixed with all the fatty meat cuts my mother could lay her hands on, waiting for me. Or I could choose to have porridge. It is sacrilege to have a nakawere (new mother) in the house and not have a flask of hot porridge available for her all day. Nakawere … the syllables are pronounced slowly, and the word must roll off your tongue with awe at the woman who just went through the remarkable ordeal of bringing life.
Replaying my new mum experience became my favourite pastime when I moved from Uganda to Switzerland in May last year. I moved with my husband and two children, aged six and 12, because I found my dream job in health advocacy. I was not ready for the parenting nightmare that came with it. While I had lived in Europe before, including in the UK in my 20s, I had never had to live outside Uganda with my family. Nothing prepared me for the reality of mothering without the extended family to help take care of you, and the nonchalance with which the western world treats mothers.
