I was making dinner a few weeks ago, listening to NPR, when Kris Holloway came on to talk about her book, Monique and the Mango Rains.  The story sounded familiar enough--Peace Corps volunteer comes home, wants to make a difference, tells her story--but this one had a twist.  Instead of simply highlighting her own experiences, Kris Holloway was passionate about sharing the wisdom of someone else--Monique Dembele, a village midwife in Mali.  Kris wasn't talking about some African woman she met; she was talking about a friend, a soulsister if you will.  As someone who has benefitted deeply from the friendship and sisterhood of African women, I instantly felt that I wanted to meet Kris, hear more about her life as a mother and writer <i>and</i> help her get the word out about Monique and her legacy.

A short email exchange later, Kris agreed to this interview.  I wanted to share it with you, my Minti community, in hopes that by hearing this story, we'd all be inspired to care about Africa and  to raise our kids to be loving and open to people we meet who are more like us than we might have first imagined.  I also wanted to encourage parents who are interested in becoming writers.

So, just to make things fun today on Minti, I will donate $1 to Monique's Clinique (via Kris) for every comment left in the space below.  Or maybe I should say $1 for every comment until my husband taps me on the shoulder and says, Uh, babe, we don't have that kind of cash lying around.  :)  Maybe we can talk Mr. Minti Clay Cook to send some Aussie dollars, too, in the event I run myself to the poorhouse.  Anyway, let's give Kris a warm Minti welcome and learn a little bit about her experience as a mother, a writer and someone who cares about friendships that can change the world.

You talk in the book about both being apprehensive to enter the hut where the women gave birth and also being aware that this was a communal safe space where men could not enter.  How did the things you saw in that birth place come back to you in your own experience of becoming a mother back in the United States?  Is there any bit of wisdom from Monique's experience as a midwife that stayed with you when you were getting ready to give birth yourself? 

Before working with Monique I had never seen a birth, and in fact, didn’t know or think much about motherhood at all.  I was only 22, fresh out of undergrad, and I had spent my life avoiding pregnancy and its consequences. At 25, Monique, a West African woman and my host during my Peace Corps stint in Mali, was only a few years my senior. But she had married at 19, had given birth to three children, lost one to malnutrition, and was the sole midwife for a village of 1,400 people. And in a country where a woman’s lifetime risk of dying in pregnancy or childbirth is 1 in 12. A few years older than me in age, centuries older in the ways of women and mothering.

When it came time to give birth here in the U.S. (when I was in my late twenties), I had a different paradigm for what was “normal” than most of my peers. I was certainly more comfortable with natural birth and birth outside of a medical facility. That’s all I had known. I had witnessed the power of a woman’s body when coupled with the skill and grace of midwifery care–one of Monique’s great gifts to me. And I had the luxury of being well-nourished, having a wanted child, and knowing terrific medical back-up (a large university hospital) was only10 minutes away.

But I must say, as a graduate student in public health at the time, I also did my research. I wanted to give birth at home, for it felt right, but was it safe? I read lots of scientific articles on the subject, which all led to the same conclusion: birth at home was just as safe for me, and probably safer, than birth in the hospital. Culturally, we Americans can feel a sense of safety with an OB-attended hospital birth that simply isn’t backed up by data. And all the countries with the lowest maternal and infant mortality rates use midwives! I gave birth to both of our kids at home, attended by midwives and surrounded by family and friends. Please know that I don’t wear this as a badge of honor (I really can’t stand the “my birth was better than your birth” thing), but I do wish all women had accurate information on the choices available to them in childbirth.

I loved the part in your interview on NPR when you recounted Monique describing you as sisters--"same mother, same father."  As a mother, I want my kids to be able to transcend the barriers of race, class and creed for the sake of genuine friendship and collaboration.  From your experience of knowing Monique and forging that friendship, what do you think makes these rare soul connections possible?  How can we nurture this kind of receptivity in our children?  

Fart jokes. It all comes back to fart jokes. What I mean is that sharing a sense of humor is essential. A shared sense of levity certainly bonded Monique and I to each other (farts, penises, and donkeys were common threads of humor – I’m sure they are all connected in some comic, if not cosmic, way). Working hand in hand and depending on one another for survival also forced us to depend on that common humanity. Living with Monique showed me that we all want the same things: enough to eat, a place to rest, the love of family and friends, the right to lead a life that holds meaning. I strongly believe that seeing the “other” in ourselves is the essence of peace; only a few sickos kill their own families.

I love your idea of nurturing our children’s natural openness, especially when they are young and before societal prejudices, or the prejudices that we all unconsciously may carry, affect them. How? Again, work together towards a common goal, share meals and yards, be neighborly (perhaps you all down in Maryland do this better than we New Englanders do). Growing up, my family always had exchange students (from Egypt, South Africa, Malaysia, China, Switzerland, Lebanon) in our home. I learned early on that very different skin tone, language, food preference, or religion had little impact on whether we could enjoy a good meal, a game, or a hike together. 

It's not unusual to meet a would-be writer with a sense that there's this story inside them that must be told.  What moved this project from a story you wanted to tell someday to a book you had to write now?  What advice do you have for writers/mothers who feel a similar sense of call towards a particular story or subject?
 
I never felt that I had a story inside me that had to be told, but rather, Monique’s story had to be told and I was the only one who could tell it. Of course, I had always thought about writing about my Peace Corps experience, as it was pivotal in my life (and not just because I met Monique, but also because I met my husband there).  But I never put my plan into action – it remained in the “one day, I’d really like to….insert: write a book, vacation in Hawaii, earn my doctorate, bike across the United States, learn how to do calligraphy.” But when this fantastic, charismatic midwife and dear friend died in childbirth, I knew that I had to write about our friendship, her life and her legacy.

My advice to other writers: 
 
First: Birthing/mothering/parenting offers a never-ending stream of interesting tales. You must separate grain from chaff and find the kernels worth telling, what are the experiences that you can’t get out of your head? Who are people that changed you?

Second: When you know this “essential story”, then learn craft. I took fiction-writing workshops because, ironically, I had a story, but I didn’t know how to tell it. Belonging to a writing group, where every one of us is working on a manuscript, has also been vital. I’ve learned so much through critiquing others’ work.

Third: Keep writing. Force yourself to write every day. All writers will tell you this and it is true. Be okay with putting crap on a page, because now at least it’s on the page, and not in your head. And besides, there WILL be something not smelly in there. 

Fourth: Get something published in a local paper or a magazine, or a mothering-related publication so that you’ll have something to show an agent when you need one. I give this advice because it’s the advice that I followed. There are more resources than ever before to help writers at each stage of the journey to bookdom. 

Also – if you’re in the Boston area this January (doesn’t that sound just warm and lovely?), come to my weekend workshop at Grub Street Independent Creative Writing Center called  “Writing That Changes Lives”, January 13th-14th. Come tell the stories that changed your life!

Ben Okri   believes that the crisis in Africa will never be completely healed until we rediscover the true Africa.  Here's a quote from an essay he wrote for Ode:

Africa has been waiting, for centuries, to be discovered with eyes of love, the eyes of a lover. There is no true seeing without love. We have to learn to love the Africa in us if humanity is going to begin to know true happiness on this earth.

I think your tender account of your friendship with Monique is the kind of love Okri is talking about.  What can mothers and birth advocates like myself do to honor the memory of Monique and the other lay midwives providing maternal healthcare in West Africa?  What do you want your readers to know about the grit and grace and beauty you discovered in the women of Mali?

Thanks, Jen. I hope that women, when they read Monique’s story, come to know her as I did─as a friend, as a mother, as an ordinary woman called to do extraordinary things. She is a wonderful example of what one person, with good common sense, a sprinkling of pizzazz, and a large dose of courage can do! I have a huge amount of hope for the future of West Africa, and Africa. I truly believe that there are thousands of Monique’s across this great continent – if we can hear their stories and give them the resources to achieve their goals, Africa will absolutely rise up and have its day in the sun. 

In a concrete way, what can we do? Well, give money, of course! Our dollars make such a large impact. For example, schooling a child in Mali for one year costs less than $10 per month; midwifery training is less than $25 per month. A percentage of proceeds from sales of  Monique and the Mango Rains fund the education of Monique’s children (and hopefully will encompass many more children) and expand the capabilities of “Clinique Monique”, a rural health clinic in Mali started by her family. Angele, one of Monique’s sisters, is now a midwife and hopes to work here. (more info at www.moniquemangorains.com).  Educate others about women’s lives in West Africa – read books, see films Moolaade by Ousamane Sembene is a great one), discuss with friends, write articles about what moves you. One person spreading the word absolutely makes a difference. Ben Okri also writes, “The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering.” In the people of West Africa and in us all, exists a powerful urge to better our predicament, to sweet the moment, to change lives for the better.