Public Health, Public health concern, Social Issue

Let’s change the rules to save women’s lives in Haiti

Fairly called Poto Mitan in Haitian Creole, women account for 50.49% of the Haitian population and represent the center pillar of most households. From commerce to education, their contributions to the society are undeniable. As the prosperity of the nation relies on its citizen’s well-being, it is no surprise that women’s health is a public health priority when it comes to the national health policies. But despite the efforts, unsafe abortion remains unfortunately a scourge as prevalent as poorly addressed.

I recall my last shift at Chancerelles’ maternity ward where a 16 year-old pregnant girl presented with intense abdominal pain and massive vaginal bleeding. At first, she did not admit any medication ingestion prior to the onset of her symptoms. But as we pursue the medical investigations, her 30-year-old boyfriend confessed that he had provided her with 4 pills of an over-the-counter drug known to provoke abortion in pregnant women. For the gynecology residents, it was a routine and classic case. Yet openly discussing unsafe arrest of pregnancy in Haiti is controversial since it’s so much of a taboo.

The World Health Organization (WHO) defines unsafe abortion as a procedure for terminating a pregnancy performed by persons lacking the necessary skills or in an environment not in conformity with minimal medical standards, or both. Every year, 50.000 women, mostly from Latin America and Caribbean countries, die from consequences of unsafe abortion. According to the article 262 of the Haitian penal code, induced abortion no matter where or who performs it, is a criminal act and legally punished nationwide. But regardless of the law (or maybe because of it), complications of clandestine abortions are common motives of visit in general and obstetrical care facilities.

SDG3

Target: By 2030, ensure universal access to sexual and reproductive health-care services.

Carole, the latest patient I examined, was going through her second abortion experience and presented with severe anemia after 15 days of bleeding. When she got pregnant, economic difficulties arose, urging her to take the decision with her husband’s consent. But the specialized hospital she visited wouldn’t provide the desired services as forbidden by the law. So she turned to a clandestine clinic, even when the fees were high. As we shared our opinions, she said that it would be beneficial for women to abort safely with optimal medical assistance because the absence of a legal framework for safe abortion and technical capacities almost took her life away.

A few days later an obstetrician and HIV care specialist told me that to alter the perilous consequences of unsafe abortion in Haiti, it would be best to decriminalize it. Among the 530 women deaths per 100.000 inhabitants per year in Haiti, 120 are attributed to unsafe abortion. Fortunately, in the last quinquennium, the Ministry of Health has debated the subject and elaborated a new bill with several social groups to allow abortion for medical purpose and in rape cases. This is one step forward in the modernization of women’s health in Haiti even when it hasn’t reach the parliament yet.

But the main causes of induced abortion being socio-economic status, maybe the bill should also include women who desire to arrest their pregnancy for any reason other than congenital malformations or rape. It would be better if every woman could openly  discuss it with their doctors.

Because it is the State’s duty to guarantee optimal health care to the population, and health is not restricted to the body. It includes mental and social well being.

It would be valuable to couple activism with effective health communication. Because often, the barriers to improving women’s health in Haiti are some erroneous traditional beliefs. My intention here is not to downplay any religious or cultural values, as some have actually improved women’s health. My advocacy is to conduct proper scientific studies on this public health issue and clearly communicate the best ways to prevent the consequences. After all, prevention costs exponentially less than complication management and as the recently published statistics show, the State’s funds have long been depleted.

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Social Issue

Beneath the Beautiful Bright Paint Covering Jalouzi

This story first appeared on WoyMagazine – Design by EBMD 

I still remember that November morning, Moise Street in Petion-ville was under reconstruction. Dust filled the air and provoked my nose to sneeze multiple times. It was my first day of work as a doctor in Jalouzi. I decided to walk to get there; that was my way of getting to know this colorful neighborhood I knew very little about. All I had in mind were my brother’s quips likening Jalouzi to Kabul by day and New York City by night.

Jalouzi is an impoverished, overpopulated neighborhood, or what the international media would call a slum, in Port-au-Prince with countless houses stacked on top of each other. It is not unlike many other neighborhoods in places like Carrefour feuilles, Carrefour, la plaine etc. The only thing special about Jalouzi is its proximity to Petion-Ville. The view from Petion-Ville’s hotels and bustling restaurants occupied by tourists, expats and the wealthy is none other than the stacked houses of Jalouzi. Ever since the beginning of Jalouzi en couleurs, a government project to paint the houses of Jalouzi in bright colors, a couple of years prior, the slum had caught the world’s attention. So my heart was filled with excitement to experience this side of Haitian life. Almost a year after my experience there, the memories are still vivid in my mind. Yet Jalouzi remains the media’s cherished story, to the extent that RYOT has recently shot a 5-minute documentary short called “The Painter of Jalouzi” for the release of the iPhone 6S Plus of the mega brand Apple. Much to my disappointment, the movie conveys a good bit of misinformation and heavily clashes with the daily reality of Jalouzi.

It took a visit to the archives of Petion-ville’s Town Hall and to the bureau of the civil protection while researching for a book I am writing about Jalouzi to learn that nobody knows the exact number of people actually living there. I realized then that while the bright colors provided the slums with more visibility, the people remained invisible to the State. The people of Jalouzi welcomed the Jalouzi en couleurs government project simply because these people have nothing; they have no choice but to welcome whatever is offered to them. It is no surprise then, that for many of the patients I discussed the project with, healthcare and running water would have been their top priorities if they were given a choice.

Along the Stenio Vincent street in Jalouzi, three health care centers could be counted as of December 2014. But since my first visit, the one that belongs to the Ministry of Health has been closed. Today, its driveway is occupied by vendors, making it difficult to even be noticed. One of the private centers has packed up and the building has been rented to other businesses. Yet the need for healthcare itself has not diminished one bit. On the contrary, in the midst of this situation, various illnesses have arised. Why? Because poverty leaves people extremely vulnerable.

There is no reliable running water in Jalouzi. On the days I reached Jalouzi by foot, I climbed along the slippery steep stairs where women and children carry buckets of water on their heads. Unfortunately, they can only get this water from trucks with water tanks that come once or twice a week, depending on how business is. In the rainy season, there is no clear distinction between the trash and the walkways. Therefore, the soles of people’s feet become public transport for germs which end up straight inside their homes, the stacks of chaotic construction. In the marketplace, food is sold on the floor, meat is covered with flies, the sanitation conditions are dire and precarious.

A mother confessed one day, in the examination room: “All the problems I have go beyond the bright color of my house.” As her issues accumulated, she ran out of money to pay the rent, solely relying on family based in the United States. Her problems, which are closer to the rule rather than the exception, could not be alleviated nor transformed by a paint job. Just as her constant headache did not go away with the makeup she wore that day. Throughout its narration, RYOT’s documentary depicts a delusional image of what life is in Petion-ville’s Jalouzi, which is far from being Haiti’s largest slum, contrary to what they report. Its transformation is only superficial, and the ultimate beneficiaries remain the spectators, foreigners or locals, enjoying the view of Jalouzi’s brightly painted houses from a distance.

In spite of its worldwide reach, “The Painter of Jalouzi” has failed to call for real transformation in people’s lives. To be more accurate, the short film might as well had depicted the real painter of Jalouzi as an outsider. Someone far from the reality of the neighborhood, working in the slums during the day, and returning to relax in his suite at the Royal Oasis Hotel in Petion-Ville at night. This is a missed opportunity to raise awareness on the very real issues of healthcare, education, clean water, energy and human dignity. The government’s Jalouzi en Couleurs project has failed the people of Jalouzi. Why don’t we build schools in the name and memory of Préfète Duffault? Why don’t we push the Ministry of Health reopen its health center? Does it help to apply lipstick to a pig, or to disguise the misery and hunger of the most vulnerable? By blinding ourselves from the suffering of others, one day we might end up being the victims of our own farce.

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