For Hassan, a 28-year-old father from a small village Afurow in Bay region, the birth of his son almost a year ago was a day of both joy and heartbreak. His wife, Fartun, went into labor at home, as there were no health facilities or midwives anywhere nearby. After a long, obstructed labor, Fartun tragically died giving birth to their baby boy. Hassan was devastated. He buried his wife on the same day their son took his first breaths. In the weeks that followed, as he fed his infant goat’s milk from a cup, Hassan kept wondering what he could have done if a hospital or doctor had been within reach. “She didn’t die at a hospital; she died in childbirth at home,” he says quietly, the pain still evident.
Determined to honor his wife’s memory, Hassan poured all his love into caring for their newborn, whom he named Mohamed. But when Mohamed was about ten months old, he fell gravely ill. The baby began suffering from chronic diarrhea and vomiting, growing weaker day by day. Hassan did what little he could, he bought some pills from a local shop, even tried traditional remedies but nothing improved. “I kept hoping he would recover,” Hassan admits, describing those desperate weeks. In his heart, though, he knew the truth: Mohamed needed real medical care, or he too might not survive.
One Monday afternoon, Hassan finally made a decision. Gathering the modest savings he had left, he wrapped his sick child in a blanket and set out for Baidoa, the nearest city with a hospital. The journey was long and risky (much of the region is perilous to travel), but a neighbour had told him about an MSF-run hospital that treats children for free. Upon arriving at Bay Regional Hospital, Hassan felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The staff admitted little Mohamed immediately. The baby was diagnosed as severely malnourished and dehydrated, likely from prolonged illness. MSF’s doctors started Mohamed on therapeutic food and rehydration fluids at once.
That night, for the first time in months, Hassan slept without fear. “Now, my son is finally getting treatment,” he says, watching over the crib where Mohamed is receiving care. Over the next days, Mohamed’s diarrhea subsides, and he manages to have a weak smile. Nurses cheer as he finishes a cup of nutrient-rich milk. Hassan knows there is a long recovery ahead (his son is still fragile) but hope has been restored. Hassan plans to tell everyone in his community about what he’s seen in Baidoa. He wants his neighbours to know that free, high-quality care is available if they can reach it. It’s not easy, the journey costs money and time but Hassan believes every parent would do the same if they understood it could save their child. He has already lost a wife to the broken healthcare system; he refuses to lose his son. As he cradles a now-stabilized Mohamed, Hassan allows himself to imagine a happier future. “If Allah wills, we will both go home healthy,” he says. In his grief, he has found a new purpose: to make sure his community’s mothers and children get the chance that Fartun did not.