There was a time when giving birth at home wasn’t just common in Uganda—it was often the only option. For women in villages like Mutema, Amuru District, where the nearest reliable health facility is an 8-kilometer walk to Lacor Amuru Health Center III, and if complications arose, the journey stretched even farther, 58 kilometers to Lacor’s main hospital. For many, that distance was too far.
On the other hand, tradition also played a role. Childbirth was seen as a private affair, something to be handled at home with the help of family or local birth attendants. Poverty made the decision easier because hospital fees were a luxury when every shilling was needed for food and shelter. But the cost of home births was steep. Without skilled care, mothers and newborns faced infections, bleeding, and other life-threatening complications. The statistics were grim, though often unspoken.
In 1959, our hospital opened with a simple goal: to provide quality, affordable, and sustainable healthcare to those most needed it. But we quickly learned that waiting for patients to come to us wasn’t enough. Too many mothers couldn’t make the journey, especially in places like Reckiceke Village, where 15,000 people lived with little access to medical care.
So we started going to them.
Outreach teams began traveling to Mutema and other remote areas, setting up temporary clinics under trees or in community spaces where we offered antenatal check-ups, educated women about the dangers of unassisted births, and slowly, patiently, built trust. It wasn’t easy. Old beliefs ran deep, and skepticism lingered. But over time, something shifted.
Expectant mothers arriving for ANC and other health services
Mothers who once would have given birth at home began arriving at our under-tree outreach points, sometimes walking for hours to get antenatal care. They come because antenatal care offered what home could not—early check-ups to detect risks before it was too late, advice on nutrition and safe pregnancy, and the assurance that a skilled midwife would be there when labor began.
For many, it was their first time learning how to prepare for birth, understanding the signs of danger, and knowing where to go when complications arose. Antenatal care in our outreaches also opened doors to safer deliveries in clean, well-equipped hospital spaces, where babies could cry their first cries without fear.
One mother told another, and soon, words spread: antenatal care meant safety, hope, and a better chance for both mother and child. With every story shared, change took root.
Today, the number of home births in Mutema and across Uganda has dropped significantly. It’s not just about proximity to hospitals anymore; it’s about trust, education, and the quiet understanding that no mother should have to risk her life to bring another into the world.
Healthier children join the team
This progress didn’t happen overnight. It took decades of outreaches, conversations, and persistence. But the results speak for themselves: healthier mothers, stronger babies, and communities where childbirth is no longer a gamble.
The work isn’t over. There are still villages where distance and tradition keep women from care, and we’re committed to reaching them, too. But when we look back at how far we’ve come, it’s a reminder that change is possible—one birth, one mother, one village at a time.
