Beginnings

I just ate an early morning breakfast at my favourite French deli.

On the way back, I saw a friend of mine in the distance, walking quickly toward me. I noted that he was in jeans, sandals and a crumpled shirt, with a canvas bag slung across his chest. Odd, I thought, for my friend works at a bank.

His lanky gait on this particular morning was full of energy and life force. I warmly felt his presence approach, seeing him before he could see me on this particularly fine morning in west London.

As we neared a wide grin broke on his lips - a full smile of absolute joy and happiness and we embraced.

'I am off to deliver my new baby!' He cried 'labour just started!'. His entire being was one of pure possibility and optimism - one of unrestrained enthusiasm and openness.

I enquired as to which hospital he was going to so I could send a note, and bid him my very best wishes, letting him continue on his way.

In truth, can there be a more beautiful start to an August morning than bringing a new life into this world? And can a baby have better prospects in life, or start with a more pristine plate of infinite possibility, than to be born into a loving family and a civilised society?

As I got home, I sat and savoured that beautiful moment.

Then I remembered something I had read recently, written by Aung San Suu Kyi in 'Letters from Burma'.

'There is something about the natural smell of a babies skin that invites cuddles and kisses. Certainly I like both the shape and smell of babies, but I wonder if the attraction does not lie in something more than merely physical attributes. is it not the thought of a life-stretching out like a shining clean slate on which one day may be written the most beautiful prose and poetry of existence... The birth of a baby is an occasion for weaving hopeful dreams around the future... However, some (Burmese) families are not able to indulge in long dreams over their children. The infant mortality rate in Burma is 94 in 1000. The mortality rate for those under the age of 5 is 147 per 1000. 123 mothers out of every 100,000 die in childbirth.'

How can this be?

My friend, the actual picture of young fatherhood, was so happy and safe in his knowledge that his wife and unborn child were in decent medical care. Should it not be so for all?

But a country such as Burma has very little hope of such services. A country that produces 90% of the world's rubies (more valuable than diamonds) and is rich in minerals and beauty, and which languishes under a deeply corrupt communist regime with the worst human rights record on the face of the planet, cannot even tackle the issue of health education for newborn babies.

I am taking this on. I accept it as part of my mission.

So that Burmese fathers can hurry to help their wives through labour with the same vitality and abandon that was present in my friend this morning.