Childbirth should be the sound of a new heartbeat, the scent of warm blankets, the sweet exhaustion of a couple gazing at their newborn. But in Kenya, too often than we care to admit, the first words a father hears are not his baby’s cry — they are the quiet, gut-wrenching ones: “I’m sorry. We couldn’t save her. Recent estimates show that Kenya loses 120 mothers to preventable maternal deaths every week. This is an unacceptable reality, and we must do everything in our power to end it.
Behind those statistics are shattered families — partners forever carrying the weight of heartbreak, and children robbed of a mother’s love before they could even experience it. Recently, I met a man who described, in vivid and painful detail, how, in one surreal moment, they were handed two things: A swaddled newborn and a death certificate. In that instant, joy and grief are so intertwined that it’s impossible to tell them apart. The man is no longer simply a husband; he is a widower, a single parent, and a survivor of a loss society rarely lets him grieve.
“Be strong for the child,” he’s told — as if strength means silence. In many cultures, men aren’t permitted to mourn openly. Tears are tucked away. Hospitals and clinics are rarely equipped to support them; grief counselling is rarely directed toward fathers. These men must navigate sleepless nights, bottle feedings, clinic visits, and the steep learning curve of being both father and mother. They face questions that have no easy answers: Will I be enough? How do I keep her memory alive? What will I tell my child about her mother?
This heartbreaking story sheds light on the experiences of the men and children left behind. Still, fundamentally, it is a story about directing our energy and resources towards saving women’s lives during childbirth. Supporting fathers and their children means providing psychological, financial, and social assistance when a mother dies. But the best solution lies in doing everything possible to save the lives of mothers before it’s too late — it is one of the surest ways to safeguard families’ lives and livelihoods. Here’s how we can achieve that.
First, put proven tools in every delivery room. We already have medicines and devices that can stop postpartum haemorrhage, one of the leading causes of maternal death in sub-Saharan Africa – causing about four in every ten maternal deaths. Heat-stable carbetocin can halt bleeding in its tracks even in some of the most remote corners of our country; tranexamic acid can buy precious time; and simple tools like a uterine balloon tamponade or a non-pneumatic anti-shock garment can mean the difference between a baby growing up with her mother or without her. These tools should be in every health facility, from level six hospitals to the smallest dispensaries.
Second, train every health worker to act fast. Tools alone won’t save lives if no one knows how to use them. Every midwife, nurse, and doctor should be trained to recognise postpartum haemorrhage in the first moments and act decisively. And when that isn’t enough, there must be safe blood ready and a referral system so a woman in danger can reach life-saving care before it’s too late.
Third, fix the health systems that too often fail women. When a mother dies during childbirth or soon after, the way the news is shared can significantly impact the grieving family. Hospitals and clinics must handle these situations with great care and compassion.
First, the family should be informed in a private and quiet space away from other patients. A senior health worker, accompanied by a counsellor or social worker, should explain what happened in clear, simple language – avoiding medical jargon.
The conversation should be honest but gentle. Health workers should listen patiently, allow time for questions, and acknowledge the family’s emotions. Whenever possible, a trusted family member should be present for support. It’s crucial to respect cultural and religious customs, and, if needed, a spiritual leader can be invited.
After the news is shared, families should be offered counselling or referred to support groups. Hospitals should also have clear guidelines for these situations so that staff knows exactly what steps to take. Finally, the incident should be documented properly, and the family informed if a formal review will be done.
By combining empathy, privacy, and respect, health facilities can help families cope with their loss. Regular, transparent reviews of maternal deaths — not to assign blame, but to understand what went wrong and make it public. Scorecards showing whether hospitals followed the right procedures may make officials uncomfortable, but they save lives. Local data can reveal where the gaps are, and culturally tailored solutions can close them.
Fourth, work together — across sectors and borders. Governments, non-governmental organisations, universities, international agencies and civil society organisations all have a role to play, and so do communities themselves. The media can shine a spotlight on this health challenge, health workers can save lives, and policymakers can develop policies and laws that give health workers the resources they need. When all these players work in concert, childbirth stops being a gamble and becomes what it should always be: The safe, joyous beginning of a family story.
The good news is that progress is achievable. Countries such as Rwanda, The Gambia, and Tanzania have embraced engagement of men in antenatal care, in prevention of mother-to-child transmission of HIV, birth and family planning, and in supporting breastfeeding practices. Evidence shows these efforts have doubled the uptake of interventions and slashed maternal deaths. But too often, change comes only after a tragedy makes headlines — and by then, it’s too late for that family.
