In the mountain communities of Dampay, Salaza, Palauig, Zambales, where many Aeta families live, childbirth is not only about labor and delivery, but also about the journey. Before a mother can reach a hospital bed, she must first cross rough roads, wait for transportation that may not come, and gather money that may not be available. For healthcare workers, reaching patients requires navigating the same terrain, often under urgent and unpredictable conditions. In these communities, distance is more than geography; it shapes decisions, risks, and outcomes.
Healthcare workers describe the area as geographically isolated, where terrain and weather make access to care difficult. According to Nurse Kinshaza, even reaching these communities requires preparation and the right vehicle.
“As we know, they are geographically challenged kasi nandun sila—malayo talaga. Kailangan namin ng maayos na sasakyan. Ang hirap kasi, malalaki ang mga bato at pataas yung lugar nila. Isa pa, apektado rin ng weather.”
Even when roads are passable, the nearest hospitals are still a significant distance away.
“Kapag sobrang lakas ng ulan, mahirap pumunta sa hospital namin dito sa Iba. I think mga 20 minutes to travel from here—from RHU. Meron ding ospital sa Candelaria, pero mas malayo yun, mga 30 to 40 minutes via ambulance.”
For mothers living farther up in the mountains, the trip can take much longer. Travel time depends on traffic, road conditions, and whether transportation is available at all.
Nanay Rosalie P. shared how long it takes for them to reach the hospital:
“Ay, mga isang oras pa ang byahe, Madam, papunta sa ospital. Lalo na pag marami pang traffic diyan, Madam. Edi isang oras at kalahati, talagang hindi ka na aabot, Madam.”
When labor begins, the search for transportation becomes urgent. Many families do not own vehicles and must hire motorcycles or rely on others.
“Dito po, mahirap po maghagilap ng motor, lalo na po wala po kaming sarili. Nagbabayad din po kami sa mga motor, pero wala po kaming mahanap.”
In one instance, Nanay Rosalie went into labor at night but could not find a ride, as she began giving birth while still walking down the mountain. Instead of continuing to look for transportation, her family carried her back home.
“Binuhat na nila ako, Madam, inuwi dito, at inayos po nila yung higaan diyan, Madam.”
For many mothers, this reality forces difficult decisions. While they understand that hospitals are safer, reaching one is not always realistic.
Nanay Rosalie G. explained, “Alam na po namin, Ma’am, pero syempre po, sa hirap po ng buhay namin, mas mabuti na lang po dito sa bundok kasi kung pupunta pa po kami sa ospital, tapos gaya po diyan, wala pong sasakyan.”
Distance is not measured only in hours but sometimes in days. Nanay Rosalie described walking for two days just to reach town.
“Lakarin po namin papuntang bayan po, bale dalawang araw pa po yun, Ma’am. Ang layo po hanggang Iba.”
Without money, transportation becomes even more uncertain.
“Yung may mga service naman po diyan, hindi naman basta-basta po kami isasakay kung wala kaming pera.”
Healthcare workers also face the same barriers when responding to emergencies. Midwife Menchie recalled being called when a mother was already about to give birth.
“Tinawag na ako, ‘Ate, palabas na,’ sabi niya. Nakita ko ang ulo—talagang yung baby na ang palabas.”
Without a proper facility nearby, she had to find whatever light and space were available.
“Doon tayo, kako, sa may street light. Doon ko pinalabas yung inunan dahil wala talaga akong gamit.”
She delivered the baby without equipment.
“Pinaanak ko siya ng bare hands.”
Midwife Elizabeth explained that some mothers come from geographically isolated and disadvantaged areas (GIDA), making travel extremely difficult.
“Yung sa GIDA area, na napakalayo—halos 12 hours kapag maglalakad, 6 or 7 hours ganun. Mga 2 hours naman kung sasakyan.”
Because of these distances, healthcare workers advise mothers to travel down early for check-ups or before their due dates. However, financial constraints and work responsibilities often delay these trips.
Midwife Elizabeth recalled a case where a mother postponed coming down from the mountains.
“Pinapababa ko siya. Sabi ko, ‘Baba ka na bukas at magpapacheck-up ka.“
The mother chose to wait.
“Matagal pa akong bababa,’ sabi niya, ‘sa 30 pa ako bababa.’ Ang nangyari po, sa daan palang, nag-bleeding na siya.“
By the time she reached the hospital, the baby could not be saved.
“Pagdating po sa hospital, wala na rin po yung baby.”
For both mothers and healthcare workers, distance remains one of the most powerful forces shaping childbirth in these communities. It influences when mothers seek care, whether they reach facilities in time, and how healthcare workers respond to emergencies. In these mountain areas, the path to safe delivery is not just about medical readiness—it is about crossing the long and uncertain road to care.
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The Philippines’ No Homebirth Policy aims to make childbirth safer by encouraging hospital deliveries, but for many women, especially in rural and low-income communities, poverty, distance, and cultural traditions make home births unavoidable. Bridging this gap requires more than rules; it calls for accessible, affordable, and culturally sensitive healthcare.
For many Aeta mothers in remote mountain communities, giving birth at home is a matter of necessity, not choice. The journey to distant hospitals can be exhausting, painful, and risky, and labor often comes too quickly to reach them, leaving mothers to deliver where they are.
In the mountain communities of Dampay, Palauig, giving birth is more than labor; it is a race against distance, rough terrain, and scarce transportation. For many Aeta mothers, hospitals are hours or even days away, forcing them to rely on family, midwives, and sheer determination to safely bring new life into the world.
In Palauig, Zambales, the absence of a licensed birthing facility forces Aeta mothers to give birth at home or wherever they happen to be during labor, despite the strict No Homebirth Policy. Their stories reveal a harsh reality where safety regulations collide with geographic isolation, limited resources, and the resilience of midwives who serve as the first line of maternal care.
In the remote mountains of Palauig, Zambales, midwives are more than healthcare providers. They are lifelines for Aeta mothers, traveling across rough terrain to deliver babies, offer guidance, and provide comfort in the absence of hospitals. Their dedication, compassion, and shared heritage build trust that ensures no mother faces childbirth alone.
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