The Last Midwife | Stuff

Corrina Parata is the sole midwife for the entire East Cape, driving around 4000 kilometres a month along rugged coastline to tend to families sometimes living without power or running water. Michelle Duff joined her to find out what life is like for the first babies born into the world.

You couldn't call it a house. 

It's a tin shed, a garage at most. Inside, the floor is swept dirt. There's a stove and a round table, and a mother standing at the bench holding her newborn child.

Her top is unbuttoned. She's just been breastfeeding. It's four days since the birth, and she's emotional. Outside, the world is rain-drenched paddocks and inside it's dark and cold but the baby is wrapped up warmly, a woollen bundle of soft lips and perfect eyelids.

Midwife Corrina Parata takes the baby, re-wrapping it before placing it in a wahakura, or woven flax basket, on the table. She speaks to the mother in low tones, congratulating her on the difficult birth, telling her how wonderful her child looks, asking if she's been taking her epilepsy meds. The mother's face brightens, her eyes soaking up Parata's words.

"She's beautiful," I say, a useless contribution.

The mother kisses me. "Thanks for coming," she says.

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