The early-morning air was calm and thick with humidity. Multitudes of frogs croaked, and lagoon insects hummed their part in nature’s symphony. Sleepily, I walked along the path with Steve by my side, not exactly sure where we were headed. A few minutes before, Kadu had knocked on our door and roused us out of a peaceful sleep to inform us that Jimmy’s daughter, Kawaniyato, was having difficulty delivering a baby. Questions raced through my mind. “Do I know her? Why didn’t she go to the hospital in Balimo? How much help can I offer with my little experience?”

As we followed a trail that took us behind Jimmy’s house, I saw a light in the distance and began to hear a baby’s cries. “I guess she has already delivered the baby, and I won’t be needed,” I mused. Entering the birthing area, I found Kadu’s wife, Baoboato, an experienced midwife, squatting beside Kawaniyato. A crying newborn girl lay on the ground next to her mother. I was quickly informed that there were two babies, and maybe even three! As I stood there contemplating the situation, I recalled recently seeing Kawaniyato walk past our house with an enormously protruding abdomen. Suspecting twins, my only thought was, “I hope she goes to the Balimo Hospital!” Unfortunately she hadn’t, and now she was having a high-risk delivery in utterly primitive conditions. After asking a few questions, I breathed a quick prayer to God for help and opened my midwifery book. Hurriedly finding the section on delivering twins, I read that the second baby should be born within 15 to 20 minutes, otherwise serious complications could occur. Great! How long has it been since the first baby was born? I wondered. Only God knew, and I would have to trust Him to help me through this challenge. Turning to Kawaniyato, I did a quick assessment and then began trying to restart her halted contractions.

At 7:30 a.m., nearly two and a half hours after the knock on our door, a little foot popped out. I grabbed the foot and gently guided the wet, slippery baby girl into the world, then clamped and cut the umbilical cord. But something was wrong—she was not breathing well. With no suction equipment available, I started slapping her. Half a dozen ladies gathered around me, all pinching and shaking the baby, trying to get her to breathe. After what seemed like minutes, she finally took a deep breath and began crying lustily. Praise God! What a relief. This beautiful baby girl was going to live.

However, Kawaniyato’s condition was deteriorating. She was growing weaker from blood loss, and the placentas still needed to be delivered. My mind raced. We needed to get her to the hospital, but how? Our dinghy was half an hour away on the other side of the village, too far for Kawaniyato to hike in her condition. Floating grass in the lagoon blocked us from bringing it any closer.

Finally, we hatched a plan. Someone had radioed the hospital, and they were sending the ambulance to meet us at Tai, a village on the other side of the Aramia River. Our job was to get Kawaniyato into a nearby canoe, paddle to the other side of the lagoon, cross a ridge to another lagoon and paddle another canoe out to the point where our dinghy was moored. From there we could motor down the creek to the river and over to Tai.

Kawaniyato was struggling to remain conscious. Ladies were feeding her dry sago and Milo (an enriched chocolate drink) to help build up her strength. Our first challenge was getting her to the canoe. It wasn’t far, but she nearly fainted on the way. After a brief rest, she was able to get into the canoe, and we paddled across the lagoon. On the other side, we helped her out of the canoe, through knee-deep muddy water and onto dry ground.

Our next challenge was a daunting hill. “How are we ever going to get her over that?” I wondered, but God provided an answer. Ladies appeared with a makeshift stretcher of logs and vines. We carried Kawaniyato over the hill and down to the next lagoon, where about 20 people climbed into a large canoe and paddled to the point where our dinghy waited. At the shore, some young men helped us wade through the muddy shallows and over to the dinghy. Steve had a quick prayer, and our laden dinghy sped off across the lagoon as rain began to pelt our faces.

Kawaniyato’s life hung in the balance, and I longed to wrap her in a nice warm blanket as the rain continued to fall. In the arms of two ladies, the newborn twins were wrapped only in thin sheets. I prayed for their health, too.

Whenever Kawaniyato would start to lose consciousness, the ladies would rally around her, pinching her cheeks, tugging on her ears and squeezing a spoon between her clenched teeth to maintain an open airway. Amazingly, Kawaniyato devised her own way of staying alert. She began singing Into My Heart, and the other ladies joined in.

After a harrowing trip through swamp grass and rain, we finally reached Tai village. But where was the ambulance? It was nowhere to be seen. How much longer could Kawaniyato hold on? Most of our group hurried into Tai to look for the ambulance while Steve, Baoboato and I stayed with Kawaniyato. An hour later, the ambulance finally appeared. The medics lifted Kawaniyato onto a gurney, and a nurse started an I.V. As we watched the ambulance full of Gogodala ladies disappear down the potholed dirt road to Balimo, I breathed a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks.

Later, I learned that Baoboato had donated blood at the hospital so Kawaniyato could have a transfusion, and she and the twins were doing fine. Three days after the ordeal, I was passing Jimmy’s house when Kawaniyato came out to greet me with a big smile on her face, looking strong and healthy. She gave me a tight hug of thanks.

Reflecting on this experience, I was struck with Gogodala community-mindedness. Relying on each other is a necessity for problem solving. It also places value on people, and the person in need feels cared for.

Next time I find myself in a seemingly impossible situation, I hope I will remember to seek Gogodala advice. In their difficult environment, Gogodala people are experts at dealing with crises and devising solutions. If only I can learn to think like a Gogodala!

• Twitter