Shiphrah and Puah: Midwives to Pharaoh, Mothers to Mayhem (and Mayhem-avoidance)

From Exodus 1

Right, well, where do I even begin? You see, life as a midwife in Egypt ain't exactly a laugh a minute. Long hours, questionable hygiene, and the ever-present threat of a royal sandal up your backside – standard midwife stuff, really. But then, Pharaoh throws a real spanner in the works, doesn't he? "Just pop off any wee lads coming out, will you?" he says, as casual as you please, like asking for the sugar. Now, call me old-fashioned, but infanticide wasn't exactly in my job description.

So, me and my pal Puah, we have a wee chat. "Right," I say, "fancy a bit of divinely-sanctioned civil disobedience?" Puah, bless her cotton socks, was always game for a giggle (and let's face it, defying a homicidal Pharaoh is bound to raise a chuckle). So, we did what any self-respecting midwife with a conscience would do: we lied. Like, Olympic-level fibbing. "Egyptian women? Pah!" we'd scoff. "They take forever to give birth, wouldn't know a contraction from a camel's cough. These Hebrew ladies? Pop 'em out like popcorn!" Pharaoh, bless his gullible little heart, lapped it up.

Now, let me tell you, keeping a straight face while delivering a bouncing baby boy while simultaneously formulating a plausible lie on the fly is enough to turn your hair grey (though mine was already the colour of desert sand, thanks to the Nile water and the ever-present sun). But we did it. Every little fella who squawked his way into the world got a wink, a smile, and a quick dunk in the birthing pool (minus the crocodiles, obviously). Talk about baptism by fire!

Google Gemini generated image; the midwives in discussion with Pharoah

Of course, Pharaoh eventually cottoned on. Not the brightest spark, that one. He summoned us, face like a thundercloud, and demanded answers. Now, some might crumble under such pressure. Not Shiphrah and Puah, oh no. We doubled down, spun him a yarn about the vigorous Hebrew ladies more convincing than a sphinx salesman. Pharaoh, bless his even more gullible little heart, bought it hook, line, and sinker.

And so, our little charade continued. We became the ultimate underground railroad, smuggling newborns to safety while simultaneously delivering Pharaoh's pronouncements with the deadpan delivery of a particularly unfunny mummy. It was stressful, exhilarating, and frankly, a bit bonkers. But hey, someone had to do it, and Shiphrah and Puah? We weren't exactly shrinking violets.

So, there you have it. The untold story of the midwives who outsmarted a Pharaoh, saved countless lives, and probably invented the first deadpan comedy routine in the process. Not bad for a couple of ladies with questionable birthing stools and even more questionable morals (when it came to following Pharaoh's, that is). Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a basket, a bulrush, and a very special baby boy. Just another day in the (hilariously terrifying) life of Shiphrah and Puah!

Disclaimer: This blog post is purely for comedic purposes and does not condone infanticide or defying murderous dictators (although, let's be honest, sometimes it's tempting). Please consult your local deity for appropriate moral guidance.

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That was generated by Google’s AI engine Gemini from this prompt:

“Write a humourous account from the perspective of the midwives Shiphrah and Puah, in the style of Billy Connolly, in design of an entertaining blog post, of the midwives Shiphrah and Puah of their conversation with Pharoh. Use Exodus 1 which is copied here: [insert all of Exodus 1]”

I had learnt the manner of writing prompts for AI engines from the book: The ChatGPT Revolution: How to Simplify Your Work and Life Admin with AI (Paperback), by Donna McGeorge. This post links from my Goodreads review of the book. Prompts need to indicate Purpose, Perspective and Personality. The account likely records the first ever instance of civil disobedience.

The strength of the AI engine is perhaps best illustrated in the closing sentence in that alludes to the story of Exodus 2. 

I borrowed McGeorge's book from City of Sydney Library.

Shalom,

Ozhamada