“So, this is why you’re always bugging me about the wipes.”
Archie
Our second week in Uganda was a whirlwind, and I can’t believe we’re already leaving tomorrow. I’m going to miss everything here—the dusty golden light, the chaotic chorus of birds at the break of dawn, and even the lukewarm showers. Hopefully, I’ll get the chance to do this again someday. For longer next time.
I’m checking the board to see if I’ve been assigned a camp duty today—praying it’s not latrines—but luckily, I’m not on the list.
Katherine saunters up next to me. She’s wearing a loose button-up shirt rolled to her elbows, and her hair is pulled back in a messy braid that carries a golden shimmer from the morning sunlight.
“I learned my lesson,” I say with a chuckle, glancing at the list again. “About time too.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, swaying on her feet. “Crazy how fast it’s gone. It’s already my last medical run. Only my second mobile clinic too. I said goodbye to everyone at the clinic this morning. It felt… weird.”
“Can I come?” I blurt without thinking. “I mean, we’ve already established you need me. My schedule may have been booked up this past week, but today, I am at your full disposal.” I channel a mock-serious tone, like a knight offering his service.
She rolls her eyes, but her lips curve up. “I was actually going to be alone today—Amara’s sick. So, yeah, I could use an assistant. But you have to promise to behave.”
I place a hand over my chest. “As if I’ve ever done anything less. I am anexcellentassistant, thank you very much.”
“All right then,” she says, already marching toward the clinic. “Let’s go.”
By the time wefinally load up the truck, I’m convinced Katherine has secretly signed us up for a month-long expedition, rather than a single-day medical run.
“This is a lot of stuff,” I say, arms laden with packed boxes and first aid kits.
“I’m expecting a lot of work. The village is secluded, and they haven’t seen a doctor in months.” She hands me another canvas bag. “Already regretting this?”
“Absolutely not,” I say, loading up another bag.
Once everything is wedged into the truck bed like a precarious game of Tetris, we pile into the back seat, and the driver takes us to Kitagoma. The roads get bumpier the farther we drive. Taking a sharp turn, we whizz past grazing goats, small clusters of houses, and finally, long stretches of red earth and dry bushland. No cell signal. No buildings. Just sun, sky, and billowing clouds of dust.
It’s late morning by the time we roll into the village. A few kids scatter toward the trees, peeking shyly from behind the crusted trunks. Meanwhile, a group of adults come forward, led by a man in his fifties dressed in a patterned shirt and a worn cap.
The driver chats with him in Luganda, then turns to us and introduces him as the chief of the village.
“Thank you for coming,” Chief Omondi says. “We have set up for you.”
“Thank you,” we both reply with genuine smiles.
The setup is little more than a table and a couple of chairs clustered near a standpipe under a shaded tree, but Katherine beams, telling him that it’s perfect.
We unload our supplies, and soon, a queue starts to form.
The first patient is an older woman with a persistent cough. Katherine listens carefully to her chest with her stethoscope, asks a few questions through a local translator, and checks her temperature. “I’ll give you something to help with the cough,” she says gently. “But it’s also crucial that you boil your water before drinking it. Smoke from indoor cooking can make this worse too. Do you cook with wood inside your house?”
The woman nods, and Katherine lays out some safer options using simple gestures and words. Finally, she hands over a packet of medicine, smiling warmly.
Before the woman gets up to leave, Katherine pulls out a small book of thick brown paper from the bottom of one of the crates. “This,” she explains, holding it up, “is called The Drinkable Book. Each page is a filter. You tear one out,” she says, showing her as she speaks, “place it over a container, and pour dirty water through. It filters out bacteria and parasites. Each page contains two filters, and the whole book iscapable of filtering a hundred litres of water—a month’s worth for one person.”
The translator relays her words, and the woman nods again, her eyes widening as she watches the demonstration.
I stare at the thing, eyebrows raised. “That’s… genius,” I say. “Why haven’t I heard of this?”
“It’s not that well-known, but very efficient.”
“So, that’s what was so heavy,” I muse. “Now I get it. Pretty cool.”
“Yeah,” she says with a smile, handing the book to the woman. “I brought the rest of the stock. I figured they’d need it here as much as anywhere.”