Habiba Wakio
Furaha sat next to a mother with a crying baby in the waiting room, trying her best to ignore
the itch on her body. She had visited a nearby private clinic, but the three-day injection and
medicine did not heal her. This time she decided to try a public dispensary, hoping for a positive
change. The place was fully packed. To her right were women lined up, and to her left some
were checking their blood pressure.
“That's the doctor,” said the woman who had noted down Furaha's personal information.
She was pointing at a short man heading towards a room that offered family planning services.
He spent thirty minutes there.
Furaha watched as the man went from one hospital room to another. It was an hour later when
she was able to visit the doctor in his office. He asked what her problem was, and she
explained. He told her that there was no medicine at the moment and that he could prescribe it
to her, though it was expensive.
“If you come back after a week, you'd get it,” he said. “Just take my number and confirm with
me on Monday.”
She scoffed, scratching her back. As if her itchiness would hold on till then. This revelation
brought her back to what her neighbour had told her on her way there.
“There is no medicine at the hospital. It's pointless to go there.”
“It's okay. I would wait.”
She took the doctor's number and left. Fortunately, she met with a friend who recommended
the medicine she had used before.
“It's one of the best. Just get it from the clinic.” She gave her the necessary directions.
Furaha sighed with relief as she headed towards the said clinic, hopeful that she would finally
say goodbye to the disease.
