Our Kind Of People: A Continent's Challenge, A Country's Hope - Plot & Excerpts
The one-story building featured nearly empty room after nearly empty room. In the lobby, our footsteps echoed against walls covered by a few instructional posters—how to breast-feed, how to do oral rehydration therapy—but there wasn’t much else besides a few empty wooden benches that lined the walls. The exam rooms had old tables with rusted legs and foam padding pushing through cracks in their vinyl upholstery. There was a birthing room populated only by a bed frame, no mattress on its sagging springs. A storeroom with a few bottles on otherwise barren shelves served as a pharmacy. Doc said very little as we moved from room to room, pointing only to the items that would identify the purpose of each space—a broken operating table, nonfunctioning surgical lamps, a portable autoclave for sterilizing the few instruments he had at his disposal. When we finished the tour, the cavernous lobby was still empty. The room was quiet. Doc sighed with relief. There were no patients. It was only then that I realized that a number of the clinic’s windows were missing windowpanes.
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