Field Notes from the Dispensary

Photographed on assignment, shared with permission
Rural health clinic in Moshi, Tanzania

6. December 20:31
…the clock struck 11am and we returned. This time, the whole dispensary was full of mamas and their babies, wrapped tightly on to their backs, little faces peeping out of fabrics in all different colours and patterns. They took turns hanging their own babies from the little fabric swing-type-things, some, like the first baby, also just staring around and looking confused, others scared and on the verge of tears. A few screaming at the top of their lungs. The nurse wrote down each baby’s weight. As I stood there surrounded by what turned out to be 90 young mothers, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie. Not because I’m a mother- I’m not. And not because I’m a woman, and not because I love babies and coloured fabrics and freckles on faces and the pink walls of the hospital - but because my mind started running thinking about the things that traverse nations. That tie the human race together: babies. Hurting. Crying. Soothing. Feeling, wishing, hoping, dreaming. Because in the end, we’re all essentially the same. And it doesn’t feel fair so much of the time, but in that specific moment, it felt like it was actually okay. That everything is okay. That everyone is okay. That though the lives we all live simultaneously are both inherently and absolutely different, it’s okay that way.