We continued waiting for him. When it became apparent that he was taking his time, my husband went into the clinical officer's treatment room where he was also asked for the card. The clerk reappeared but for whatever reason, he was not in a state to record my daughter's particulars. My husband grabbed the pen and the child's under-five card and wrote the particulars himself. I was ushered into the clinical officer's treatment room. He examined the child. Her temperature was 39 degrees Celsius. He asked if I had given her any drugs at home. I told him I had given her some chloroquine. To my surprise, he leaned back in his chair and told me to go back home and continue with the same treatment. I tried to reason with him but to no avail. I went outside the treatment room and explained to my husband what the officer had said. He went to see the officer while I remained outside with the child. I did not hear what the two were discussing, but out of frustration, I went back and grabbed my book and told my husband that we should leave and take the child to another clinic. It was after 06:00 hours. Apparently, there was another couple whom I will call Mr and Mrs Mubanga (not real names) who had actually gone to the clinic the previous night. Mr Mubanga had developed a fever in the night. He paid some money because he had no medical insurance. He was told to see the clinical officer. Mrs Mubanga explained to me that the couple decided to go to Kabwata Clinic to seek medical treatment but after waiting for a while, they were told to go back home and return at 06:00 hours because the clinical officer had gone home to see a sick child. They obliged. But even in the morning, treatment was not forthcoming, a move which prompted the couple to demand a refund and opting to go to a private clinic. Mr Mubanga told the clerk to refund him, to which he replied: "Tashamoneka kwena inonshita" (there is no money at the moment)." An agitated Mr Mubanga lashed out at the clerk. He told him to produce his money because he was the one who attended to him the previous night, but the clerk insisted that there was no money. We left the two arguing. We decided to take the child to Premium Clinic (a private clinic) at Premium House in Kamwala.

The Premium clinic clerk ushered me into treatment room where a doctor examined the child. Since the temperature was still the same, I was referred to the laboratory for a malaria test. While I was at the lab, he came and informed all the patients he was attending to that he was leaving us in the hands of his colleague who was doing the morning shift. He had knocked off. With a smile on his face, he said bye to the patients. After a 15-minute wait, the results were ready and I went back to see a doctor in the treatment room. The slide was positive. The doctor asked if I had given the child any drugs. I told him I had administered some chloroquine. He weighed the child. Noting that she weighed just above 25 kilogrammes, he decided to increase the dosage to 30 millilitres. I had given her 15 millilitres. He prescribed three injections and some antibiotic. We were further advised to go back to the clinic two times at 17:00 hours and at midnight. What struck me most was the difference in the reception at the two institutions. Going to a government clinic is a torturous experience. On our way home my daughter was all smiles and I could not help but smile too. We went back at midnight and the following day my child was up and running again. For the treatment my child received at Premium, we only paid K33,000 and I can proudly say, it was worthwhile. To the staff at the Premium I say "Bravo" and keep up with the good work. The staff that was at Kabwata Clinic on that day behaved in the most pathetic manner. They have a long, long way to go and quite clearly, they need a push.

The Daily Mail, 22 June 1999