Having tuberculosis can be imprisoning in so many ways. The symptoms. The stigma. The endless stream of medicines. The isolation from family and friends, work and school. The sheer duration of treatment. It’s a brutal disease that measures its awful toll in months and years.
On the second Tuesday of each month, about 6km beyond the village of Mpemba, where the narrow road hugs a hillside over rocks and streams, there is a clinic. The clinic isn’t a flashy building with bright hallways and fancy equipment, although there is a lot of natural light. There isn’t even a building at all.