We have not seen the sun for more than a month. We are suffocating. We arrive at the clinic as a stream of distressed mothers comes down the outdoor stairs, their small pouches stuffed with unknown medicines for their families at home. Inside, in a stifling waiting room, the smoke once again hangs in the air. Parents clutching babies in sarong slings line the grubby walls.
Young children cough and mutter, clutching handkerchiefs to their faces.
One child continuously spits mucous into a dirty plastic bucket beside him on the floor. Everyone wants to see a doctor. Everyone wants an answer. Zulfan dips into my backpack and hands me a box of surgical face masks we had brought from Jakarta. As I begin handing them out to the smallest children near me, consternation breaks out.