Between interviews at a health center in Ngororoero District in Rwanda earlier this week, I sat quietly to take in the sounds of the health center. My whole life the sounds of hospitals have been sounds of the terribly sick — beeping monitors, hushed nurses trying not to disturb family members, quiet weeping, and moans of pain, frustration, exhaustion from patients. Granted, I haven’t spent much time in health care facilities in the US; I myself having the good fortune of seeing my doctor once a year for an annual physical. But the sounds of the health center in Ngororoero seemed to be conveying health and life, not illness and death.
In Rwanda, as is true across much of Africa, countries are shifting to a focus on primary health care and integrated service delivery. This is evident in the types of services that are provided at health centers, but also in the other activities taking place. Health centers not only serve as a place where mothers can bring their sick children, and the elderly can come to see the doctor or nurse; they are hubs for community health outreach activities, nutrition programming, and income generating activities.
As I listened to the hustle and bustle of the health center in the late morning, I heard the pained wails of babies being vaccinated against measles
and whooping cough. I heard excited chatter of mothers gossiping with one another as they waited to have their children weighed to ensure that they were growing healthily. A group of Community Health Workers had arrived to the health center to discuss the upcoming month of health promotion activities — including, promoting family planning uptake, particularly with men; encouraging members of their communities and villages to enroll in Rwanda’s mutuelle (national insurance program); as well as plans for the upcoming insecticide treated bednet distribution campaign, in order to protect against malaria in women and children. Beyond the enclosed structure I was sitting in, I heard tires urgently grinding on the gravel drive as the ambulance arrived at the health center with a pregnant woman who was experiencing complications during delivery. Hopefully she has reached the health center in time, and both she and her baby will survive.
Certainly the waiting area sees pregnant women with preeclampsia, who appear too tired to move, let alone talk. Elsewhere in the health center, women are delivering babies; certainly accompanied by the sounds of pain, joy, and the cry of newest additions to families. Elderly men and women at the health center to be treated for malaria, tuberculosis, and HIV. Their eyes are sharp, watching the children play in the courtyard. Young children whimper and cry as they quietly suffer from fever. Coughs signify acute respiratory infection, most likely pneumonia. Although this is the most quiet part of the health center, it is almost thunderous in meaning — they’re here for treatment, and they will be seen by a competent health care provider, and will likely leave today with the medications that they need.
As the day winds down, and sick patients are leaving with handfuls of medications and instructions for rest, water, and healthier meals, the noises that remain are the cogs of the health center humming. Papers rustle as notes are made in patient registers, final boxes are ticked in the vaccination section of children’s health cards, and nurses confer with one another quietly about today’s complicated cases.
As we pack up to leave, I think about all of the activities that have gone on here today — mothers left with supplies of fortified flour to cook for their children; vaccinations given; malaria treated; antibiotics dispensed; and health promotion activities were planned. No doubt, this community is healthier today than it was yesterday.















