Her dream-self recalls a day,

years ago, in the desert.

Driving for hours,

on a remote track

from one community to another,

far out west of Alice Springs –

the roads rutted and red. 

 

A call at the last minute to go to Yuendumu.

There’s an emergency – a silent epidemic.

So many sick kids and babies. 

 

Her training means she’s organised, 

efficient, kind.

Her makeshift clinic 

a four wheeled drive 

covered in dust.

 

Munta, I’m sorry, she says over and over

as she washes thick yellow pus 

clotting in babies’ eyes,

the screaming children clawing at their parents 

to get away from her.

 

The injection is worse –

white tacky penicillin,

her apologies

make no difference to the screaming.

 

The day was cold, 

and she recalls being grateful for that, 

heat and flies would have made it worse,

if that were possible.

 

She finds the keys to the visitor’s house,

falls into bed, sleepless,

the sheer numbers,

exhaustion giving way to horror. 

 

 

Notes:

Sorry – Munta – ‘sorry’ in Luritjaone of the many Western Desert languages spoken in Indigenous communities west of Alice Springs. The symptoms described are usually caused by non-sexually transmitted gonorrhoeal conjunctivitis, a highly transmittable eye infection that can affect babies and children, spread in overcrowded living conditions, poverty and where there is limited access to water and good health care.