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Incessant winds blew coarse grit onto the delivery room counters and tools. Faded tables with orange, dirt-stained creases were the best any hospital had to offer. I scrubbed each of the two available tables with whatever scraps of clean fabric I could find. Equipment was sanitized by bleach or boiling water. As I was finishing my daily cleaning, a swollen skeleton stumbled into the delivery center. She was ready, or thought she was ready. I watched the midwife check her pulse. Good. Dilation? Good. Minutes of moaning turned to hours. Finally, a tiny foot poked out. The pallid blue skin starkly contrasted the light pink table. Then, all at once, the baby came. The umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck, her mouth open in a silent scream. Without hesitation the midwife grabbed one of the small, filthy cleaning towels, wrapped the baby, and handed her to me – dead. In Africa, death is second nature. Before volunteering I knew the statistics, but I had no experience with their meaning. Now death faced me. Walking down the road greeting street kids gives no solace when you know they will be dead in a few weeks. Still, I could see from their emaciated faces that they appreciated my compassion. I encountered these same expressionless faces everywhere I turned. A year later, while working in a refugee camp, they peered up at me again. However, this time they were the result of a different medical disparity. “Sabah alkhyr, Jamilla.” Dr. Zyoud poured the last drops of morning coffee into a small paper cup. His kind eyes were bloodshot, his forehead wrinkled with worry. Dust blew through the open windows; solid glass was a luxury too expensive for this hospital. “Sabah alkhyr, Dr. Zyoud,” I felt ashamed for my well-rested body. “Working the night shift again?” “Every day, Jamilla. If I don’t, no one will.” Crowding in refugee camps causes disease and depression to spread almost instantly. The high demand for doctors creates a starved healthcare system where each doctor is required to work many hours each week between multiple facilities. Hospitals are mere blocks apart, yet the equipment and cleanliness separate them by decades. Poverty keeps many from proper healthcare. The doctors do their best, but inferior conditions are often to blame.