God lives in public hospitals

Even in the chaos of these health centres, divinity moves through ordinary people doing extraordinary work

- Lesego Chepape

There are years when you walk with a quiet hope that your body will not betray you.

You take the long route — avoid sugar, drink your water, stretch your back, breathe through the stress.

You take your vitamins, pray, meditate, journal your gratitude into the margins of difficult days. You do it not because you enjoy routine — but because you can’t afford to get sick.

Last year, I didn’t have medical aid. Not by choice. By circumstance.

So, I did everything in my power to stay out of hospitals. Especially a public one. If you’ve ever spent a night in a state facility, you'll know what I mean when I say — do your best to avoid it. Not because there are no good people in them. But because there aren’t enough of them to hold the weight of so much suffering.

Still, there are moments when the body will not negotiate.

One Saturday afternoon, a sharp pain woke me from my nap. At first, I dismissed it. Took a few painkillers. Curled into myself and hoped for relief. The pain mimicked a period — so I named it one. We name things we hope to control. But this pain refused to be tamed.

By nightfall, I was on all fours, crawling in my bedroom, bargaining with a body I thought I understood. There was no more delaying. No more pretending. I needed help.

I made my way to Ethafeni Clinic in Tembisa — close enough to home to feel familiar, far enough to still feel uncertain.