Mr. Kathyoka, the facility in-charge, shakes our hands and leads us to his office. I try my best with a Chichewa greeting, which he pretends is endearing. Mr. Kathyoka is middle aged and wears worn trousers and a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His office is spare—a small metal desk; a couple of wooden chairs; some files piled on a bookshelf. A single window. Lights are off because, like most health centers, there is no electricity.