Norbert Kohl unwraps the infant from his blanket.

He's tiny, just two weeks old, doesn't make a sound, just makes a wrinkled face.

Kohl listens to his lungs and feels his lymph nodes with his fingertips.

"Looks good," he says.

Just a bronchitis.

Kohl's translator Janerose explains to the mother in Swahili how to give the little one the drops against the infection.

Kohl takes some notes.

The mother has hardly got up from the plastic chair with the young patient when the next woman moves up.

Hundreds of patients are still waiting.

Theresa White

Editor in the Rhein-Main-Zeitung.

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It's a special day in Korogocho: office hours.

The hall of the youth center where it takes place is full - women, men and children sit on simple benches and watch the doctors taking the anamnesis and treatment until it is their turn.

There is no privacy.

It often doesn't happen that doctors offer their services in the slum in the north of the Kenyan capital Nairobi.

The corrugated iron huts along the muddy to dusty paths at the foot of the gigantic dump are home to around 200,000 people, most of whom make a living by collecting garbage at the dump.

This is where all the waste from Nairobi goes.

No x-rays, no ultrasounds and no HIV tests

If you want to know what basic medicine is, you can go to the youth center of the Ayiera Initiative in Korogocho.

The two-storey house, in which dance courses, soccer training and private tuition for the children from the slum actually take place, is transformed into a makeshift clinic once a month.

The young people stuck black garbage bags for medical waste on the walls.

Printed A4 sheets show the way to the emergency room and the laboratory.

An unpleasant smell wafts through the open window, somehow sour.

These are the chemicals from the dump.

There are no X-rays, no ultrasounds and currently no HIV tests.

They are not available.

However, there are three doctors from the German Doctors who look at the patients and treat them as best they can.

Norbert Kohl is one of them.

On his long folding table are a reflex hammer, disinfectant, a lamp and the paperback “Antibiotika am Krankenbett”, a tattered edition from the 1980s, but Kohl prefers to look up too much rather than too little.

The illnesses he sees here differ from those at home.

Which German child still has mumps?

Or parasites like those that infest the organs after a day at the dump?

Kohl - slim, white short haircut, 70 years old - is a retired pediatrician from Bad Vilbel.

He also chairs the Association of Friends of the German Doctors there, and his wife now runs his practice.

He has worked for the German Doctors many times, mostly in the Philippines, Bangladesh or India.

The concept envisages that German doctors work there for six weeks,

where there is a lack of medical care.

They don't get paid, they have to pay for their flight themselves;

many sacrifice their annual leave for this.