15 #2
Tania pulled off a side street that was covered with an overgrowth of tropical trees.
A simple sign reading “Medical Centre” in both English, and what she assumed was Te Reo adorned the facade of this humble building.
The center is low and unassuming, clad with corrugated metal and painted in neutral grey and soft cream tones.
It almost blended into the landscape, rather than stood out.
There were surprisingly large glass windows that overlooked a footy field across the street.
Young kids were passing around a rugby ball while running and playing.
Claire smiled to herself at the sight of these kids enjoying a simple life.
“Here we are!” Tania said in a singsong as she pulled into a small gravel car park with a few spaces, a bike rack, and a flagpole, hoisting the flag of New Zealand.
“Thank you so much, Tania,” Claire said to her friend, “I will see you in about 6 hours?”
“Take your time. I am in no rush today.” Tania waited for Claire to enter the clinic before peeling out of the lot.
Inside, the waiting room was tiny. Really tiny. Claire had felt a new sense of purpose seeing the state of this medical center, and now she was ready to help in any way possible.
An older, portly, Māori woman helped Claire to her spots and onboarded her to the roles and responsibilities at this venue.
There was only one computer, one phone, no badges to swipe, no space for other workers.
The smell of burnt coffee and antiseptic filled the air as the clinic was to open for the day.
It seemed to Claire that this medical center was built for continuity and trust, rather than efficiency at scale.
It reflected the rhythm of the village life: steady, practical and deeply woven into the community it served.
When lunch rolled around, there were still no patients.
“Where is everyone?” Claire asked the admin at the front. Claire has learned that her name was Mere, widowed, and that she is well over retirement age, but she can’t seem to stop working.
“At the pitch,” she responded, “Toby Ngatai and Noah Wilson are in town playing with the kids.”
Claire was shocked by this answer. She wasn’t expecting the team to have such an impact on the kids in this village.
“Do they come here often?” Claire asked.
“Toby and Noah?” she responded, “Yes, as much as they can. Toby’s mom is here. Do you know of the Crusaders?”
“Yes, a little.” Claire was now looking out the window at the pitch across the street.
She had a clear view of the going-ons taking place.
She saw that Noah, Miko and Kelsey were surrounded by a group of children, and they were trying to organize them into positions with some kids listening and others distracted in awe.
Jack, Toby, and Liam were on the other side with their own group.
Claire quickly realized that calling this rugby was generous. What’s unfolding on the pitch looks more like a loosely organized wildlife documentary.
Two teams of what seemed to be 6 to 8-year-olds are scattered across the grass in bright jerseys that are already half-twisted and stained, despite the fact that the game hasn’t technically started yet.
Claire spotted a kid on Jack’s team tying his shoelaces with the concentration of a bomb technician.
Another is lying flat on his back staring at clouds and loudly announcing that one of them looks like a dinosaur eating a tractor.
Somewhere near midfield, a child is practicing tackles on an imaginary opponent who appears to be winning.
Jack is at one touchline, clapping his hands and shouting encouragement with the optimism of a man who still believes in order.
“Eyes up! Pass backwards! Remember-tag don’t tackle!
” he calls, even as three of his players sprint in the wrong direction, one clutching the ball like it’s a stolen treasure.
Across the pitch, Noah has gone for a different strategy: crouching down at eye level, attempting calm explanations that are immediately drowned out by a small argument about whose turn it is to be “the fast one”.
One child is enthusiastically tagging their own teammate, while another has decided the referee’s whistle is the most fascinating object in the known universe.
When the whistle finally blows, chaos erupts.
The ball is passed forward, dropped, kicked accidentally, then scooped up by a kid who takes off at full speed…
directly toward the sideline, beaming with pride.
Half the players are chasing him, others are trying to tackle - despite the “no tackle rule”, and one little girl does neither, but instead stops to wave at someone in the crowd.
Noah jogs along the sideline shouting instructions that get progressively more abstract. “That’s ok! Reset! Spread out! No -not all of you-” he cuts himself off as two kids collide gently and immediately sit down to discuss whose fault it was.
Jack tries to herd his team back into something resembling formation, arms out like a traffic cop. “Line up! Remember your positions!” he says, which is met with blank stares and one earnest question: “Why are you so tall?”
Claire watches it all through the clinic window with her arms folded, laughing under her breath.
The pitch is a swirl of mismatched socks, overlarge mouthguards, and pure enthusiasm completely untethered from rules.
It’s loud, chaotic, and utterly ridiculous.
Yet somehow, in between the confusion, there are small flashes of real play, and real joy.
It’s rugby as seen through the lens of childhood – messy, wholehearted, and impossible to control. Herding cats would be easier, but Claire can’t look away.
Her day ended with a whopping total of one patient.
An elderly man who needed a refill of a prescription for a beta-blocker.
Claire hoped that she would be able to make a real difference with her next shift, however, she was grateful to see the team in an element which seemed to be surprisingly natural.
Claire walked outside the clinic into the spring day as Toby waved her over to the pitch. The children and their dedicated coaches were refueling their bodies after a long day of drills and scrimmages.
A petite, dark skinned woman stood next to Toby, wiping dirt off his kit. To be fair, almost everyone looked small next to a 6’6” lock. Toby was one of the largest and tallest players on the pitch. Number 5 on the team, he is the primary target for a line-out.
“Hey, Doc, come meet my mum!” Toby exclaimed while walking over to where Claire was meeting them on the field.
Noah quietly peered over and squirted water into his mouth as Jack and Miko led the older matronly woman over to where Claire was walking to them. A kid handed Noah an orange slice to peel, breaking his attention. He lovingly smiled at the kid as he quickly accomplished his task.
“Mum, this is Doctor Ashford, the inhouse paperwork person and resident band-aid giver for the team.”
Claire was distracted by the scene that played out behind Toby and his mother.
She was young. Striking. All sun-lit and blonde with hair pulled into a messy ponytail, long legs, easy confidence.
She moved with purpose straight toward Noah, a rolled towel draped over her forearm like she belonged there.
“Oh,” she smacked Toby on the arm, “She is a doctor, Tama. It is very lovely to meet you, Doctor Ashford,” the woman said while stretching out both her hands for a loving hug. “My Toby has told me so much about you, we are happy to have you here in our little village.”
“It’s wonderful to be here,” Claire said, “Thank you for having me. It’s amazing how rugby brings people together isn’t it?”
The group was making conversation, when Claire overheard in the background. “Hey,” the young woman said, smiling as she handed the towel to Noah. “You look like you just ran the match yourself.”
Noah laughed, breath still uneven, and took the towel. As he wiped his face, his eyes flicked – not to the woman in front of him, but past her.
Straight to Claire.
Claire felt it immediately. That small, instinctive tightening in her chest when she realized he was checking. Not accidentally. Not unconsciously. He was making sure she saw.
“Thanks,” Noah said to the woman, letting the towel linger at his neck. “Guess I got a little carried away.”
Claire’s eavesdropping was interrupted. “Oh, where are you from?” Mrs. Ngatai asked.
“London, Ma’am.”
The blonde laughed at something Noah said and stepped to him a little closer than necessary. He made another quick glance in Claire’s direction. Deliberate this time. The woman followed his gaze, then back at him, amused.
“Your girlfriend?”
“No,” Noah said immediately, looking at how close Jack was standing to Claire and was dusting dirt off his shoulders. Noah winced at the sight.
Tania pulled up to the edge of the pitch in her RAV4, turned down her music and yelled out the window. “Ready for the beach, Claire?”
Claire turned her head to respond with a wave. “Yeah!”
The young blonde, still talking to Noah. “Well,” the woman said, lowering her voice just enough, “maybe we can get some coffee together sometime. Or a drink?”
Noah hesitated for a half a second – long enough to feel intentional – then smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Claire finally looked fully at Noah, meeting his eyes across the space. He held her gaze. Held it. As if daring her to react.
“It was truly an honor to meet you,” Claire said to Toby’s mom, “Hopefully, I can see you soon”.
“Take care of my kids, doctor.” The woman said jokingly. And then Claire left the group of premiere athletes, local kids, and a small crowd of onlookers.
Claire told herself it didn't matter. But the knot in her stomach said otherwise. For now, she would enjoy the rest and relaxation that came with the lapping sound of waves on a white, sandy beach.