The defining moment of this program, in my eyes, happened this week. After teaching to a gathering of approximately one hundred people, in a field, under a massive tree, a village leader approached our teaching group. He informed us that the village suspected a woman had AIDS and that they wanted to get her tested. He and about ten other villagers then lead us to her home to find out more information about her condition. We were pretty shocked by the openness of the villagers on this topic. Our training and experiences up to this point told us that a huge amount of stigma existed and that Tanzanians are deathly afraid to know and share their status. We came upon a mud hut, no bigger than my bedroom in the US, amongst some cornfields. Entering inside, we met a friendly, middle aged woman. The room was partitioned into two by a mud wall and she informed us that the patient was in the other room. I was shocked by the scene in the next room- it was bare, except for a broken wooden bed frame and there was a huddled mass lying in the dirt, covered by a thin piece of cloth. Based on her voice and the tiny size of her body, I assumed she was an old woman. After more conversation with the caretaker, we learned that the patient was her daughter. When I heard “ishirini na nane,” which means 28 in Swahili, my heart sank, because this dying, crumpled mass of person was only 28 years old. We ending up learning that there were 3 smaller children (who at that time were peddling some vegetables, from the small piece of family land, in a larger village) and a father in the family, as well, all living in this tiny hut, watching their older sister waste away.
Our group was pretty torn about how to respond to this girl and her family. Unfortunately, our program only provides education and free testing, but no actual aid to those with HIV/AIDS. We’re told that our program can put people in touch with other organizations who can provide direct support, but we weren’t sure about that reality. We really wanted to give the family food, but we knew we would be leaving in 2 weeks and we wanted to help in a more permanent way. Ultimately, we decided to bring the family materials to make food the next day and arranged to test the girl two days later. We figured that if she did have AIDS (which was very likely considering her symptoms- she’d been sick since May with various opportunistic infections of the skin and mouth), our group would sponsor her ARV treatment for the rest of her life (approximately $1 per day). We delivered the food the next day, for which the mother was very thankful, and returned the following day (Thursday) to test the girl.
So late Thursday afternoon, we returned to find 25-30 villagers along the way and outside the family hut. The first two women we approached informed us that the girl had passed away earlier in the day. We had made comments in the days prior about the urgency of getting her treatment and the possibility of her body giving way at any time, but we were still a bit stunned.
As I walked by the villagers on the way to the hut, I felt powerless and ashamed. All I could do was say ‘pole,’ Swahili for sorry (regardless of the severity of the circumstance). I could see the expectation in people’s eyes, that I should have helped this girl or now would do something to rectify the situation, being the American HIV/AIDS expert. But all I could do was say my one word of Swahili. I felt ashamed, knowing that next week I would return to my carefree American life, while people like this girl wasted away in mud huts, fighting starvation and AIDS.
For the last seven weeks, we’ve all committed our HIV/AIDS curriculum to memory and preached transmission, prevention, and caring strategies to hundreds of people. But this week, the program became much more real than it was before. I’m not sure yet how I feel about what I saw- probably a mixture of anger and sadness. I know that this girl would still be alive, had she had access to American health care, or even the free antiretroviral medication that the Tanzanian government promises to AIDS patients (to the great majority of people here, it doesn’t actually follow through on this promise). I also know that our government is spending billions of dollars fighting "terrorism," while turning a blind eye to the real terror in Africa.
Life in my homestay is still terrific (smooth transition, eh?). My favorite part is hanging out with my surrogate mom while she cooks food in the back yard. Perhaps because of this, my Swahili has dramatically improved. Despite the language barrier, I can appreciate my mama’s sense of humor and she and I joke around all the time. My Babba is a great guy, too, even though he pulled a 22 caliber pistol from his pants the other night and organized his handful of bullets in some sort of clip. Don’t worry though, he informed me its only for self defense (he’s a miner of Tanzanite, an expensive gem found only in Tanzania) and showed my his permit- needless to say I found these revelations very reassuring (wink wink). Seriously though, this homestay family is awesome- I’m planning on buying them a live chicken at the market today!
This might be my last e-mail, as I leave for the US in less than a week, but thanks for reading and I’ll talk to you all soon!
Eric
LCP
Aiesec Arizona
