Visiting HIV/AIDs Clients

We sat in a small brick building, shorter than me and about the size of my bathroom. The hostess brought out all the chairs she owned from her tiny hut and placed both of them in the dim cubby hole. For everyone else, a corn meal bag had been split down the seam and laid flat. This served as a mat. Not much is wasted or thrown away here. A young woman, only 22 years old, was lead by the hand and told to take her place on the bag with the rest of our team. Since I am the oldest team member, I was given a chair. Age does have its rewards here in Zambia. Her mother joined us. We were told the client’s name, but I will call her Janet, because she has so little dignity to spare. Janet’s story is a common one here in Zambia. She was married very young, perhaps only 15. She had a baby who died shortly after birth. She gave birth to a second and then a third child. Soon after the birth of her third daughter, she tested positive for HIV/AIDS. Her husband divorced her as soon as he found out, a common practice here. He was now free to take another wife. To answer the question that came quickly to my mind, and probably yours, no, he was not tested. Zambia ended mandatory testing some time back, and the people do not want to know their status for fear of becoming an outcast. Many do not get tested until they are so sick that they must go to a hospital. By the time they know their status, the ARV drugs are not as helpful. The earlier an HIV/AIDS patient begins these treatments the better the quality of life. Remember, AIDS does not kill a person. Their bodies cannot fight off the diseases they get and the sickness kills them. In a country full of disease, the life expectancy of an AIDS client is much shorter then in the U.S. Hospitals have few beds and are far away from many of the villages.

At the end of our visit, Janet’s two girls were brought in to meet us. One of these girls is already very sick, probably positive also. She has not been tested. In my mind I am screaming, “Why on earth not?” Since this option is not allowed, I pulled out my Bible and read Psalm 139: 1-16. God gave me the passage that morning for the clients I would see. You may read it for yourself. As you read it, try to put yourself in the position of this young mother, who sang in the church choir and loves her God very much. A woman who had hopes and dreams of watching her girls marry some fine young Zambian man who worked hard and was disease free. A young woman who has never been allowed to hold her grief out for all her friends and family to see. She does not speak now or care for her children. She knows she is dying and that it is possible that she will live just long enough to see one of her children go to God before her.

For those of you who are asking how she contracted HIV, I have one question. Does the answer affect your level of compassion? It would not, if you were here and looked into the faces of those who suffer, or fear they will be next. For those who think morality is the only problem, you have not seen the poverty, starvation, and lack of hope that exists everywhere you gaze.

The next client was a male, and his spouse has divorced him also. He shared his story openly. After I read him the Psalm, he was asked how we could pray for him. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Pray that God will encourage me. I need encouragement.” Then he told us he had no Bible and could really use one. He received a Bible today.


On the lighter side of things

There is no brewed coffee here. I am adjusting to instant. It is strong and not half bad. The water pot boils in about 3 mins. It is awesome. Watch out Starbucks!

We visited another community trust (village) today. It rained all the day before, at night, and the day of our journey. We experienced Africa today. We had to turn the bus around and get a couple of Land Rovers. We were squished in, making us realize the width of our hips. Many of the roads were washed out. The pot holes here could swallow the pot holes and the roads back home. Sometimes the people throw bricks or tree limbs, whatever they can find, in the deeper holes. You can’t drive over them, but people don’t fall in them either.

At one point in our expedition, a bridge was washed out. You could not see a bridge. We all thought we would be turning around and heading back to the guest house. Wrong! The drivers walked to the edge of the water, studied the crossing, chatted about it, and then put those Land Rovers in 4 wheel drive. The staff member in the back of the vehicle yelled words in Tonga to the driver as we slowly drove across the “bridge.” Apparently, they knew from watching the current where the bridge was. Our WHIZ hostess sat in the front seat praying silently, and the WHIZ staff next to me was holding on tight to the door hoping to see her husband again. She is a new staff person, and we had a great time laughing at her. I was somewhere in the middle of fear and excitement. For those family members freaking out right now, let me assure you that the drivers would never really put us in danger. They are amazing drivers and men of God.

The WHIZ staff in the back of our Land Rover had traveled the road that morning on a motorbike (a cross between motorcycle and dirt bike). If you could see the road you would not believe it.

I asked this staff member if he had special pants to go over his pants, to keep the mud and water off as he rode his motorbike. After all, I have riding pants. He gave me a strange look so I repeated the question using my hands this time. He then said no, only a jacket. One of my team members leaned over to remind me that “pants” means underwear in Zambia. I was going to try and fix it, but decided leaving it alone was better. My friend and I had a good laugh about it later. Zambians are very polite and would never correct you. If you are laughing right now, go ahead and laugh at my expense.

By the time we had been bounced for an hour and had ridden through a lot of water, we girls had to go potty. Now where is the outhouse? No outhouse, not even a large tree. We had to go out into the cornfield, take off our shatangas (skirt like wraps), and form a privacy circle. I am not kidding. Just to make things interesting, I should mention that when Maguas (white people) come into the area, all the children gather around to visit. What I want to know is where did all those children come from in the middle of nowhere? WARNING: If you are drinking something while reading this you may want to swallow before continuing. My legs and knees were so stiff from the ride and bouncing, not to mention my broken tail bone was complaining that when I was finished with my turn in the circle I couldn’t get back up. One of the girls holding a wrap was yelling because the bugs were biting her legs. I told her I didn’t care what bit her, she had better not drop that wrap! I finally realized I had two options. One, I could sit down and then get up, that would be disgusting, so I choose option two. I pulled up from my squat using one of the girl’s backside. If you just spit all over yourself, you only have yourself to blame. I warned you.