We’ve just spent the past two days with a church in Durban, South Africa.
As Scott and I awoke this morning, we spent little time "processing" some of what we had seen and learned.
First of all, I realize that I have known little about HIV/AIDS and the significance of its impact on Africa. South Africa has one of the highest infection rates in all of Africa. The specifics vary between townships and areas, some up to 80-85%. One pastor told us of a testing clinic for teenagers. Of every 20 children tested, 16 are positive, and sometimes 18 or 19. At a glance, this is a statistic, in a community, this is a tragedy.
Consider the possibility of 8 out of 10 people you know being HIV positive. Many of you likely know more about what that means than me. Consider the implications in a community of people with limited access to medical care or medications or even understanding of the importance. Consider having to choose to use your extremely limited resources to feed your family or to buy medication. Consider the implications of a diagnosis that carries great stigma, the likelihood of rejection, being outcast from your family and community, and therefore, the incentive to ignore the likely diagnosis and consequences. Consider, at 55 or 60 years old, living in poverty, taking on the care of your grandchildren, maybe 2, maybe 4…but only after burying their parents, your children.
If you look at a community with an 80% infection rate, and know that the "grannies" (the older generation) are not infected, you have to wonder what percentage they make up. And, as you look to the two younger generations – the sons and daughters and their children…what is the rate of infection for those babies and young children, born to two infected parents? I understand it is possible to limit the transfer of the disease from mother to child, but only with proper medication. It is not an absolute, but very likely that most children of the youngest generation are HIV positive. What does that look like in 10 years, 20 years? I’m simply overwhelmed. I can only weep for them, for now. I will pray too, for their well-being, for change, for God’s mercy, for His hope for them…and put my hope in eternity, where there will be no sickness. I can’t explain it otherwise.
Consider a 13-year-old mother, a prostitute, abandoning her 18-month-old son, leaving him with a friend, a "granny" she knows will find her a home thru the church. Consider a mother, age unknown, leaving her 8-month-old daughter behind at a hospital where she (the mother) has been receiving medical care for HIV/AIDS. Maybe she knew she would die soon and had no other option…
These two children were taken into the church’s children’s home the day before we arrived – Kwanda and Imbali.
(image: Kwanda)
(image: Imbali)
Being with these two children…and others…especially holding little Imbali, made me think of when I first held our Norah, wondering, imagining what was going on in her head and heart at that moment. Scott said, seeing me with Imbali reminded him of the same – he said she had that same "look on her face." The clear difference being that I couldn’t take Imbali home with me, although I might have, given the opportunity. She absolutely stole my heart. So dear, so sweet, so quiet and agreeable. What we know from our little bit of education through our adoption is that quiet isn’t really just "content baby"…there is more going on there. It was such a sweet gift to be able to hold her and love her for just a bit…I hope in some way God can use that to comfort her.
I will pray for her, and maybe even cry when I remember her.
The church has taken her in. She will be loved and cared for, but not by her mother. She will be nurtured, educated, and even well-fed, which is so much more than many will have. She will also likely be diagnosed with and suffer from HIV/AIDS, or maybe the ramifications of long-term drug treatment.
Then there’s Phillip. He’s two now. He was left with them last year. He’s doing very well, other than they know he is HIV positive, as are his older brother and sister, also in the home with him. And 10-year-old Zama. Denied a hospital bed three years ago, because there was nothing left they could do. Now, through proper medical care, nutrition, and nurturing, she’s attending school again. They say she is not well, that she may only have a short time to live – maybe one year, maybe two or three.
(image: my new friends)
On one hand, South Africa is very far away from home. A world away. But it doesn’t feel so far away when you are here. Right here, right now, my new friends…are dying. It doesn’t seem so very far away when you’re holding a baby, or holding the hand of a young child with a playful, happy grin. It doesn’t seem so far away when you sit in the 10x10 home where they just lost their 21-year-old son to AIDS…right there in their home. Right there where a makeshift memorial sets – a candle, a blanket, a shirt , maybe the shirt he was wearing, maybe his favorite, maybe mom’s favorite. It’s not that far away.
(image: home visit)