Ken's Journey to Tanzania: Journal Entry #10

It's been very busy with all Terri has taken on and there hasn't been time to even gather my thoughts. This is my last entry until I return from safari on March 18th.

We were invited to speak to the Bagamoyo HIV support group 3 days ago. Terri and I and George, one of the former street boys, took a bajaji to their office. It was about a 20 minute ride to a section of town I hadn't seen yet. It seems our driver was a bit confused also in this older section of town as he had to phone his office for directions. The roads got narrower and dustier and the sun was beating down unmercifully. The twists and turns of the road had all of us confused and I'm sure I could not have found my way back to any area I would recognize.

When we arrived, 15 minutes late, we were greeted by Assia and her husband Ally (I had mistakenly referred to him as Bennard in a previous post and also in a photograph). The building was cinder block, solid and unpainted with a rusty tin roof. The office itself was cramped and stuffy and packed with about 30 people. There were posters on the walls, many with the swahili word for AIDS, ukimwi. The group was comprised of mostly adult women 20 -50 years of age and approx. 10 men all a bit older. The women were beautifully attired in their multi-colored kangas and the men wore trousers and collared shirts. The room was stifling and everyone was sweating profusely as there was no fan and only one small window. Terri and I were escorted to a small table with 2 chairs while most of the members sat on the dirt floor. We had worked on a short presentation which included a prevention discussion and our planned visits to more remote villages to test willing residents. As I spoke and Terri translated I looked out into the room and was surprised how emotional it was for me.

The stigma around HIV/AIDS in Tanzania is pervasive and the courage shown by these people, most of whom walked great distances just to meet us, was beyond belief. I found myself choked up on several occasions as people spoke of being ostracized by society in general and many who were shunned by their families and friends. Yet, here they were telling me how important it was to be open with anyone they met, to be honest with themselves and everyone they knew. It brought back painful memories of the early years of the AIDS epidemic in the US when health care workers refused to enter the hospital rooms of anyone with AIDS.

After we wrapped up our presentation there were questions and comments. One man, whose name I wish I had written down, explained why there were so few men in attendance in response to my question. He was about 65, very nicely dressed with a kind face. His eyes betrayed a weary sadness. He spoke perfect English with a British accent. A vestige of colonialism I'm sure because many of the older men of Bagamoyo have a command of the English language. He told me the men of Tanzania are in denial and will not accept responsibility for their role in the spread of HIV. He also said the government should make testing mandatory for all citizens. Pregnant women must consent to an HIV test and may be denied admission to the hospital to deliver their babies if they don't comply. Angrily, he said that even if a woman tests positive husbands or boyfriends do not have to be tested or even named. He then said no amount of prevention education will make a difference until men change their selfish ways.

It was obvious to me that this man commanded the great respect of all in attendance. He then spoke to the group in Swahili translating what he told me. There was much nodding of heads as flies buzzed around the room and everyone looked wilted but attentive. When he finished people applauded and he turned to me and said "thank you for allowing me to speak the truth". I want to impress upon all of you reading this how bold and fearless this man is to speak the truth openly.

Because so many of these people have lost jobs or been denied employment due to their HIV status we inquired as to how much it might cost in start up money for a member to open their own business. After some internal discussion the president of the association said about $75. Terri and I quickly brainstormed and came up with a plan to sponsor 10 of their most entrepreneurial members who must present a solid business plan and if they are successful they must then agree to re-invest some of their profits in other support group members to get them started in self employment. This was greeted with tremendous enthusiasm and many assante sanas. When I return from safari the group will have chosen 10 members and we will get their photos, bios and business plans and go about trying to raise the $750 to jump start this program. We decided to gift the money and not treat this as a micro loan as these are not really people who are allowed to participate fully in Bagamoyo society. They are already under tremendous pressure and having a debt would be extremely stressful.

As the meeting broke up people lingered to shake our hands and thank us personally. I am still amazed that a group like this even exists and the fact that there are 525 members is even more astounding. Actually, make that 527 as Terri and I were voted in as honorary members as the meeting ended.

Terri was greeted by an elderly woman as we left. She asked Terri if she had a few minutes to spend with the woman's daughter who was very ill. Terri knew this woman and her daughter and she readily agreed. They lived near the support group office so we followed the woman down some narrow paths. She had a very bad limp and walking was obviously uncomfortable for her. As we walked the landscape changed and I felt like we had been transported back in time to an Africa of the distant past.

The houses were all mud and stick construction and all had palm frond roofs. Upon closer inspection many of the homes had walls that were crumbling and holes in their roofs. There is no electricity, no plumbing, no well. There were no screens anywhere and I saw no evidence of mosquito nets. Terri said this is the poorest part of Bagamoyo and is rife with disease - malaria, TB and HIV. We arrived at the woman's 10X10 foot house which looked like it might fall down in a stiff breeze. The walls were crumbling and it seemed only part of the roof was intact. Insects of all types were crawling in and out of the dwelling. Slumped against the front wall of the house was the woman's 28 year old daughter. She barely had the energy to lift her head and greet us. She is suffering from advanced HIV and TB infections. She was in a dirty, torn kanga and spoke so softly Terri had to lean in closely to understand her. I have tears in my eyes as I am writing this. I can't remember a more pathetic scene. I honestly don't know how Terri finds the strength to do this day in day out. All the joy of the previous 2 hours vanished.

The daughter's husband left her after she tested positive for HIV. Ironically, he was the one who infected her. Her two year old son died last year of HIV but miraculously her 5 year old daughter is negative. As Terri continued to speak to her the mother hobbled into the house and came back out carrying a small stool. I'm sure, other than the bed, it is the only piece of furniture they own. She placed it next to me, gently pulled my arm and gestured for me to sit. I could not accept this offer. I smiled at her thanked her but then said hapana, no I can't. I then gestured for her to please sit on the stool. She hesitated but smiled and thanked me and gratefully sat.

I stood there lost in my own thoughts. All this sadness, all this misery it is all too much to bear sometimes. It seems incomprehensible. We have all seen this misery on our tvs in our movies but to be here to see it, to smell it, to feel it with your whole being takes your breath away.

An hour passed and it was time to find our way back home. The sun had drifted below the palm trees and the shadows were filling the little courtyard. Terri looked drained and I didn't think I could muster the energy to even get back to the support group. We said our difficult goodbyes. We trudged back down the dirt path and after a minute heard something behind us. We turned at the same time because the sound was strange, a labored, foot dragging sound. It was the young woman breathlessly trying to catch up to us. We stopped and the effort on this young woman's face was heartbreaking. It had taken every bit of energy for her to catch up to us. She leaned on Terri, and in gasping breaths said it was impolite to not walk us to the edge of the village. At this gesture Terri broke down and I couldn't even look at the young woman I am so ashamed to admit. Where does this come from? Why, in this woman's grave condition, did she feel the need to be hospitable and do the socially correct thing? Why did she care about us? There are no answers to any of my questions. The only thing that ever comes to mind for me is, this is all the accident of birth. She was born in the wrong place at the wrong time. What I continue to struggle with is, why?