Cold

I am always very aware of the cold, because I am usually cold. As such, I am very aware of these little kids that are running around without any shoes on in tshirts and shorts when it is cold. I’ll be there wearing 4 layers… three shirts and a fleece, and then next to me will be a little boy in a tshirt, shorts, and barefoot. I was COLD! But there he was, smiling away. He probably wasn't cold at that moment, because he had been running all around with the other kids, but I'm sure he was later.

Leftovers

Have you had leftovers lately? These kids are scraping the bottom of the bowl for what remains after passing out the food at the soup kitchen.

Sing and Dance

Women breaking into song and dance after home healthcare class on my second Thursday in South Africa! It was great so great, and I got to join in. I loved it! They were singing in English and Xosa. They were singing praises to the Lord! How wonderful it was to sing and dance with them! They were clapping and stomping and the room was so full of energy!

Need

Need is relative. Luxury is relative. What are luxury items for you? In South Africa they include electricity, running water, and gas for your car. What isn’t a luxury item you ask. Simple. Food and basic clothing. People living in need. Need of shelter. Need of walls. Need of a proper sewer system. Need of food. Need of healthcare. Need of safety. People living in need. Need of a car. Need of new clothes. Need of a haircut. Need of a bigger house. People living in need. Need of a faster car. Need of a pedicure. Need of a diamond ring. Need of a sail boat. Need is relative. People in need. Need of love. Need of empathy. Need of comfort. Need of belonging. Need of joy. Need of peace. Need of Christ. What if some of us thought less about our “needs” and thought more about the needs of others and in the process shared the love of Christ fulfilling the ultimate need of us all. What if all the Christians really did sell their possessions and have everything common and gave to those as they had need. Wouldn’t life be different?

HIV status

Do you know your HIV status?

I went to a booth at the waterfront on last Saturday that was promoting a nonprofit organization that is combating HIV/AIDS. The man began to tell me about the organization and then he asked me: Do you know your HIV status? Uuuufffff. I was quite taken aback, and stammered, “Well, no, but I’m from America, and I don’t engage in risk taking activities, and so I don’t think I have HIV.”

What I learned:

If I’m going to tell people that they need to be tested in order to be sure of their HIV status, then I should get a test done too. I cannot tell others to do something that I have never done. They may believe that they have no reason to test positive too, but they may have a spouse that cheats on them and they don’t even know it. Or they may believe that it is quite possible that they will test positive and it is simply too scary to actually know your status. After all, there is no cure (but there are medicines to increase you quality of life and its longevity). So, next project: get tested for HIV, so that I can lead by example. I must admit thought, that this is not my top priority, but I will get it done before I start my ministry here in South Africa.

Back

I'm back in the U.S. now, but I still have several posts already written that I haven't uploaded and even more that are still just in my brain. I'll try and get them all posted in the next week or so.

Am I repeating myself

How do I describe the things I’ve seen in a place where the rich and poor collide? Can I explain the extravagant mall or the extremely powerful electric hand dryers in the restroom verses the shack made of whatever scraps are available? Or let’s move along to the house that is made out of brick-o-blocks and thus is a step up from the shack made of tarp and tin, yet it is still not much bigger than my parents’ bathroom. This supposed step-up with a thick cloud of flies circling about the heads of the inhabitants. What about the dog house just outside the door of another makeshift house with the dog house appearing nicer than the house. And then the man squatting in the doorway, with his cheekbones chiseling out from beneath his defeated skin. One hand lifted to his head, as if to run it through his hair, but paused in despair. Was it truly despair that I saw? I don’t know, but it did look like a defeated man to me with not much left to look forward to in this world. He has leather looking skin with deep wrinkles and clubbed fingers. The clubbing happens over time when a person’s body is not receiving enough oxygen. In his case it’s TB that’s affecting him. We’re here today, because we need to give him an injection of medicine. He’s now battling TB for the second time, and therefore, he is on a different treatment for more resistant strains.

We move along to another house, to a lifeless heap beneath a mound of blankets, but sitting in the doorway is her mother, who is five times my size. The heap is a seventeen year old girl dieing of AIDS, who is presently infected with TB, and just had a baby a few months ago. She tried to abort the baby by swallowing poison, which did not in fact do anything to the baby but did cause her to go into labor (but it was okay because she was at term, even though she thought she was only five months along) and then she had to have a hysterectomy and they sliced her wide open vertically with an incision much bigger than anything I’ve ever learned of. She then got an infection, and they had to do surgery again, and then she was sent home with tubes draining fluid from her chest. She came close to death, but I guess that it is not her time yet, because now she appears to be improving. She can’t take ARV’s for the HIV because the TB is in her stomach and she often vomits whatever she takes. She’s depressed, lacking the will to take care of her baby or herself. I can see why. Seventeen is such a hopeful age, but not for her. For her there are few dreams of what the future will bring.

Then there was the thirteen year old girl that came to the clinic today. She has TB too, and also just had a baby. Her boyfriend is in prison now. The nurse tried to explain the benefits of being tested for HIV, but that was beyond this young girl who cannot write her own name and has a baby of her own. It’s very likely that she has been infected given her situation.

Today was the first day for this clinic to ever offer testing. They had been advertising it for three weeks and telling all of their patients about the benefits of knowing their HIV status. Two people came to be tested. People just don’t want to know their status. Out of sight, out of mind. And why would it be any different with a president that doesn’t believe that HIV causes AIDs. With a vice president that has sex with an HIV + person without a condom but says that he showered well afterwards and so is safe. With a prime minister of health that advocates the use of beet root, garlic and lemon juice to cure HIV. Why would you want to be test if you risk losing your job, your family, and your friendships because of the status?

Nature vs. Nurture

So, It's really hard to remember that the driver sits on the left hand side of the car, and that people drive on the left hand side of the road, and that when you walk on the sidewalk and someon else is approaching, they are going to take their rightful place on the LEFT side of the sidewalk. It's so hard to change this automatic pattern of thought. Makes me think of how hard it is to change someone's actions when from the moment they've been born, it's all they've ever known. Sleep around. Do drugs. Get drunk. Don't trust doctors. Be in a gang. Having a kerosene stove in your house with all the windows and doors closed is okay. ARV's will not help you; they will make you die. There's a lot of unlearning to do.

Captivity

So I went to the bathroom, and while I was in there a security person came and locked the gate into the bathroom. Luckily, the people I was with were within earshot. So, one of them went and found the security person, while the other took my picture during my brief moment of bathroom bondage.

Chocolate

I wanted to learn more about the local culture, so I decided to conquer the native chocolate.

Already conquered:




















Yet to be conquered:


It's a hard job, but I'm willing to make the sacrifice. :)

TAXI

I am becoming quite the little rider of taxi vans here in South Africa. They have the traditional taxis here, too, but they cost a whole lot. However, for about 60 cents I can ride on a taxi van all the way from Delft to Bellville (where I'm staying). I know that means nothing to you, but it's about a 20-30 min ride. Then I get off at Bellville and walk for 30 mins to my house. I like riding in the taxis for many reasons: 1) I don't feel like a burden to my host family, 2) I can leave when I want because I'm not waiting on a ride, 3) I get to be more in the every day life of a large portion of the population, and 4) it shocks everyone every time they find out I'm riding in taxis now. Well, apparently the taxis are supposed to be quite dangerous, and there are even richer people around here that say that you couldn't pay them enough to ride in one. Well, I have had no problems, and in fact the first time I rode in one from Nelson Mandela Peace Park to the Delft Clinic, the driver asked me when we got there (because I had a seat right up front next to him) if I was working there. I told him yes and started to get out some money (R4 to be exact), but then the driver told me to keep my money! Not only was I not mugged, but I didn't even have to pay for the ride! I really like the people here. I know there are bad people too, so don't think that I let my guard down, but there are also just a lot of really nice people. I figure riding taxis in the day time should be perfectly safe... the worst that would happen is that I would be pick-pocketed, and I 'm careful, so I don't see that happening. Afterall, nobody is going to actually just rob you in broad daylight with tons of people around (most likely as long as i'm not TRYING to be robbed by doing stupid things), and I resist my temptation to take out my digital camera and snap photos the whole way, so I should be fine, as long as it's not one of the days when the taxi drivers are having their wars and gunning each other down, and I would probably know beforehand if that were to happen b/c people have a tendency to know these things and tell each other if it's not okay to take the taxi. not that i would actually be in the loop on that, but i'll just make the committment now, not to get on a taxi van if nobody else is on it. so yeah, apparently there are different companies of taxi van drivers that are very similar to gangs and they have had some wars in the past. but you wouldn't know it now by the looks of things now, and so I ride happily along in my taxi van, crammed in a tiny space with 15 other people.

Frustration

A woman has AIDS. She is told to take ARV’s (antiretroviral drugs), use contraceptives, and use a condom when having sex. The lady shows up Friday with shingles (a normal occurrence with HIV+ people) and she thinks she’s pregnant. This means that she is not using contraceptives or a condom! Aaahhh! And guess what! She has had two other children already that have died of AIDS. Two dead children haven’t taught her a lesson yet! You can teach and teach and teach, but there are still people that do stuff like that. Even if the baby is not born HIV+ it will eventually be an orphan. Uuffff. Depressing. Just the tip of the iceberg.

One of the home-based healthcare workers was being assigned HIV+ patients to care for, and they came to a name, and she recognized the name. It’s the name of her mother’s boyfriend. Her mom doesn’t know that her boyfriend is HIV+. The law says that the healthcare worker cannot disclose a patient’s medical information, but it’s her mom. She talked to the RN about it and the doctor. Then she happed to run into the man in the hallway of the clinic. He didn’t greet her. He just turned the other way and walked off. Well, she has told her mom now, and she’s going to get and HIV test on Monday. Scary.

A man hasn’t told anybody yet that he is HIV+. Every person is supposed to have a treatment buddy, so that when they get sick, there is someone who knows how the medication is supposed to be taken and can take care of them. Plus, when the patient gets sick and has to go to the hospital, it’s always a bad situation when the family comes to the hospital and wants to know why mom/dad/sis/etc is there, and the healthcare workers can’t tell them. The family gets really frustrated and angry. Anyhow, this man has 3 kids, and his wife is already dead. If nobody knows he has HIV then who’s going to take care of his kids when he gets sick? Who’s going to provide for them?

Some patients to come to get tested until very late, and then they start taking ARV’s when they are already very ill. They die, and then the family thinks that the patient died because he/she took the ARV’s. The healthcare workers try and explain that it was already very late in the disease and that’s why the patient died, but some people will only believe that the ARV’s did it.

On the radio I heard the prime minister of health promote the use of beet root, garlic, and lemon juice in order to combat AIDS instead of ARV’s. No wonder family members blame ARV’s for their relative’s death.

What needs to be done? TEACH, TEACH, TEACH, TEACH, TEACH, TEACH, TEACH, TEACH, and then teach some more. Then scream in your room alone, then cry, then pray.

Describing South Africa

It’s difficult to describe this place. There are contrasts all around me. I am staying in a house in an upper middle class neighborhood here, and I travel 30 minutes to the town, Delft, where the HIV home-based healthcare program is. It’s not safe for me to take a taxi to Delft alone. But there are not bars on all the houses' windows (only some of them) like in Honduras. On the way I pass by shanty towns made of tin and cows feeding on grass in the median of the highway. At the same time, it seems like this place is very similar to the U.S. Nice roads, nice neighborhoods, traffic laws that are obeyed. There is the occassional horse drawn cart on the highway though. There are three race classifications here: black, colored, and white. The word colored sounds so ugly to the American ear at first, almost hurting to say it. It has been a bad word in our culture for so long, that it feels weird that these people here should claim that label with pride. The colored people are exactly as the word sounds—colored. They are people of color that are not black, so this includes all kinds of mixtures that can include blacks, whites, Indians, and Asians. The government is full of contrasts… putting up a front of being forward thinkers, yet the highest government officials do not believe that HIV causes AIDS. The prime minister of health says that “nutrition, nutrition, nutrition,” is the answer. The vice president raped a girl who was HIV + (but he was acquitted, so I guess I should say he had consensual sex). He did not use a condom, but claimed that it was okay, because he took a shower afterwards and washed off real well. A South African female is raped every 3 minutes. One-year-old baby girls are not safe from this atrocity. You see there is a myth poisoning the minds of desperate and depraved HIV+ men that if they rape a virgin, then they will be cured of HIV/AIDS. The younger the girl, the more sure you can be that she is a virgin. Many rape victims are between the ages of 1 to 5. ARV drugs are available for those with AIDS, but distributing the drugs is problematic, and many do not even get tested for HIV because they fear being ostracized by friends and family. Another mother is HIV+ but she still wants to have more children—children that will grow up without a mother. Hospitals are good here—for the rich. They tell the women in the general public to get a PAP smear once every 10 yrs! It’s not that doctors are ignorant to the benefits of yearly PAP smears, but that the government needed to make budget cuts, and so they made them with women’s lives. Once every 10 yrs is a joke. You can very easily get cervical cancer and die during the 9 years in between. There’s this beautiful ocean here and nice skyline and then there is the wasteland of tin shacks that sits on the outskirts of town. Out of sight. I haven’t gotten to do much in the way of direct patient care yet, but I have gotten to see a lot, listen to a lot, and learn a lot. I love these people. They are so nice. I have a million ideas racing through my head, and I don’t know where to begin. I feel so helpless. How can I ever make a difference? Things are so screwed up. How will they ever get better? How can I wait 3 more years to come back here? It seems weird that there are so many problems in this country because there is so much potential here, and because at times I feel like it is not a developing country at all. It’s definitely not the place with the starving children on the TV screen with the flies swarming around their faces. I’m sure there is a lot of malnutrition and starvation at times too, but not like other parts of Africa. Yet, they have a real crisis on their hands: AIDS. This slow killer. Not only will it kill individuals, but it has the power to bring down a whole nation if nothing is done.