“Touching the Void”. An amazing film about one man’s struggle,- his fight to survive after falling through an ice crevase. The real struggle was not climbing out of this hole with one broken leg, but the “walk” outside of the crevase back to camp. He describes the agonizing pain of true thirst. Hallucinations of running water, lips dried shut, the unforgiving sun ripping off layers of dead flesh. His descriptions enabeled you to feel his pain.
Today Babe Shongwe and I went to visit the OVC garden. A garden created by caregivers and RHM’s in the area for orphaned and vulnerable children as well as those living with HIV. “It’s close to the umphagatsi.” He tells me. Not far I think. Books, pens, notepads go into my bag, nalgene left behind. I’m ready for this lesuirely stroll.
FOUR hours later. FOUR hours later. The hot
After an hours rest, waiting for that lazy 3 o’clock sun to droop down and quit harassing me- I walk up the hill, pass the jacaranda tree to the crooked hanging stop sign. Mctosa’s door is open. I find him hunched over a table, reading his favorite novel, “Animal Farm”. “Don’t you find it kind of strange that Swazi schools are teaching this book- a book of revolution and rebellion- to students living in an absolute monarchy? Man resembling your King and the pigs turning into your King.” I ask. Mctosa taps his head with his index finger. “Swazi’s don’t think. This book, to them, is just a book. A story about animals- communism/socialism whatever. Something completely foreign to them and does not translate to their world. I told you, we are fools." He says. "Then again," I continue. "Look where rebellion got them- a dictatorship followed by a dictatorship- maybe that's the lesson- don't rebel."
Mctosa teaches me how to prepare and cook chicken over fire on a very windy day- a challenge. We sit, we eat, we read out loud together "Animal Farm". He interjects with lines he has memorized.
I stand to clean my dish. "In three months Mctosa when you go back to the clinic to confirm you are negative- we will prove this small town wrong. Boo Radly will have the last laugh." I smile. My back still turned to him. He says, "Simphiwe- I'm positive" I say nothing. I say nothing. I say nothing. I don't turn around. "I said. Im positive." Unable to control it, unable to control anything- I fall to the ground. Tears pouring out. Between sobs I mutter, "I'm too late. Im too late... Maybe if Peace Corps had come while you were in school- maybe ...maybe..." I bury my head in my arms. "Im too late." Mctosa lifts me up by my arms, one hand on each arm. He leans in and says, "No Simphiwe, because of you- I got tested- I know now I won't take anymore innocent lives with me. Because of you." "Mctosa why?!" I interject." Why didn't you take care of yourself? Why didn't you use a condom? Why weren't you smart?!" He smiles. "Looks like I'm Swazi after all." I push him back. He sits on the couch, "No matter- in three days I will hang myself. I won't let this thing kill me. I'll die Proud African."
"I beg you. You cannot Mctosa! You can still live a healthy long life- long enough to raise your son and teach him. He needs you. I beg you- take this one day at a time. Right now you feel hopeless- but I can get you help- give me two weeks. Let me help you.I beg you." He agrees for now.
"Please. I want to be alone." I go to leave. "Will you be playing soccer this evening?" He is starring hard into the distance. "Mctosa?" "Yes. I'll be there." He responds.
The wind blowng, the rain falling. I sit and watch the game. He is playing awful- bouncing off other players- he's given up. I stare hard at him, the rain covering my tears as they roll off my chin. Rain dripping from my nose. The ball is passed to him who has now noticed my gaze. He ignores the ball rolling past him as we sit and stare at each other. Seated all around me, boys busy buzzing, trying to get my attention. I ignore, I stare. This moment is ours. This secret is ours.
I walk home heavy hearted, no no- with no heart. A heart in Africa- a dangerous thing. Leave your heart at home.
Since then- each day- like my jacurranda- I check on him. I bring my speakers and his favorite tunes. Stevie and Ray to cheer him up. I must try. Even when I come to his home in the morning and find 5 feet of rope next to his bed and he tells me, "A wise man aways changes his mind." I won't give up. I have to give him hope. The belief in God could soothe this agnostic's pain- but I'm no preacher. No. I must keep him busy. With purpose. Swazi men don't go to clinics let alone support groups for HIV positve people in a clinic. So- there's no trying to convince him to get help. I tell him I need to investigate this suppot group for HIV positive people for my work here (this is true). I tell him it's in Siswati (this is true). I tell him I don't have anyone to translate for me. (this is not true). He agrees to come and help me translate.
"But I won't get help Simphiwe." He grabs my notebook I carry around with me-jotting people's stories, people's secrets down. Even his. "What are you writing?" He asks. "A story." I say. He flips through the pages. I've changed the people's names. "Who are these people?" He asks. "People like you- with secrets. Secrets that only I know." He reads the pages. He realizes these are stories about those living with HIV. He quickly closes the notepad. But he's curious. He looks closer. An aunt whose sister and her husband died of AIDS. Left her with four of their children. A one month old baby included. This woman soon realzes her neice is HIV positive. Eight years old now, healthy and on ARV's, no one knows her status. Not even this woman's husband. Not even the eight year old child herself. "I will wait to tell her when she's ready. Eleven, twleve maybe. How do you tell an eleven year old they're HIV positive?" Another woman who digs through her drunk cheating husband's things at home. Determined to find records of his status. She just knows he's positive and not telling her. Another woman, positive, husband positive. Two children negative. Because of stigma is not allowed to tell anyone her statu. Her husband forbids it. An HIV positive man, a negative woman, in love, want children. What do they do?
He closes the notebook. Exhales loudly. wipes his brow and stares. "Why do you write about these people Simphiwe?" he asks. "Because it's important. Their pain- it's important to me." I continue. "I have many secrets Mctosa. So many stories. As an outsider, they trust me."
"So many people." He whispers.
"This is why we're here. Vula emhlo- open your eyes- Mctosa. This is Swaziland."
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