October 2001

The Face of AIDS

Dear Friends,

I’ve just spent the day with six American friends and supporters of African Enterprise who have come to South Africa for a two-week exposure to various aspects of the AE ministry. Today’s topic was HIV/AIDS in South Africa, so visits were planned to expose them to issues we face in this area.

The reality of HIV/AIDS in South Africa today is a harsh truth that is never far from our attention. We see the statistics climb—increases in infection rates, increases in deaths, increases in children orphaned, etc—with figures too shocking to grasp and numbers too great to comprehend. Some traditional customs and ways are being questioned that would have been considered irreverent to broach in the past. Things like the cost of funerals which, in traditional African culture, are community events which include the feeding of the multitudes attending. Or, as I saw last week in our paper, the "consideration" of cremation— unheard of in the traditional African way—due to the decreasing availability of burial grounds.

The increase in the number of AIDS-related deaths is all too familiar to many in this country, particularly in the impoverished black communities (the largest population group), HIV/AIDS is still something "out there" to many others, particularly to those in the white community. Only when one discovers a close friend or family member is HIV+, or sick and dying of AIDS, does it begin to hit home, to mean something to us beyond the statistics.

Recently, to better equip our African Enterprise ministry team to respond to those infected and affected by HIV/AIDS in our communities, we attended an intensive, week-long AIDS-awareness course that not only exposed us to the many aspects of this disease, but also confronted us directly with the real face of AIDS.

Nursing Sister Gail Trollip, leader of our training at Tabitha Ministries in Pietermaritzburg, introduced us the first morning to her adopted son, Solomon. Only five months old at that point, she had been asked by his granny to take him and care for him as a newborn baby when his mother died of AIDS three days after he was born prematurely. As Gail explained, she had no idea at the time how much this child would come to mean to her and how he would tear her heart apart as she and her husband, Hugh, took him into their home, nursing and caring for him as their very own.

But Solomon’s life was to be a short one. It became clear early on that he was not progressing as a normal, healthy child would. After several months, a test showed that not only did he have the HI virus, which had been passed on to him through his mother, but it was a rapidly progressive form that was already attacking his small, weak body.

Our course taught us many important things—the facts about HIV/AIDS, how it is transmitted, its signs, symptoms, stages, and how the disease finally manifests itself in men, women, and children. We learned about sexually transmitted diseases, testing, the "window period" after infection, counselling, the stigmatisation of AIDS and the dual fear of discovery and disclosure. All of this time we were very much aware of little Solomon in the next room. He was living proof of the horror of AIDS as he himself, now in the final stages of his life, seemed to be fighting for every breath.

The questions rang in our ears—how, why? Couldn’t this have been prevented in one way or another? Why was one so innocent having to suffer so? During our breaks we would peak in his room to look at him as if to reinforce the reality of what we were learning, and hoping, praying that maybe, just maybe, he would get better.

But it was not to be. Day by day we could see him physically weaken, finally unable to open his eyes. He had been unable to suckle from his bottle for many days now, receiving liquids through a tube to keep him from dehydrating. The seizures increased in number and frequency. At times it appeared that his body had finally relented, as his breathing appeared to stop. But then another breath would come—until he didn’t have the energy for even that anymore.

Baby Solomon—beautiful, precious, sweet, innocent—was finally, graciously, reunited with his Father in the middle of that week while at home one evening with his mum and dad. As we gathered to continue our course the next day, we received the news of his passing with great sobriety and sadness but also with a sense of relief that his suffering was now over. What a difference that small being had made in our lives in just those few days!

Yes, we learned a lot in that week of training. More than just the facts. More than we ever expected. We learned that AIDS has a face. We saw it in Solomon. And we’ll never forget it. Or him.

Cindy Easterday

The Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 47