Thanksgiving!

As sometimes happens, my birthday fell on Thanksgiving this year and I relished the fact that I was in a country that had no knowledge the latter and thus was able to focus entirely on the former. I spent the week cooking and baking (and am now suffering exhaustion as a result) but can proudly brag about cooking an entire Thanksgiving dinner myself -- and off crutches. An array of lovely friends joined me in celebrating and eating, making my 26th birthday a unique and memorable birthday -- one of the best, truly.

A week and a half to go, and nothing seems to be dying down in terms of my work here. The principal at the school where I have been delivering SV prevention declared a crisis in Grade R (Kindergarten) as the youngsters are "sexually active" and asked us to come in and help this week. Apparently some, or most, of the 52 kiddies are molesting each other while in the classroom, out on the playground, just about anywhere and no one noticed until now.

I also have to wrap up the evaluations on the programs I worked on, which will mean hours of tedious number crunching. Despite the mundanity, this week is the staff end-of-the-year party, complete with DJ and dancing. It is sure to provide unparalleled entertainment as some of the best dancers I have ever seen will take to the dance floor. The clinic is celebrating World AIDS Day is on Friday, and an outside speaker and choir are coming in to perform.

At the tail end of my immobilization (which is gladly over!) I voraciously read through a few notable books. One of them, When A Crocodile Eats the Sun, is written by the author of the quote that inspired my blog in the first place, Zimbabwean ex-pat Peter Godwin. It has truly all come full circle! Here are a few other quotes from the same book, the first one for anyone who has worked in the field of international aid:

"It's always instructive to observe the life cycle of the First World aid-worker. A wary enthusiasm blooms into an almost messianic sense of what might be possible. Then, as they bump up against the local cultural limits of acceptable change, comes the inevitable disappointment, which can harden into cynicism and even racism, until they are no better than the reside whites they have initially disparaged."

AND -- because now, at the end of my time here, I have developed an affinity and endearment toward South Africa:

"I feel like weeping. Weeping at the way Africa does this to you. Just as you're about to dismiss it and walk away, it delivers something so unexpected, so tender. One minute you're scared shitless, the next you're choked with affection."

Understanding

I am approaching 5 weeks until departure, and that has given me a new appreciation for my time left here, as well as excitement to see family and friends again.

A strange coincidence occurred last week, which is not actually that out of the norm, but it left a distinct mark on me. First, I received a phone call from a social worker who was calling on behalf of a frantic mother. The woman's son (age 14) had tested positive for HIV twice, and yet his father refused to take him to the doctor, preferring a sangoma (traditional medicine) instead. The sangoma declared the boy was possessed of an evil spirit and prescribed remedies to exorcise the spirit. Months later, the boy's health was rapidly declining and yet the father still refused Western medicine. I transferred the call to our Social Welfare Manager, Penny, as I felt utterly unsure what to do. The next day Penny told me she phoned the mother again to solidify a plan, and the boy had already died. The gravity sunk in: her frantic phone call the day before was her desperate last attempt to save him.

Later on in the week we learned that one of our own staff members passed away. We had a memorial service on-site and gathered to honor her memory. She was a smiley, energetic, happy 25 year-old and yet AIDS ravaged her body as well. We learned that she had been too afraid to test for HIV until she was in the hospital, immobilized by TB, and it was already too late. How can someone who works at a HIV clinic not know?, I asked myself. And it wasn't until arguing with a Afrikaner at a braii (South African bbq) this weekend that I realized the answer.

She did know. She knew about HIV/AIDS, about risks and safe sex and symptoms, and yet she still succumbed to the fear and stigma that prevents so many people from testing. I think it is far too easy to attribute the HIV epidemic to general lack of education. All I have to do is look to the 200 children I educate every Friday to realize that their knowledge of HIV exceeds most American's.

Fear, stigma and cultural practices -- which we can all relate to -- are the deeper layers that fuel a complex epidemic.