It’s been a long time since I’ve written; here are a few stories about the lives of people here in camp:
This week, we are doing the government required PMTCT/VCT (Prevention of Mother to Child Transmission/Voluntary Counseling and Testing) Training. Every morning, the 18 staff members from both Nyabiheke Camp and Gihembe Camp gather in the Multi-Use Hall (a bigger building used for performances and large meetings). But before they get here, I come at 8:00 to talk with Jacques, the young man in charge of opening the hall. Last week, he wasn’t around to open it, so I went with someone to find him at his house.
We walked in, and he was sleeping; but in the twin bed with him were also his mother, and his two younger siblings. I felt bad that I had woken him up, but he thought it was funny for me to be in his house. As we were leaving, he told me his mother was sick – I greeted her and wished her well. But on the walk back to the hall, he told me that she has been sick for two years. I paused, waiting for him to go on. He quietly revealed that his mother had been raped two years ago by the Interhamwe. Come to find out that not only was she raped, but she was thrown into a ditch after the rape, paralyzing her for life. She was lying in bed because she can’t get up. I told Jacques how terrible that was, and that I was sorry. He said, of course, “C’est ca” (That’s that).
Jacques is paid for tending to the hall, and he uses that money to support his mother and his siblings. He is probably no more than 19 or 20 years old – for all intents and purposes, this was a child headed household. In him I could see both resignation and inspiration.
After we eat lunch everyday, the floor is covered with 20+ soda bottle caps; Coke, Citron, Orange, Krest, Sprite. A group of kids waits outside the door, and when we let them, they rush in and collect the caps. It makes their day to find some new caps, and they create games with them. In fact, I know that when I come home and try to give a kid a bottle cap, I will be surprised when the kid is disinterested and his mother scowls at me for trying to give him trash. Anyway, we started playing games with these kids the other day, and I was absentmindedly singing to myself. The kids were laughing so hard at me singing (remember, anything that muzungus do aside from walking and talking is hilarious) that I challenged them to sing so I could laugh at them. Here is what they sang, in perfect English:
My home again
My home again
When I shall see my home again
When shall I see my mother and my father?
Never I forget my home
When I shall see my home again
When shall I see my brother & my sister?
Never I forget my home
I didn’t know what to say. I mean, they sang the song with a smile on their faces, which made me ask myself if they really knew what they were singing. They had learned it in school. But, the song had legitimate meaning. I was thinking, this is a song that kids back home might sing when they are at summer camp. But here, these kids are actually wondering when they will get to see their homes again. And what’s worse, the man responsible for running them out of the DRC is the frontrunner in the presidential race. If he is elected, I don’t see much hope for these people. A woman in camp told me the other day that they feel like they are going to have to fight when they go home. What a terrible feeling that must be – knowing that when you finally get home, if you ever get there, you will have to fight to stay there. It just seems to never stop for these people.
About a week before that, Theodore had a friend from Uganda come visit. As they were catching up, the woman mentioned that one of their old friends was sick; with what? HIV. Theodore said that was terrible and that he hoped he would seek treatment, and that was pretty much the end of it. As they kept talking, I thought to myself that their perspective on disease, and specifically on HIV, was so beyond what we have in the US. If one of my friends contracted HIV and didn’t have much longer to live, I would be completely shocked. Theodore didn’t seem to be, and not because he doesn’t care, but because that is the reality of a life where HIV prevalence is so high.
As many of you know, one of the highest risks for transmission of HIV is from a mother to her child during pregnancy or birth. Fortunately, drugs have been developed that can reduce the risk almost to the point of transmission. So, about ten months ago, an HIV+ woman came in to the clinic and explained that both she and her husband are HIV+, but they desperately wanted to have a baby. They were worried that the baby would be HIV+ and live only a few months. Our head nurse assured her that it wasn’t a problem, and that if they wanted to have a baby, they should go for it. The woman gave birth last month, and I happened to be at the hospital after she delivered. She asked me to take a picture of her and her new baby.
Last week, I saw the mother in the clinic with the baby. The little girl was sick with malaria. Three days later the little girl died. The woman came to me and told me her baby had died, to my surprise, with a smile on her face. It wasn’t a smile of happiness, but a smile of acceptance, like she knew the whole time that this could happen. She asked me politely if she could have the picture that I took of her baby. And I thought, there are times here when I shouldn’t use a camera; either because it is not appropriate, or because sometimes it is better to just appreciate with your eyes. But, if I hadn’t been there and taken that picture, what memento would this woman have of her baby? She wouldn’t have her sonogram print out. Her husband didn’t videotape the birth. They didn’t decorate the baby’s room in pink. I will give her the picture as soon as I can, and I hope it brings her some comfort.
Time here really is flying by. I have been here more than three months, which is hard to believe, and I have started to think about what I am learning.
Well, you know, in Nyabiheke, we have no electricity during the day and for three hours at night. So, in the times that I am not working, I am by myself really. Even if there are other people, and I mean this in the most harmless way possible, both language and cultural barriers often prevent us from relating. In other words, it is a lot of alone time, away from distractions that we have at home. I am reading more than I have ever read in my life, writing a bit, and taking some time to reflect; all things that, in the everyday rush of school and relationships, I just couldn’t find the time to do at home. I am sort of forced to simplify my life and I can’t explain how nice it is. I would say that it is something everyone should try to do at home, but it is of no use. There are too many things that get in the way. So, instead, I think everyone should take at least a 6 month sabbatical from work and take off.
But aside from reflection, there is some good news as relates to work. I received the grant I applied for to build the soccer field for the kids here ($5000) from a special charity out of Kingston, MA. We are going to employ about 100 workers from the local town to start digging into the side of the mountain. The money will pay for that construction, two goals, a fence, and salary for two coaches for the year. More than anything, I think these kids need a place to just play, where they can escape the reality of their homes; desperation, hunger, boredom.
I have also started being trained in improved cookstoves. As I have mentioned, these stoves save firewood, which means that not only do they save time and diminish the workload for families in collecting firewood, but they also heavily decrease deforestation. With the old stoves, it was easy for kids to knock them over or spill them and burn themselves; it is nearly impossible to do with the improved cookstoves. We will train the women to build these stoves out of clay, dirt, sand, and straw, which is empowers them in this environment where building is traditionally left to the men.
As I said, the PMTCT Training was last week and is almost finished now. After we finish this training, we can get the VCT Center at Nyabiheke up and running. With the center up, more people will come in for testing every month, and we will get a more accurate picture of HIV prevalence in the camp. More accurate statistics could lead to more funding, and certainly to more treatment to alleviate the suffering of these people living with HIV. The process is arduous, but things will move faster as soon as we get certified.
That’s all for now. I leave for Nyabiheke today – you know, I am here in Kigali pretty much once every other weekend and it is starting to feel like a vacation spot; electricity, stores, hot water, a refrigerator that runs all day. This coming weekend I am staying in Nyabiheke to run a training for Traditional Birth Attendants (sort of like midwives) as well as to learn woodcarving from an artist in camp. I’ll be back in two weeks or so. Be well, thanks for reading.
