Continuing with the people who have changed my life...
I'm going to just copy the paper I wrote about her:
As Americans, we live in comfort and abundance. Even the poorest of our country’s population that lives in poverty experience better than so many around the world. Yet, other countries, those third world countries that experience poverty and hunger in the deepest meanings of those words, are not a reality to us.
Africa was not a reality to me, some distant place that I know has problems. You see it on television, see public service announcements, and hear devastating statistics. But that seems a whole other world when you stroll through the mall, or sit down for a nice meal at a restaurant. Even as I bought a plane ticket and planned my trip there, Africa still remained unreal to me.
After a period of initial training, and some other work there, in August my team prepared for a month in Swaziland, a small country in southern Africa that is poverty stricken and devastated by HIV and AIDS. We all packed into vans and cars and traveled for six hours. We arrived and began putting up our tents. I knew immediately that this was not simply another country, but a whole other world. I saw nothing familiar - dirt roads, if there were any roads at all, mud and straw huts where there were any homes at all.
Part of what we had come to do was home-based care. We worked with people in the community who had been trained by an organization committed to helping the sick. These ‘home-based care workers’ walked miles everyday to visit people in their homes who are too sick to function. Living in a place where there’s no running water and no electricity, immobility itself can be a death sentence. These workers go to the river for water, sometimes even catching a ride into a town that has a clinic for medicine. My team served alongside these workers and helped them with caring for these people. Nearly forty percent of the Swazi people are HIV positive. The average life expectancy is about 39 years old. We met many elderly people and lots of children, but very few young or middle aged adults.
Due to the shame and disgrace associated with the disease, ignorance and myths regarding HIV and AIDS are commonplace, and people simply do not talk about it. Someone with AIDS is simply ‘sick,’ often said to have tuberculosis or some other ailment, while in reality nearly one of every two people in Swaziland is HIV positive. What had been cold, dry statistics quickly became a very personal reality, with names, faces, and life or death stories.
The children’s stories are the most tragic, for they are robbed of their childhood either by dying of AIDS or by the necessity of caring for loved ones who are.
One day as I walked with Dudu, the home based care worker I assisted, we approached a homestead - a few little huts bunched together in the middle of a large open area. As we walked towards these huts, Dudu turned to me and said quietly, “she has AIDS.” This puzzled me because, as I said, AIDS is rarely spoken of; it is always masked as something else.
A woman, perhaps the oldest woman I have ever met or seen, came from one of the huts to greet us.
“Sanibonani!” she shouted.
In unison, we all responded, “Saubona!”
Despite their intense poverty, in keeping with their culture of hospitality, no Swazi would ever allow a guest to sit in the dirt. They would bring out a small bench if they had one, or straw mats, but regardless how filthy the day’s travels had made us we could not be allowed to sit in the dirt. So this frail ancient woman hastened to provide us with the only luxury she could offer, placing the worn mats that she herself had made, at our feet so we could be seated. Only after we had accepted her humble generosity would she slowly seat herself in the dirt.
Watching her I silently wondered what Dudu could have meant. She was the only person we had seen so far but the elderly don’t usually have AIDS.
Then I saw this small frame ambling listlessly towards us… this tiny shell of a girl with empty eyes… no youthful twinkle in her eye, no hope or joy in her blank stare. I suddenly realized this little six year old girl was the AIDS patient Dudu had referred to. I went to her, knelt down beside her, and started talking to her, hoping to prompt a smile. But Noxola did not respond - no eye contact, no smile, only hopeless despair expressed on her face. Her eyes spoke a thousand words: their emptiness told of hurt, loss, pain, hopelessness, and devastation.
We returned to visit her over the next few weeks, but Noxola remained despondent and unresponsive. On our last visit on our last day in Swaziland I begged my team to go and visit her just once more. As we approached we saw her sitting outside with her grandmother, who was cutting her hair. Noxola just wept softly, her sobs shaking her frail little body. Again her grandmother hurried to bring mats for us to sit on. When she returned I asked if we could finish cutting Noxola’s hair. She agreed, and I sat down beside Noxola. I rubbed her back and smiled at her, wiping away her tears, and she calmed down as my teammate cut her hair. At one point she looked up at me and made eye contact, and I smiled immediately. Noxola quickly hid her face but not before I saw a little twinkle in her eye. Once her haircut was finished she needed a bath and she let me help bathe her while the others talked and helped her grandmother. After the bath we all gathered to pray. I sang a song of hope and love in their native language. Noxola climbed in my lap and smiled at me and sang with me. I held her hand and prayed for her, hugged her close and said goodbye as we started to leave. She came and asked me if she could sing a song for me and I joyfully said, “Yes!” As she sang she had a twinkle of joy in her eyes and a big grin across her face, with the most beautiful little dimples I had ever seen.
While in Swaziland, I met many people suffering from AIDS without hope in what remained of their fragile lives. My own life therefore can never be the same. I can no longer spend money here without thinking of how much food or AIDS medicine it would buy there. My heart is broken and my world shattered for those numbers and statistics that now have names and faces in my heart and mind. Even as I continue to pray for little Noxola I am haunted by the uncertainty of whether she still lives, perhaps remembering her friend “Nomsa,” whose “open heart” helped her smile again.
I'm going to just copy the paper I wrote about her:
As Americans, we live in comfort and abundance. Even the poorest of our country’s population that lives in poverty experience better than so many around the world. Yet, other countries, those third world countries that experience poverty and hunger in the deepest meanings of those words, are not a reality to us.
Africa was not a reality to me, some distant place that I know has problems. You see it on television, see public service announcements, and hear devastating statistics. But that seems a whole other world when you stroll through the mall, or sit down for a nice meal at a restaurant. Even as I bought a plane ticket and planned my trip there, Africa still remained unreal to me.
After a period of initial training, and some other work there, in August my team prepared for a month in Swaziland, a small country in southern Africa that is poverty stricken and devastated by HIV and AIDS. We all packed into vans and cars and traveled for six hours. We arrived and began putting up our tents. I knew immediately that this was not simply another country, but a whole other world. I saw nothing familiar - dirt roads, if there were any roads at all, mud and straw huts where there were any homes at all.
Part of what we had come to do was home-based care. We worked with people in the community who had been trained by an organization committed to helping the sick. These ‘home-based care workers’ walked miles everyday to visit people in their homes who are too sick to function. Living in a place where there’s no running water and no electricity, immobility itself can be a death sentence. These workers go to the river for water, sometimes even catching a ride into a town that has a clinic for medicine. My team served alongside these workers and helped them with caring for these people. Nearly forty percent of the Swazi people are HIV positive. The average life expectancy is about 39 years old. We met many elderly people and lots of children, but very few young or middle aged adults.
Due to the shame and disgrace associated with the disease, ignorance and myths regarding HIV and AIDS are commonplace, and people simply do not talk about it. Someone with AIDS is simply ‘sick,’ often said to have tuberculosis or some other ailment, while in reality nearly one of every two people in Swaziland is HIV positive. What had been cold, dry statistics quickly became a very personal reality, with names, faces, and life or death stories.
The children’s stories are the most tragic, for they are robbed of their childhood either by dying of AIDS or by the necessity of caring for loved ones who are.
One day as I walked with Dudu, the home based care worker I assisted, we approached a homestead - a few little huts bunched together in the middle of a large open area. As we walked towards these huts, Dudu turned to me and said quietly, “she has AIDS.” This puzzled me because, as I said, AIDS is rarely spoken of; it is always masked as something else.
A woman, perhaps the oldest woman I have ever met or seen, came from one of the huts to greet us.
“Sanibonani!” she shouted.
In unison, we all responded, “Saubona!”
Despite their intense poverty, in keeping with their culture of hospitality, no Swazi would ever allow a guest to sit in the dirt. They would bring out a small bench if they had one, or straw mats, but regardless how filthy the day’s travels had made us we could not be allowed to sit in the dirt. So this frail ancient woman hastened to provide us with the only luxury she could offer, placing the worn mats that she herself had made, at our feet so we could be seated. Only after we had accepted her humble generosity would she slowly seat herself in the dirt.
Watching her I silently wondered what Dudu could have meant. She was the only person we had seen so far but the elderly don’t usually have AIDS.
Then I saw this small frame ambling listlessly towards us… this tiny shell of a girl with empty eyes… no youthful twinkle in her eye, no hope or joy in her blank stare. I suddenly realized this little six year old girl was the AIDS patient Dudu had referred to. I went to her, knelt down beside her, and started talking to her, hoping to prompt a smile. But Noxola did not respond - no eye contact, no smile, only hopeless despair expressed on her face. Her eyes spoke a thousand words: their emptiness told of hurt, loss, pain, hopelessness, and devastation.
We returned to visit her over the next few weeks, but Noxola remained despondent and unresponsive. On our last visit on our last day in Swaziland I begged my team to go and visit her just once more. As we approached we saw her sitting outside with her grandmother, who was cutting her hair. Noxola just wept softly, her sobs shaking her frail little body. Again her grandmother hurried to bring mats for us to sit on. When she returned I asked if we could finish cutting Noxola’s hair. She agreed, and I sat down beside Noxola. I rubbed her back and smiled at her, wiping away her tears, and she calmed down as my teammate cut her hair. At one point she looked up at me and made eye contact, and I smiled immediately. Noxola quickly hid her face but not before I saw a little twinkle in her eye. Once her haircut was finished she needed a bath and she let me help bathe her while the others talked and helped her grandmother. After the bath we all gathered to pray. I sang a song of hope and love in their native language. Noxola climbed in my lap and smiled at me and sang with me. I held her hand and prayed for her, hugged her close and said goodbye as we started to leave. She came and asked me if she could sing a song for me and I joyfully said, “Yes!” As she sang she had a twinkle of joy in her eyes and a big grin across her face, with the most beautiful little dimples I had ever seen.
While in Swaziland, I met many people suffering from AIDS without hope in what remained of their fragile lives. My own life therefore can never be the same. I can no longer spend money here without thinking of how much food or AIDS medicine it would buy there. My heart is broken and my world shattered for those numbers and statistics that now have names and faces in my heart and mind. Even as I continue to pray for little Noxola I am haunted by the uncertainty of whether she still lives, perhaps remembering her friend “Nomsa,” whose “open heart” helped her smile again.
The first time I met her.
The day I said goodbye.
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