The first day I arrived at Sinikithemba, I sat on a bench in front of the clinic, unsure where to go for my scheduled meeting with the pediatric social worker. As I watched the patients crowd into the waiting room, I was overwhelmed. I watched grannies pulling small children by the hand, well-dressed voluptuous women, skinny old men, stoic-looking teenage boys, and everyone else in between. All of these people, I thought, have AIDS. I hardly knew what to do with the thought.
During that first meeting, I struggled to digest the facts and figures about HIV/AIDS in South Africa, and in the Kwa-ZuluNatal province in particular. Up to 50% of the population is thought to be infected here, although given the rural nature of the province, estimates vary widely. There are more HIV positive children in South Africa than anywhere else in the world. The number of children being raised by gogos (grannies) is uncountable. It was impossible not to be daunted by the statistics.
Yet when I showed up to begin work at the playroom for the children the following week, I was not greeted by statistics. I was greeted by children. Lots of them, all with stories, hopes, fears, idiosyncrasies, desires and dreams. Many of the children are quiet at first, unsure as to what to make of me, and often unable to communicate in English. Over the past three months, I have begun to get to know them, as they come for monthly visits. They laugh when I butcher Zulu and eagerly bring me their drawings and paintings for approval. Some want to be left alone, while others cling to me, needing the reassurances of physical affection. In their company, it is easy to forget their status.
Normally, the children come to the playroom while they wait for their various appointments, and we do activities, read books, and play together. But for the entire month of November, there is a daily Christmas party in order to accommodate every child who attends the clinic, over 1200 in all. The highlight of the event is the KFC meal, complete with a fried chicken sandwich, fries, and an extra large Coke. KFC is considered an exclusive dining experience in these parts, and the kids can hardly believe their good fortune as we bring the meals to them. After they eat, Father Christmas (aka Charleen, a incredibly strong woman who is an HIV counselor and the primary person responsible for running the children’s room) pays a visit, and each child gets a gift and a picture with Father Christmas. As I watch the kids gather for the party, bursting with anticipation, I realize the magnitude of the HIV crisis. It’s hard to reconcile the smiles on their faces when they receive their presents and the fact that they are infected with a terminal infectious disease.
At the end of the day, I feel lucky to be healthy, but also honored that these children and the women who care for them have allowed me into their lives in some small way.
Thank you so much to everyone who contributed to the Christmas party fund. Many of the children still need sponsors for the annual cost of their comprehensive HIV care (around $130). If you think you might be interested, please email me at sabruhn@gmail.com or check out this link and consider donating here. Lastly, I'm not supposed to take pictures of the kids' faces. I failed a bit. I apologize!
Applauding Father Christmas' arrival.
Ayanda, the 18-month-old girl Natty and I are sponsoring for the next two years. Her grandma is in mourning for Ayanda's mother, which is why she is wearing the blue head scarf and shoulder coverings.
A little worried!
Girl talk. A universal teenage female phenomenon. Must be done out of earshot of younger siblings and grown-ups.
Charleen as Father Christmas, and Lungile, the social worker.
Namibia is vast and very, very dry. It's one of the least densely populated countries in the world, and it's easy to see why. It's also spectacular and much better described in pictures than in words. So, here it is.
My friend Liz and I. We've been friends since we were eight.
