The flesh and blood of AIDS
The greatest pandemic of our generation has a distinctly Christian solution
 

CHRISTIAN TIMES

        I met two angels in southern Africa, and something changed inside me. Bernice was a brown-eyed, 8-year-old girl with a smile that never stopped, and HIV positive. She was a constant companion for tired cyclists during the AIDS Cycle Relay through southern Africa this August and September. Through nine countries and 3,600 miles, a core group of 20 cyclists—joined at times by as many as 1,000 locals—traveled by bicycle and by bus to spread a message of AIDS prevention.

On the long bus rides, Bernice charmed everyone with her friendly chatter and ambition; she was always looking for a job to do, handing out snacks and shoulder massages when we needed them most, after cycling 40 miles on mountain bikes over gravel and potholes. Bernice seemed happiest when she was making others happy.

The other angel was her mother, Elizabeth, who is also HIV positive and came with us to rally the crowds and explain the facts about HIV transmission.

While mother and child were healthy enough to join our grueling monthlong trek through nine southern African countries hardest-hit by AIDS, it seemed that Elizabeth was always trying to coax Bernice to eat just a little morsel. The girl’s thin body was a relentless reminder that Bernice may not outlive her childhood. There were no antiretroviral drugs for her or her mother, but a steady dose of herbs from South Africa seemed to have stabilized their viral loads.

I wondered about Elizabeth’s thoughts. How does a mother cope with knowing that she passed HIV to her own daughter, probably while doing something as loving and natural as breastfeeding? My secret questions seemed too intrusive to ask, but in the remaining days Elizabeth offered most of the answers I wanted, gradually and warmly, as if she could read my mind.


Calm acceptance
Elizabeth refuses to lay blame for her positive HIV status, but she likely contracted it from her first husband, who died in 1999. She was probably HIV positive in the early ’90s when she conceived Bernice, but she didn’t know until later. When Bernice was a baby, doctors told Elizabeth that her daughter would be dead within four years, but Elizabeth didn’t accept the prognosis and decided to fight, both for her daughter and herself. She is winning.

Elizabeth is an unstoppable fighter against AIDS in her beloved Africa, as she speaks to large crowds and provides counseling to people living with AIDS. She tells me a few of her stories, like the 19-year-old girl who became sick and was disowned by her mother. She tells about a woman, 74 years old, who was chased out of a church in Durban when her HIV status was revealed. Elizabeth not only feels the emotional pain of others, but sometimes it also becomes physical. Once Elizabeth contracted tuberculosis from somebody she was counseling.

But the most heart-wrenching moments for Elizabeth were the first few years of her daughter’s life. There were many scares. One particular day will forever be etched in Elizabeth’s memory: “When Bernice was a toddler, violent convulsions twisted her body as I watched in horror,” she recalled. “It was one of the very lowest points for me, but I felt compelled to pray at that moment, and the seizures haven’t returned since.”

I felt compelled to pray. Elizabeth’s words became a recurring theme for three weeks as I met other African heroes in the fight against AIDS.


Champions of faith
Heroes like Zambian marathon runner Cyrus Phiri, who is also a Baptist pastor and World Vision programs coordinator. He envisions himself running from Cairo to Capetown, about 7,400 miles, drawing crowds along the way and sounding a warning about HIV and AIDS. Cyrus lost his brother to AIDS in 1989 and immediately began a running campaign from Livingston to Kitwe in southern Africa, a distance of 750 miles. Seven years later, in 1996, AIDS claimed the life of his sister, “my very best friend in my family,” and with rage and a crushed spirit he ran again, 500 miles, from Lusaka to Kitwe and back. The experience severely blistered his feet, so he now is training barefoot on gravel roads to prepare for his next run.

As I got to know Cyrus, Elizabeth, and many World Vision workers in these countries reeling from HIV/AIDS, something became very clear: The people of southern Africa have the vision and the solutions needed to fight the crisis. Many of them are ready spiritually, as they’ve learned the power of prayer and the reality of a God who is both loving and present in their lives. As a result, hope is alive and well—but resources and money are hard to find. God never intended for southern Africa to fight alone. They need the support of their brothers and sisters in wealthy nations.


Spurred to action
What will it take for Christians to take action? Some of us have been numbed by the ominous numbers, and we feel there’s little we can do. My own concern wasn’t ignited until I got to know and care about people living with AIDS. People like Tiyanjane Kayira, a 32-year-old mother who invited me into her home in Blantyre, Malawi. She contracted HIV from her womanizing husband, who died in 1995. She now does housework to feed and educate her 12-year-old son, Yesaya. Telling her story on the floor of her small rented room, she said her greatest worry was dying and leaving her son alone with no money for school.

Later I asked Tiyanjane what she did for fun and recreation.

“I pray,” she said.

Prayer, she said, was the sole reason she survived in 1994 when sores covered her body and she couldn’t walk. Prayer again saved her life last year, when a tree fell on her home and it collapsed, but she was unharmed. This woman and her son became more than a statistic as I sat in their presence and heard their story.

It was this type of encounter that I needed, hoped for—and feared— before this cycling journey to Africa began.

Later in the trip, as we bounced down the dusty southern African roads at sunset one evening, I saw Elizabeth kiss Bernice on the forehead. In the back of the bus, I prayed through tears in silence, God, don’t let them lose each other.

Heading to the airport a few days later, I realized what it took for me to care: a look through the eyes of people who live with this disease every day and someday will die from it. This was a journey I’d never forget. The HIV/AIDS crisis took the form of human flesh and blood, and I would never be the same.

Brian Peterson is a communications manager for World Vision, a Christian humanitarian organization serving the world’s poorest children and families in nearly 100 countries. For more information, visit worldvision.org.

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