Week 6 and few more days

The past week has been filled with drama, sadness and excitement.  There would not be anyway to describe it.  Here in Moshi, things don’t move very quickly (thank goodness) but you find, as I have reported in the past, that many things actually go on around you almost too much to take in.

We learned 2 weeks ago that our biggest research projects in both Moshi and Duke were not to be refunded.  This has been an enormous blow to us all, one that has kept us up for many nights on end.  First, I am processing the enormity of it, trying not to feel that it is my personal fault that I potentially could have done better in some way yet feeling a loss almost like a gigantic loss of life.  Then, suddenly it hits you that not only are you losing the projects, but also it hits you that many people, good, hard working people will lose their jobs because of this decision.  And then you think immediately about the research participants both current and those who were ready to enroll in studies and you cry.  And finally, you think about the community in which you have been working and how your community volunteers have steadfastly attended meetings, strategized on how they can educate the community about research, and how they have a personal commitment to the ongoing activities of the project.  I am still grappling with it all.  I want to be gracious, but it is definitely not easy.  What sustains me are the staff who constantly ask how we are doing, what can they do to help, and who remind me, “we have had ups and downs before, we can make it through.” I suspect that there is much more anxiety about their future in their minds, but they are not telling me that, and for that I am touched and moved.

In the meantime, our Youth CAB here in Moshi continues to amaze me.  Yet another meeting has gone by and undaunted by the harsh news, they make plans for a seminar, talk about the issues of stigma and disclosure, and the importance of research. At the same time they are really bonding with one another. 

This week's meeting Youth CAB

This week's group discussion with John K

Our awesome facilitator John K

Prisca...give her a challenge and she grabs it!

My dear friend in Moshi (fellow social worker) lost her mother to a stroke this week.  This little lady was an amazing woman.  She managed to have 8 children and when she died had 14 grandchildren.  She kept meticulous records of her life, the ups and downs.  While she had health problems, she was very busy.  She took in children of family members who were unable to care for them, without a thought for how much it might cost her.  These young folks expressed their gratitude by helping in the house and farm, and thanking her and her husband for their kindness and begging her to not send them away.  Of course she did not.  All her neighbors knew her as a wonderful person who helped them in time of need.  About 300 people walking into the compound and showing their appreciation for her life underscored this love.  I had experienced her love and caring just under a year ago when I visited her home with my girlfriend.  I arrive with a small gift, and come home overwhelmed not only with the hospitality of her mother and youngest daughter (a fabulous farmer) but with vegetables, kanga, basket, pocket book, and love.  Wow. 

Mama Urasa with my Dear Agnes and her daughter, sister and nephews

Though the day of the burial was long and hot, my heart was full.  I thought a lot about my own mother and what her loss continues to mean to me.  I had brought some handkerchiefs to Moshi that she had always used, thinking that they might be good to wipe sweat off my face in the hot African summer.  There I was with this very delicate handkerchief in my hand thinking about both Agnes’ mother and mine. 

 

talking about mother

House compound and funeral procession

Lydia me & Bona

Roses for the funeral

 

grave of Mama Urasa

 I thought how they were much more alike than different, both strong and opinionated, sometimes a bit harsh in our raising, but ready to listen to ideas, and definitely go “to bat” for their children and grandchildren…loyal to the end.  I thought about how my mother never differentiated between the grandchildren born to her children versus those who came into her life through marriage.  And I thought about how she is always somewhere around in my brain, continuing to give me advice (and criticism).  As I passed this on to my friend and her husband, they just nodded agreement and seemed happy to think that this might happen to them, too.

Mother and grandchildren

Chrissy and I have done a little singing at church, and she much more in Arusha and at the church.  It is wonderful to have her here in Moshi while we are here. We continuously fight….nothing has changed.  We had a disastrous day at one of the local sewing ladies places.  She had purchased fabric and was having a dress made that apparently has turned out so badly that she won’t even show it to me.  I also had one made that turned out so badly that I clearly looked 8 months pregnant (oops how can that happen to me with my 64+ years showing every day). But the miracle was that I managed to find my old sewing lady.  (she is really young actually). She doesn’t live in Moshi anymore but she came to town by Dala Dala we found a place to try on the disaster, she found a sewing machine where the dress could be fixed.  We made several deals and one way or the other mending and sewing will be done.  Miracles do seem to happen here.

So at the end of the day this week, we have had 3 big rains, mild temperatures, green coming up so fast I can hardly believe it, and that wonderful fresh smell.  My My.  “on on”. 

A brilliant mountain--New snow and lots of it

The renewal--a wedding!

A Remembrance of a Young Girl

We have returned to the US, and ordinarily I would write about jet lag, the mountains and fond recollections of our trip and of our fortune to be back in our house, with family and kitties.  But, I want to make a recollection of a young girl who needlessly died in Moshi.

This young girl, I will call her Mary, though that is not her name, had been infected with HIV from birth.  Which parent was first infected is unknown, apparently both parents were rather prominent people, although I did not know them.  After her father died, life became difficult for she and her mother, a common theme in Africa.  Mary was a good student and had a smile that could light up the world.  It is not easy to be a good student when you have HIV-infection because you are often prone to illnesses and you have to go to the clinics at least once/month to collect your medication.  Usually, you have to take an entire day just to see your medical provider and get your medicine, even without a thorough exam.  Most frequently, you don't have an opportunity to even express your concerns about the way you feel, your rashes, your headaches or fevers.  The drill is to get there early, wait until your name is called, and to get your medicine.

Indeed, if you are a young girl and are totally ashamed about your illness, and definitely don't want anyone you know to see you, your pattern is to sneak into the CTC, mumble that you need your medicine, and scurry out as quickly as possible.  You don't want donors to come to the school and single you out as one of the "AIDS Victims" who are getting their school fees paid by well meaning Mzungus (white people) because you are likely to be teased by everyone including possibly the teacher after the well meaning mzungu leaves.

This was the case with Mary.  Her saving grace was that she belonged to our Moshi Community Advisory Board (CAB), where quite a few other young people attended, some of whom were also HIV-infected.  The common theme among them was that it didn't matter.  The whole board accepted everyone, and in particular the Teenagers held a special bond.  But, things did not go well for Mary.  Her mother became ill and she had to miss quite a lot of school.  Several other board members said that when they saw Mary, she didn't look well, and our fabulous Research Directors said that she was plagued with low CD4 counts.  One counselor said that she was very depressed, in particular because she had missed so much school.  It was clear that she would have to resit her exams which would make it very difficult to pass.

She stopped coming to CAB meetings.  Just before I left, this counselor called me to tell me that Mary had died.  She had talked to the mother who said that she died and had already been buried before anyone could even be informed.  Apparently, even the family was ashamed.

When I think about this tragedy, especially as I return to the states where the life expectancy of children born with HIV is nearly the same as a child born without HIV, I cry.  And I do it particularly because it doesn't have to be this way.  The stigma and shame connected with HIV have lessened in some areas, but clearly not where we live in Tanzania, and the only thing that seems to give hope are clubs like our Teen Club with the Youth CAB.  Maybe if we had all known what was happening, we might somehow have been able to offer her more support and certainly our fabulous teens would have been by her side and helped.

I don't want likes on this post, but I hope those that read it, might be aware and offer their support in some way.  There don't have to be more "Marys".