Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Zero.


Her eyes clouded with tears as she told the story; it happened years ago, but the pain was still strong enough to infect those of us around her. 

“My friend, she got sick. And I asked her to get tested, but she said no. And then she got sicker, and I begged her to get tested, but she said no again. And then she got angry. ‘Do you think I am that type of a person?’ her words were bitter and harsh. ‘Do not ask me about this again. I am not that type of person.’”

“She was married, and I knew her husband was unfaithful. But she did not want anyone to think that she was that type of person. And so she refused the test that would have saved her life. She got sicker and sicker and sicker. And when it was way too late, she finally took the test. It was AIDS by then, and there was nothing anyone could do. She died in June, and I sat with her until the very end.”

“The drugs would have saved her life. Testing would have saved her life. AIDS did not kill my friend. Stigma is what caused her death.”

My Zambian colleagues nodded. For this was not one person’s story. It was story after story after story. “A woman will get beaten if she is positive. It is better not to know.” “A man will get fired if he is positive. It is better not to know.” “A child will be kicked out of school is she is positive. It is better not to know.” So many reasons to avoid testing. If you do not get tested, then no one knows for sure. Then you are safe from the stigma, even though it might cause your death.

And so one pastor stood up. “I get tested every year,” he proclaimed. “And I tell my church to do the same. If we, the leaders of the church, get tested, then other people will, as well.” Another pastor spoke out, “When someone is positive, we must provide support and care. We can form support groups in the churches, so that people will be tested.” By the end of the workshop, pastors and Presbytery leaders were making plans, creating concrete strategies to address stigma in their churches and in their communities. How many lives will be saved when these pastors address stigma? How many people will be tested and treated, when they realize that they will receive support and care? How many children will not become orphans? How many women will not become widows? How many men will live to see their grandchildren?

Shortly after I arrived in Zambia a year ago, I visited the home of Mrs. Nkoswe, an HIV positive woman, who was an active leader in her church. I went along with a group of women, and they were deeply proud of their sister in Christ. There was no shame, no judgment, no fear, only joy - joy that Mrs. Nkoswe was healthy, on medication, and able to raise her two grandchildren, while living with HIV. But not only that, they were proud of her because she was leading her community in addressing HIV. She was public about her health status, and encouraged others to be tested, to be treated, to be healthy, to be open, to be whole. Her Christian faith gave her the strength to live openly with HIV, and to encourage others to get tested and treated. And her sisters in Christ, the women of her Presbyterian church, held her up, supported her, and celebrated her. 

Our partner, the Church of Central Africa Presbyterian, Synod of Zambia, is hosting workshops, addressing stigma, creating change, so that Mrs. Nkoswe’s story is repeated over and over and over again, as more people are tested and treated, as lives are saved, as new infections decrease, as we move towards zero. 

Zero new infections. Zero AIDS related deaths. Zero stigma. With the grace of God, we can get there.


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