Gladys Fights AIDS, Part 1.

Follow our nonprofit director, Ken Wong’s, journey in Malawi and Cambodia as he reflects on the impact of global policy changes and the importance of compassion in our work, starting with the story of Gladys.

As efforts to care for people besides ourselves are maligned as wasteful, duplicitous, and unpatriotic, I’m compelled to speak out for Americans whose ethics and values say otherwise. Starting from this first post about Gladys — timely as HIV medicines are being cut off globally due to the dismantling of USAID — I’ll share my journey in Malawi and Cambodia of being a nonprofit director. I’ve learned a lot, made many mistakes, and experienced life in its wondrous beauty and sadness. I hope you’ll join me.

GLADYS FIGHTS AIDS, Part 1

“I fear she isn’t doing fine,” Gladys’s uncle whispered as he had me sign my dinner bill the night before. “Can you come see her?”

I knew this was serious. It was 2006 and HIV hit Malawi hard. Life-saving ARV drugs had just started reaching hospitals and clinics and AIDS persisted as a hushed, taboo topic.

The next day my driver Mike and I hurried through a nearby village and entered a small mud-brick house. It was dark, musty, and silent, and it took a few moments before I could discern someone lying on a mat. It was Gladys, and she was listless, covered in raw sores, and tiny.

How old is Gladys? I asked. After a pause, her uncle responded that she was 14, after which he slipped back into the shadowy corner of the room.

I’m no doctor, but I could see Gladys had HIV and that her only hope was to be admitted to the hospital. I also knew that the hospital would do very little for her unless she were in the HIV/AIDS ward. That meant Gladys had to first get tested at an HIV clinic.

I cradled Gladys in my arms and carried her out of the house and towards our car. But then she let out a moan — she was in pain because of the open sores on her sides. Mike took her from me, draped her over his back, and took her the rest of the way to the car. Gladys’ uncle followed us and sat in the car without saying a word.

THE CLINIC

“How old is this child?” asked the nurse at the HIV testing clinic.

“14,” I replied.

“That can’t be true,” said the nurse. “Too tiny.  No matter, because she’s under 16, we need a parent or guardian to give consent for her to be tested.”

But her uncle refused to give his consent. No amount of reasoning helped. Without saying more than a few words, he just kept shaking his head.

The nurse shrugged her shoulders — she’d seen this before. AIDS was such a taboo subject that it’s not surprising no one wanted to speak directly about the disease.

For a child to be born with HIV and live beyond eight was rare in Malawi at the time. We could wonder if a family member like the uncle had infected her. He looked like he might have HIV too.

I had asked the uncle if he would get tested. He declined. A few months later, he took a few days off from work and died.

GLADYS TALKS

At the clinic, I kept begging the nurse to just test Gladys.

“She won’t make it. You know this is her only chance.”

At last, the nurse relented and told me that if Gladys herself would give her consent, she could get tested. While I wasn’t sure that Gladys could even talk, I jumped at the chance. Mike explained to a listless Gladys that she needed to tell the nurse that she was ok to get tested.

I wasn’t sure Gladys had enough in her to understand what Mike was talking about, much less be able to say anything.

But we were wrong. The nurse kneeled in front of her and told Gladys she could nod her head if she consented to get tested.

Without opening her eyes, Gladys said in a small, clear voice, “I want the HIV test.”

As she took Gladys down the hall, the nurse turned to look at me.

“You,” she said shaking her head. “I just know you’re going to bring more people here.  You’re surely going to be keeping me busy.”

And then she chuckled. She’d be right, of course.