Gladys Fights AIDS, Part 2.
At the tired, chaotic hospital, Gladys first got a tube to pump in liquids and nutrients. Then she began a regiment to fight malaria. After that, it was TB treatment. A few months later, Gladys finally got the go-ahead to start receiving anti-retroviral drugs for her full-blown AIDS.
Throughout this period, Gladys hardly opened her eyes. She only left her narrow, flimsy hospital bed to use the bathroom. We’d give money to her uncle’s family to cover expenses for food, which someone brought every day.
But she barely ate. She didn’t move much in bed. We never knew if she would make it through the night.
IT’S INHUMANE
A group of people from the States came to see our work in Malawi, to experience what we’re doing on the ground. They wanted to see with their own eyes the poverty, hunger, and disease that’s everywhere here in Malawi. They wanted to help.
“How can we help? That’s what we’re here to do!” they exclaimed when I met them for dinner on their first night.
The truth is, there isn’t much outsiders who don’t speak the language nor have expertise in medicine, farming, or anthropology can do that would really help us in the short amount of time that they’re here.
Also, the idea of helping is tricky, for helping can lead to expectations, dependence, and various unwanted consequences.
“Would anyone mind spending time with Gladys?” I asked. This would free up my time to do other work.
One fellow volunteered right away. I told him he just needed to watch and see if Gladys was uncomfortable or needed anything. If it felt right, he could talk to her.
We ourselves mainly go just to be present. And to show her we care.
A few hours later, we found this fellow not at the hospital but walking in an opposite direction to his lodging. It’s not hard to find a foreigner here – you just ask if anyone has seen an azungu walking on the road.
The man was hot, sweaty, and lost. And angry.
“It’s inhumane to force this child to be kept alive,” he said. “She’s suffering too much. You should let her pass and end her pain.”
I’m sorry this fellow didn’t get to play with an HIV+ child, after which he could then tell his friends back home. I’m sorry he couldn’t handle Gladys’ reality.
That evening, his group scolded me for not providing them with the experiences they expected. One of them, a tv actress, complained that someone brought a goat into our loyal Toyota Pathfinder, which made her demand to move to the front seat of another car. The whole group said they wanted to be back from the field by 5pm sharp every day for cocktails.
I knew I had to apologize.
I needed to say sorry to Gladys for making her spend even a minute with such miserable do-gooders.
GLADYS RISES UP
Gladys and Mike, a few years later
A couple months later, Mike and I visited Gladys one ordinary day. We navigated our way around haphazardly placed beds and tired caretakers resting on the floor and as we approached the familiar small mound covered by a flimsy blanket, Mike called out, “Hey Gladys, Ken’s back from America. We’ve come to see you.”
Without warning, this mound rose up, blanket falling aside, and a girl with the most wondrously huge smile opened her arms, drawing us into her embrace.
It would still be a long road for Gladys. There’d be relapses. Situations of witchcraft and hexing. Family complications. Discrimination and shame.
But from this day on, through graduating secondary school a decade behind her peers to marrying and having two healthy children, Gladys has never shied away from sharing her triumphant smile.