For today's Wordless Wednesday, here are photos taken at an AIDS orphan center in Mozambique, previously shared on this blog last October.
Here are a couple of photos of Esmé making friends and teaching them how to high-five!
Showing posts with label AIDS. Show all posts
Showing posts with label AIDS. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
OLZ Wordless Wednesday
AIDS is the biggest killer in Zimbabwe, with at least one in five people having HIV.
For today's Wordless Wednesday, here are photos taken at an AIDS orphan center in Mozambique, previously shared on this blog last October.
Here are a couple of photos of Esmé making friends and teaching them how to high-five!
For today's Wordless Wednesday, here are photos taken at an AIDS orphan center in Mozambique, previously shared on this blog last October.
Here are a couple of photos of Esmé making friends and teaching them how to high-five!
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Wordful Wednesday
Esmé's Mommy here.
Today's posts are long. I won't apologize for that.
I promised the story behind the story today - it was supposed to be a story of an AIDS orphan center that we visited last Friday. I'll get there.
But first I have to share yesterday's story.
Last year we loaned $40 to a Maranatha worker who needed to pay for his little one's coffin. Yesterday my husband found out this same worker had a baby who was dying. Determined to do something, he took the baby to Sommerschield Clinic, one of the best medical facilities in Maputo.
The baby is 14 months old, but only weighs 13 pounds. Developmentally normal, just small and sickly. He started out healthy, but at about 3 months of age his growth slowed down. Lately he has been throwing up whatever he manages to eat.
Diagnosis? Probably HIV/AIDS. We're running a test to confirm, but because of the baby's age, it has to be done in South Africa. His mother is HIV positive, so the doctor's suspicion is that he was born HIV negative, but contracted HIV during the first two months when he was breastfeeding.
If that's the case, this sweet baby boy is dying. Because of his age, we're told the available AIDS medications are of no use to him. We're crying here. The statistics are no longer just statistics.
Backtrack to Friday. In late August, Maranatha was approached by a Mozambican gentleman, Mr. Macamo, about drilling a well for his organization, AACOSIDA (the direct translation is "Association of Friends of Children Orphaned by AIDS," or something like that). That well has now been drilled at their orphan center, and on Friday several of us went there to deliver used clothing for the children there. You can see many of the photos from this trip in our Wordless Wednesday post, and it also inspired Monday's story.
Mr. Macamo and his wife decided to foster some children from their church who had been orphaned by AIDS. Many church members pitched in to help. This got the couple thinking. There are so many others who could use help, and the government and expat charities can't do it all. How about organizing local villagers and getting local businesses to donate to assisting these orphans?
The organization now has 50 volunteer members. They've acquired 10 hectares of land - 9 being used for growing maize, potatoes, tomatoes, onions, and cabbages for distribution. And they've built a center on the remaining hectare, which is still very much unfinished but already in use as a distribution and feeding center.
Their statistics indicate that they are helping 2,059 orphans. Most live with older brothers and sisters, cousins or extended relatives, and 624 have been placed with "substitute" families. These families are providing housing and care, but most are unable to provide much in the way of food and other material goods.
Mr. Macamo has not asked us for money. As he puts it, "Money just complicates things." At one stage the organization attempted to assist the families fostering the orphans with cash, but quickly realized that the cash wasn't always used as intended. But he does approach organizations and people to help with goods.
When we arrived on Friday during school hours, there were over 60 children getting lunch. A few of them were obviously sick and not feeling well, but for the most part they looked healthy and well-fed.
Here are a couple of photos of Esmé making friends and teaching them how to high-five!
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Ghosts of Mozambique
I glance through the doorway of the dimly lit hut, observing her shallow breathing as she sleeps on her floor mat. Her head is covered with crusted sores, hair falling out in patches. A ghost of who she once was.
Turning back to the courtyard, my eyes adjust to the bright sunlight. Our brothers toddle in the dust among the chickens and goats, giggling and discovering stones. I half-smile at the sight and then check the position of the sun. Soon a group of neighbor kids will be rushing by, squealing and chattering and gossiping and playing pranks, as usual. And I'll try to wake Anna so we can join them.
Normally I would be in school right now, but Anna was feeling too weak to go this morning, and I decided to stay with her. Anna is my best friend.
We learned to walk and talk together while our mothers carried water and cooked over charcoal fires and scrubbed clothes together. When our baby brothers were born, we quickly mastered the art of carrying them on our backs as we played.
Then Anna's mother and father both got sick and died. She and her brother moved in with us. We learned how to cook and clean for ourselves when my mother got sick, too. Soon my mother was gone, and my father died not long after.
Some neighbors from church offered us a spot on the floor of their hut to sleep. The lady was happy for our help with the housework, but she soon made it clear that there was barely enough food for her own family to eat. Anna and I snuck portions from the cooking pots for our brothers. We climbed mango trees for green mangos, checked out trash heaps, and begged food wherever we could.
Then a man came by and told us about a center opening up for AIDS orphans, where they would provide food every day for lunch! We ran to the site and found men working on an unfinished cement block building. Some of the village ladies there who knew us signed us up on their roster and told us to come back the next day after school for a meal.
So we've been going there every day. We sing songs and pray. They serve soup and bread and fortified pap. Some days they give away used clothing or school supplies. And so we survive, unless AIDS takes us away.
I think Anna will die, just like our parents have. Many of our friends at the AIDS orphan center are sick, and some have died already. I've been watching both of our brothers by myself, and I think my brother is getting sick, too.
I'm one of the lucky ones. I don't have any symptoms. Since the orphan center has opened, I've been feeling stronger and more energetic.
And I wonder why. Why me? Why not Anna? Why not my mother? What am I supposed to contribute to this world?
The group of chattering orphans comes by our hut. They call for Anna and me. I quickly rouse her, helping her up and staying close by to support her. If she can get some food today, she will feel better. For a little while. Our brothers toddle behind, some of the other kids prodding them in the right direction when they get distracted.
At the center, we sit in orderly rows as the village ladies start the songs. I look solemnly at the cold, unfinished walls surrounding us, at the other orphans. This room is haunted, filled with memories of lost fathers and mothers, broken homes and wounded hearts.
Filled with the ghosts of Mozambique.
---------------
This post has been submitted to Scribbit's Write Away contest. The characters are fictitious, but based on reality. Come back on Wednesday for the story behind the story in our Wordless and Wordful Wednesday posts.
Turning back to the courtyard, my eyes adjust to the bright sunlight. Our brothers toddle in the dust among the chickens and goats, giggling and discovering stones. I half-smile at the sight and then check the position of the sun. Soon a group of neighbor kids will be rushing by, squealing and chattering and gossiping and playing pranks, as usual. And I'll try to wake Anna so we can join them.
Normally I would be in school right now, but Anna was feeling too weak to go this morning, and I decided to stay with her. Anna is my best friend.
We learned to walk and talk together while our mothers carried water and cooked over charcoal fires and scrubbed clothes together. When our baby brothers were born, we quickly mastered the art of carrying them on our backs as we played.
Then Anna's mother and father both got sick and died. She and her brother moved in with us. We learned how to cook and clean for ourselves when my mother got sick, too. Soon my mother was gone, and my father died not long after.
Some neighbors from church offered us a spot on the floor of their hut to sleep. The lady was happy for our help with the housework, but she soon made it clear that there was barely enough food for her own family to eat. Anna and I snuck portions from the cooking pots for our brothers. We climbed mango trees for green mangos, checked out trash heaps, and begged food wherever we could.
Then a man came by and told us about a center opening up for AIDS orphans, where they would provide food every day for lunch! We ran to the site and found men working on an unfinished cement block building. Some of the village ladies there who knew us signed us up on their roster and told us to come back the next day after school for a meal.
So we've been going there every day. We sing songs and pray. They serve soup and bread and fortified pap. Some days they give away used clothing or school supplies. And so we survive, unless AIDS takes us away.
I think Anna will die, just like our parents have. Many of our friends at the AIDS orphan center are sick, and some have died already. I've been watching both of our brothers by myself, and I think my brother is getting sick, too.
I'm one of the lucky ones. I don't have any symptoms. Since the orphan center has opened, I've been feeling stronger and more energetic.
And I wonder why. Why me? Why not Anna? Why not my mother? What am I supposed to contribute to this world?
The group of chattering orphans comes by our hut. They call for Anna and me. I quickly rouse her, helping her up and staying close by to support her. If she can get some food today, she will feel better. For a little while. Our brothers toddle behind, some of the other kids prodding them in the right direction when they get distracted.
At the center, we sit in orderly rows as the village ladies start the songs. I look solemnly at the cold, unfinished walls surrounding us, at the other orphans. This room is haunted, filled with memories of lost fathers and mothers, broken homes and wounded hearts.
Filled with the ghosts of Mozambique.
---------------
This post has been submitted to Scribbit's Write Away contest. The characters are fictitious, but based on reality. Come back on Wednesday for the story behind the story in our Wordless and Wordful Wednesday posts.
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