Please read the blog two before this one first called "What I Have Been Waiting For." I was browsing the GRS website when I came across this story and it reiterated the power of story and the pain and suffering these people deal with on a daily basis. It relates to that same practice 6 that I haven't been able to understand up until these last few days. This is a story that was told by a young boy named Tsalani and his GRS Malawi Coach Felix and was written by GRS Intern Eren Munir.
"In 2008, Grassroot Soccer began a partnership with the Baylor College of Medicine’s Children’s Foundation and the Abbott Fund in Lilongwe, Malawi. This innovative program goes beyond delivering the GRS HIV prevention curriculum with youth, providing integrated HIV testing to all participants and their families. The program has expanded rapidly since 2008, graduating over 1,500 children and testing over 2000 youth and community members through home-based testing and record-breaking community testing tournaments.
Tsalani’s story, below, provides a window into the pain and loss that HIV has inflicted on the life of a young boy in Malawi. GRS has played a major role in helping him to find his voice and share what he has learned with others. 'Every time I share my story, I may be saving someone’s life,' Tsalani states with confidence.
Walking to school in his usual manner, Tsalani looked down at the road in silence, holding a distant gaze. At only 12 years old, he didn’t know how to confront his feelings after the death of his brother. He felt guilty for not doing more to help and angry that his community failed to lend any support when they needed it most. On that day, Tsalani recalls, 'I felt completely alone.' His brother had been his parent, caretaker, and best friend.
Living by themselves, the two brothers had been forced to take on adult responsibilities early in life. Tsalani’s 18-year-old brother did everything he could to provide for himself and his brother, but the pressure was overwhelming, and soon his late nights working to raise funds for Tsalani’s school fees became filled with drugs, alcohol and women.
Tsalani did everything he could to stop his brother’s new behavior but he couldn’t reach him. Desperate, he turned to his brother’s two best friends for help and vividly remembers their answer; 'Tsalani, we gave up on helping your brother a long time ago. In this community, you cannot do what he has been doing and get away with it. All we have left to do is pray for him.' He sought help from other community members but the answer was the same. Soon, Tsalani’s brother became sick, and the entire community seemed to think he was already gone.
As his brother became sicker, Tsalani spent some of the hardest days of his life watching after his brother. He rarely attended school and sat alongside his brother almost every night as his health declined. He tried to get his brother to go to a hospital, but he refused. The shame was too great. After six months, his brother died.
The months following his brother’s death were full of heartache and worry. As Tsalani explains, 'I had to start thinking about my future because I had no one to look after me'. When Tsalani visited the village to shop for food, he heard whispers of 'HIV/AIDS' from community members. Tsalani knew of the virus but didn’t realize for many months that it had been his brother’s killer.
Eventually, Tsalani found relatives to live with and returned to school, but the pain remained until he met Felix Kayira. Felix was part of an HIV and AIDS education program with an organization called Grassroot Soccer. With the memory of his brother ingrained in his mind, Tsalani had not forgotten about the dangers of HIV and AIDS, and he joined GRS. Felix remembers those early days with a smile, remarking that, “Tsalani became a man on a mission. The more information I gave him about HIV/AIDS, the more he wanted to know”.
During a practice called 'My Coach’s Story,' Tsalani rose to share his personal experience with HIV, and nobody could have imagined the impact his words would have. As he spoke, every emotion imaginable seemed to emanate from his body, describing the death of his brother. After he finished his story he exhaled, and as the air left his lungs, a new, determined young man emerged.
Tsalani found inspiration in that moment to continue to tell his story and has shared it openly with friends, community members and other GRS participants. It’s impossible to know how many lives he has changed, but he is humble and wishes not to be thanked for his openness. All he wants is to keep sharing, because, for Tsalani, 'every time I share my story, I may be saving someone’s life.'"
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Let There Be Light
I thought I had put my small portable heater away for good last week. It was so warm; I was really wondering how it could possibly get any hotter come summer. There were a few nights where I had to sleep with my large fan on and I think I still woke up periodically sweating throughout the night. Surprise, surprise, I pulled the heater back out today after waking up freezing this morning. It is sort of like being in Delaware where you have no idea what the weather will be the next day or in the middle of the day. At least in Florida you always know; in the summer it will rain mid-afternoon for about and hour or so, so get your outdoor activities out of the way in the morning and in the winter it will be freezing in the morning and late at night, but you can assume that it will be warm enough for just a long sleeve shirt or less during the day.
I’ll have you know that I just sat in the dark for 15 minutes with my headlamp reading because we thought our electricity was out (i.e. Albert said it was out and I didn’t question because they light switches didn’t work). It “went out” around 6 p.m. when I was working on the computer after work, but it wasn’t yet dark enough to be a problem or notice that we seemed to be the only ones without electricity. I think we also accepted it because earlier this week the water was cut off across Kimberley until the next morning and another day we all lost electricity. The water goes out all the time because there are major pipes that burst and spew water everywhere. In the area that the pipe is it could look like a flood, even though it never ever rains here. After reading for a bit, I stood up to look out the window, turned off my headlamp and just wondered for a second how long it would be out this time. At that moment I noticed that the lights in the neighboring house were on and that the outdoor lights in our complex were on. I decided that the best thing for me to do would be to go to our landlord’s house to ask him if he knew was what wrong with just our small building. Unfortunately, though their lights were on, there was no answer. Defeated, I returned to my small apartment/house surrendering to the idea that I would spend my evening in darkness. I was looking at the electricity reader (we have to prepay for electricity here), which read full considering I bought new electricity yesterday and I noticed the switchboard for the electricity in the house. I then noticed that the main switch was stuck halfway between green and red so I switched it to green. Nothing, still no lights, no refrigerator white noise. So I switched off the smaller switches and then back on again in an effort to reset them. Still nothing. I then switched the main switch to red, because really what other option did I have and poof, magic, we now have our electricity working again. It is very much a necessity because now I can turn my heater on, go take a hot shower, and snuggle in my warm bed and watch a movie.
I’ll have you know that I just sat in the dark for 15 minutes with my headlamp reading because we thought our electricity was out (i.e. Albert said it was out and I didn’t question because they light switches didn’t work). It “went out” around 6 p.m. when I was working on the computer after work, but it wasn’t yet dark enough to be a problem or notice that we seemed to be the only ones without electricity. I think we also accepted it because earlier this week the water was cut off across Kimberley until the next morning and another day we all lost electricity. The water goes out all the time because there are major pipes that burst and spew water everywhere. In the area that the pipe is it could look like a flood, even though it never ever rains here. After reading for a bit, I stood up to look out the window, turned off my headlamp and just wondered for a second how long it would be out this time. At that moment I noticed that the lights in the neighboring house were on and that the outdoor lights in our complex were on. I decided that the best thing for me to do would be to go to our landlord’s house to ask him if he knew was what wrong with just our small building. Unfortunately, though their lights were on, there was no answer. Defeated, I returned to my small apartment/house surrendering to the idea that I would spend my evening in darkness. I was looking at the electricity reader (we have to prepay for electricity here), which read full considering I bought new electricity yesterday and I noticed the switchboard for the electricity in the house. I then noticed that the main switch was stuck halfway between green and red so I switched it to green. Nothing, still no lights, no refrigerator white noise. So I switched off the smaller switches and then back on again in an effort to reset them. Still nothing. I then switched the main switch to red, because really what other option did I have and poof, magic, we now have our electricity working again. It is very much a necessity because now I can turn my heater on, go take a hot shower, and snuggle in my warm bed and watch a movie.
What I Have Been Waiting For
You know it’s one thing to hear a child’s tragic story from a distance, but it’s another entirely when you get to have a connection to that child. When you can put a face to a story and hug that child. That’s what it is really about. It’s that’s connection that makes all of this worthwhile. Everyday that we go to an intervention and I join a class, I get to become a part of it. I get one step closer to the direct contact with the kids; I get to pray that if they understand English that my words sink somewhere into their brains, that just my presence can have some effect on them.
These are sixth, seventh, and eighth graders that are just like any other sixth, seventh, and eighth grades across that globe. They may live under different circumstances, they may adhere to different cultural behaviors, but in the end just are just kids. Kids that because of their living circumstance may never have a chance to change their situation, to get out of their communities and see the world and learn about it, in fact they may never even be able to fathom the opportunities other children have. Opportunities most of us take for granted.
Today we did practice 6 from the curriculum at our intervention at Greenpoint (one of the township communities), forever my least favorite practice. Practice 6 is called “Our Stories” and the whole idea of the practice is to try to get the kids to open up and start talking about HIV/AIDS and their personal stories relating to resilience. Great idea in principal, but difficult to execute. The problem is that we work with 12-14 year olds and the last thing they want to do is take anything seriously. Most of my interaction with this practice has led me to lose faith in this practice and sometimes question the whole curriculum. It makes me crazy. The kids make up stories, most of which do not even make sense, they laugh at classmates, even when the classmate breaks down from a real, serious, and difficult story. I never see practice 6 have the effect it should have. However, every time we have done practice 6, all of the other coaches from the classes that of course I was not a part of tell these amazing stories about the kids opening up and sharing truly powerful stories. To me, most days, it is a waste of our time and the “American people’s money” as Mandla would say. (Side note: USAID is our largest funder. Other side note: On the USAID’s symbol, below USAID it reads “From the American People,” trust me another discussion for another time). Anyways…when I found out today that we would be doing practice 6 at a school where the kids mainly speak Afrikaans, I grabbed my book and had every intention of spending the afternoon reading about Zimbabwe in the car. Clifford, one of the coaches, had a better idea. I would join his class (he promised to translate and I couldn’t exactly voice that I hated practice 6). Some days I feel like I am a distraction to the classes when I am around, but I guess that is not always true because otherwise the coaches wouldn’t insist for me to be there. So I agreed/was pulled into the classroom.
I am not sure if I explained this previously, but for the kids to graduate the program they must attend 6 out of the 9 practices. Greenpoint has been proving to be a very difficult school to work with because the kids are out of control, they are not interested, and the administrators do not want to give us a lot of time because of the strike recovery plan. Yea, remember that one; it seems like forever ago now. Anyways as an office we decided that we are low on numbers this quarter and that we would just go to Greenpoint through practice 6. We would just graduate whatever kids showed up to all six so we could just get our numbers and be done with it. So today we had planned to do practice 6, type those names into the computer and send them over to Cape Town. Then there was a slight turn of events.
As always with practice 6, most of the kids in the class did not want to take it seriously, no one wanted to share, and those kids who had stories to tell they were too embarrassed or nervous to tell their stories in front of the whole class. So I just sat there for 25 minutes while the coaches explained the importance of sharing their stories, threatened to take away their certificates, and anything else they could do to make the kids participate, thinking about how much I still hated practice 6 and about how I really should talk to those curriculum and training people about this nonsense. After pleading with the kids, we decided that we would just let the kids go and if there was anyone who wanted to share their stories or talk to us privately that they could stay after to do so. 12 kids stayed after. I only spoke directly with two girls, but I heard about some of the other stories and they ranged from beatings, to rape to deaths of family members. One story was about a group of kids who had been followed by a black car. Sensing danger all of the boys ran away leaving a young girl in the dust. She was captured, raped, and died the next day in the hospital. One of the stories I heard was about a girl’s aunt who was HIV positive and pregnant. In 2007 the aunt died and left the baby (and everyone unsure of whether or not the baby was positive) and the rest of that story got lost in translation. The other 12-year-old girl shared a story about her mother who had TB. She told us that her mother drank a lot and didn’t take care of her and her sister and that her stepfather also drank a lot and would beat the mother and the girls. This 12- year-old girl had to assume the role of caretaker at a very young age. An age where she should be worried about playing with friends, not what to feed her sister. The girls have since moved out and live with their cousins and the mother passed away in August.
I was talking to my dad about it earlier and he was like “man, this is some real depressing stuff.” (I probably shouldn’t quote because I know those were not the exact words, but something along those lines). And that’s the truth, it is horrifyingly depressing, but here’s the thing, these are real people, just people exactly like you and me. And this is their real world. This is the reason that I am here. To you it may just be another story on a piece of paper or a computer screen, but for me, for the first time, it is a real story belonging to a girl, with a face and a name. Someone that I listened to, that I looked in the eyes and told that she was brave for telling her story, that I comforted, someone that I got to share a special connection with.
These are sixth, seventh, and eighth graders that are just like any other sixth, seventh, and eighth grades across that globe. They may live under different circumstances, they may adhere to different cultural behaviors, but in the end just are just kids. Kids that because of their living circumstance may never have a chance to change their situation, to get out of their communities and see the world and learn about it, in fact they may never even be able to fathom the opportunities other children have. Opportunities most of us take for granted.
Today we did practice 6 from the curriculum at our intervention at Greenpoint (one of the township communities), forever my least favorite practice. Practice 6 is called “Our Stories” and the whole idea of the practice is to try to get the kids to open up and start talking about HIV/AIDS and their personal stories relating to resilience. Great idea in principal, but difficult to execute. The problem is that we work with 12-14 year olds and the last thing they want to do is take anything seriously. Most of my interaction with this practice has led me to lose faith in this practice and sometimes question the whole curriculum. It makes me crazy. The kids make up stories, most of which do not even make sense, they laugh at classmates, even when the classmate breaks down from a real, serious, and difficult story. I never see practice 6 have the effect it should have. However, every time we have done practice 6, all of the other coaches from the classes that of course I was not a part of tell these amazing stories about the kids opening up and sharing truly powerful stories. To me, most days, it is a waste of our time and the “American people’s money” as Mandla would say. (Side note: USAID is our largest funder. Other side note: On the USAID’s symbol, below USAID it reads “From the American People,” trust me another discussion for another time). Anyways…when I found out today that we would be doing practice 6 at a school where the kids mainly speak Afrikaans, I grabbed my book and had every intention of spending the afternoon reading about Zimbabwe in the car. Clifford, one of the coaches, had a better idea. I would join his class (he promised to translate and I couldn’t exactly voice that I hated practice 6). Some days I feel like I am a distraction to the classes when I am around, but I guess that is not always true because otherwise the coaches wouldn’t insist for me to be there. So I agreed/was pulled into the classroom.
I am not sure if I explained this previously, but for the kids to graduate the program they must attend 6 out of the 9 practices. Greenpoint has been proving to be a very difficult school to work with because the kids are out of control, they are not interested, and the administrators do not want to give us a lot of time because of the strike recovery plan. Yea, remember that one; it seems like forever ago now. Anyways as an office we decided that we are low on numbers this quarter and that we would just go to Greenpoint through practice 6. We would just graduate whatever kids showed up to all six so we could just get our numbers and be done with it. So today we had planned to do practice 6, type those names into the computer and send them over to Cape Town. Then there was a slight turn of events.
As always with practice 6, most of the kids in the class did not want to take it seriously, no one wanted to share, and those kids who had stories to tell they were too embarrassed or nervous to tell their stories in front of the whole class. So I just sat there for 25 minutes while the coaches explained the importance of sharing their stories, threatened to take away their certificates, and anything else they could do to make the kids participate, thinking about how much I still hated practice 6 and about how I really should talk to those curriculum and training people about this nonsense. After pleading with the kids, we decided that we would just let the kids go and if there was anyone who wanted to share their stories or talk to us privately that they could stay after to do so. 12 kids stayed after. I only spoke directly with two girls, but I heard about some of the other stories and they ranged from beatings, to rape to deaths of family members. One story was about a group of kids who had been followed by a black car. Sensing danger all of the boys ran away leaving a young girl in the dust. She was captured, raped, and died the next day in the hospital. One of the stories I heard was about a girl’s aunt who was HIV positive and pregnant. In 2007 the aunt died and left the baby (and everyone unsure of whether or not the baby was positive) and the rest of that story got lost in translation. The other 12-year-old girl shared a story about her mother who had TB. She told us that her mother drank a lot and didn’t take care of her and her sister and that her stepfather also drank a lot and would beat the mother and the girls. This 12- year-old girl had to assume the role of caretaker at a very young age. An age where she should be worried about playing with friends, not what to feed her sister. The girls have since moved out and live with their cousins and the mother passed away in August.
I was talking to my dad about it earlier and he was like “man, this is some real depressing stuff.” (I probably shouldn’t quote because I know those were not the exact words, but something along those lines). And that’s the truth, it is horrifyingly depressing, but here’s the thing, these are real people, just people exactly like you and me. And this is their real world. This is the reason that I am here. To you it may just be another story on a piece of paper or a computer screen, but for me, for the first time, it is a real story belonging to a girl, with a face and a name. Someone that I listened to, that I looked in the eyes and told that she was brave for telling her story, that I comforted, someone that I got to share a special connection with.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
We Shall Meet
“I think people are beginning to realize that you can’t have pockets of prosperity in one part of the word and huge deserts of poverty and deprivation and thing that you can have a stable and secure world.”
---Archbishop Desmond Tutu
Well said, Tutu, well said. You know just a little food for thought. I decided next on the top of my list (that’s my life list of course) is to meet Desmond Tutu. Do I think it is possible? Maybe, maybe not. But I do feel as though I have a much greater shot at it while I am living in South Africa than when I move back to the States. He just seems like a pretty cool dude. Maybe that is not something you say about an archbishop, but if I were him (which I am not), I would take it as a compliment. I am basing this concept of him on a 3-page article/interview I read in the S.A. publication “Soul.” Now that is some serious stuff. I know, I know, it is not the most credited or educational source, but it definitely did spark my interest to want to know more. Part of that more would be meeting the man.
I have to say when I became public knowledge that Desmond Tutu, who as long been a big supporter of Semester at Sea, would be joining the Fall 2010 voyage, I wanted to scream. I found myself experiencing mixed emotions of jealousy and rage. We were the 100th voyage and we got nothing except for the glory of being able to say that we traveled on the 100th voyage of Semester at Sea. It may also be the experience that will get me into the Circumnavigator’s Club, yea that’s right, but that’s not the point. I know it shouldn’t be about getting things (most of the time? Sometimes?), but to have the opportunity to sit down at dinner or play games in the piano bar with someone as influential and famous on the world stage would be epic. Imagine being able to say that you lived on the same ship as Archbishop Desmond Tutu for 4 months. Now do you get it?
While I am making it a mission to meet the man this year (I can extend the time limit if this poses a problem), I will unfortunately have to wait another 3 months until December when his little traveling around the world stint is over. Oh, wait he is also joining the enrichment voyage so probably not until after January. Lucky. I missed him twice. Good thing is this give me some time to really learn some more about him.
---Archbishop Desmond Tutu
Well said, Tutu, well said. You know just a little food for thought. I decided next on the top of my list (that’s my life list of course) is to meet Desmond Tutu. Do I think it is possible? Maybe, maybe not. But I do feel as though I have a much greater shot at it while I am living in South Africa than when I move back to the States. He just seems like a pretty cool dude. Maybe that is not something you say about an archbishop, but if I were him (which I am not), I would take it as a compliment. I am basing this concept of him on a 3-page article/interview I read in the S.A. publication “Soul.” Now that is some serious stuff. I know, I know, it is not the most credited or educational source, but it definitely did spark my interest to want to know more. Part of that more would be meeting the man.
I have to say when I became public knowledge that Desmond Tutu, who as long been a big supporter of Semester at Sea, would be joining the Fall 2010 voyage, I wanted to scream. I found myself experiencing mixed emotions of jealousy and rage. We were the 100th voyage and we got nothing except for the glory of being able to say that we traveled on the 100th voyage of Semester at Sea. It may also be the experience that will get me into the Circumnavigator’s Club, yea that’s right, but that’s not the point. I know it shouldn’t be about getting things (most of the time? Sometimes?), but to have the opportunity to sit down at dinner or play games in the piano bar with someone as influential and famous on the world stage would be epic. Imagine being able to say that you lived on the same ship as Archbishop Desmond Tutu for 4 months. Now do you get it?
While I am making it a mission to meet the man this year (I can extend the time limit if this poses a problem), I will unfortunately have to wait another 3 months until December when his little traveling around the world stint is over. Oh, wait he is also joining the enrichment voyage so probably not until after January. Lucky. I missed him twice. Good thing is this give me some time to really learn some more about him.
It's the Simple Things
So here I am spending a year in the world. Actually I think really I spend every year somewhere in the world. That would make sense. I am spending a year out in the foreign world, exploring, learning, and working (to some extent). My year in the world involves me spending a lot more time in one specific location than I am used to, one that will allow for a ton of writing, reading, and some self-reflection. I am learning quickly that I pretty much need to be by an ocean; I am becoming rather tired of the dry cough attacks that keep me from my much-needed sleep. I am also learning through my process of writing that sometimes I am afraid to really “take a stand.” I am afraid to say what I really want to say about different issues and problems because I fear everyone’s responses. Well not everyone’s, just those who disagree with my perspective and what I have to say. I guess that comes with the territory of writing your thoughts and posting them on the web for all to see. Luckily for me, most people don’t comment or have much to say at all to my perspective on the world. I don’t know yet if that is a good thing or a bad thing; we will just have to see.
Thanks Mom for all the informative articles about the continent I am living on so that I may continue to educate those following me this year. For those who don’t know and I would assume that is most people reading this, everyday my mom sends me 3-5 sometimes more emails from her new favorite news source allafrica.com. The funny part is that I send her 3-5 sometimes more emails regarding news articles from the nytimes.com or cnn.com. The other cool thing is that she is sort of my personal research assistant. If I make a comment on something that I plan to discuss further at a later point, I can pretty much expect an email the following day with all of the news articles and information one could need to make their point, if you catch my drift.
One follow-up that I decided to discuss further relates to the number of funeral service businesses that we see around us at all times and sure enough I have a great article that informed me more on the situation. I made a comment earlier about the life expectancy and the prevalence of AIDS in Lesotho, but I never really went into a whole lot of detail about South Africa. I shared a personal story in a way, but then I received an email from my allafrica.com specialist discussing the mortality of children in South Africa and I have to say it is pretty distressing. So here’s the deal: about 75,000 children under the age of five die in S.A. every year; this means that nearly 200 children die everyday. It is interesting to find out that HIV accounts for a lot of these deaths because these are children born with the disease from HIV-positive women. Out of the 1 million babies born per year in S.A., almost 300,000 are born to HIV-positive mothers. Something else I learned, this comes from a local source, Thembi, to be exact, is that women cannot “have their tube’s tied” until they have had at least 4 children, 3 children if they are HIV positive or had C-sections. Now sometimes I think that unless there is something that can stop women from passing on HIV through childbirth, wouldn’t it make sense not to allow these women to have children. I mean reading that back, I know it sounds horrible, but there has got to be some way to stop passing on this disease and this could be a start. Actually, that just sound ludicrous because I have no idea how you could control that. I know there are things out there and in the works that are trying to prevent the mother-child transmission, but still…at least if the mother cannot afford proper medication for herself and the child. In the article the statement has been made that HIV was severely ignored for too long which allowed it to reach the levels that it has reached today and that there has been a delay in the strategies created to prevent the mother-to-child transmission. Hmmm, interesting.
So of the children that die every day and every year, 57% die from HIV. 100 of these children are dying from HIV and the other 100 are dying from completely treatable and preventative illness like diarrhea and pneumonia. These are things that could be prevented with proper housing, water, and sanitation. Simple basic human needs.
Thanks Mom for all the informative articles about the continent I am living on so that I may continue to educate those following me this year. For those who don’t know and I would assume that is most people reading this, everyday my mom sends me 3-5 sometimes more emails from her new favorite news source allafrica.com. The funny part is that I send her 3-5 sometimes more emails regarding news articles from the nytimes.com or cnn.com. The other cool thing is that she is sort of my personal research assistant. If I make a comment on something that I plan to discuss further at a later point, I can pretty much expect an email the following day with all of the news articles and information one could need to make their point, if you catch my drift.
One follow-up that I decided to discuss further relates to the number of funeral service businesses that we see around us at all times and sure enough I have a great article that informed me more on the situation. I made a comment earlier about the life expectancy and the prevalence of AIDS in Lesotho, but I never really went into a whole lot of detail about South Africa. I shared a personal story in a way, but then I received an email from my allafrica.com specialist discussing the mortality of children in South Africa and I have to say it is pretty distressing. So here’s the deal: about 75,000 children under the age of five die in S.A. every year; this means that nearly 200 children die everyday. It is interesting to find out that HIV accounts for a lot of these deaths because these are children born with the disease from HIV-positive women. Out of the 1 million babies born per year in S.A., almost 300,000 are born to HIV-positive mothers. Something else I learned, this comes from a local source, Thembi, to be exact, is that women cannot “have their tube’s tied” until they have had at least 4 children, 3 children if they are HIV positive or had C-sections. Now sometimes I think that unless there is something that can stop women from passing on HIV through childbirth, wouldn’t it make sense not to allow these women to have children. I mean reading that back, I know it sounds horrible, but there has got to be some way to stop passing on this disease and this could be a start. Actually, that just sound ludicrous because I have no idea how you could control that. I know there are things out there and in the works that are trying to prevent the mother-child transmission, but still…at least if the mother cannot afford proper medication for herself and the child. In the article the statement has been made that HIV was severely ignored for too long which allowed it to reach the levels that it has reached today and that there has been a delay in the strategies created to prevent the mother-to-child transmission. Hmmm, interesting.
So of the children that die every day and every year, 57% die from HIV. 100 of these children are dying from HIV and the other 100 are dying from completely treatable and preventative illness like diarrhea and pneumonia. These are things that could be prevented with proper housing, water, and sanitation. Simple basic human needs.
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