I'm frontline. Yes, it can be a precarious place to be, but along with
the unknown comes the privilege of seeing an elder see his face for
the first time in his life, of smelling the aroma of mint in the
Tanzanian fields not far from the Masai who wrap their naked bodies in
chiffon as they jump a story into the air decorated with knives used
to conquer lions in the plains. In the plains, you will see few trees,
land that is nothing more than a foot path, a well that isn't well and
a thirsty people wondering how to meet tomorrow. Being front line is
my life's privilege and I want to make space for you if you care to
join me. In remote Zambia, I pass my time in deep reflection. I try
to find reason in the unreasonable, miracles in misery and love in
hate. It isn't easy, but you can offer me an encouraing word or a good
idea, a blessing or solace just by holding my hand. Come with me and
let me show you something beautiful.

Bonnie is pregnant. She has HIV. I know she knows it because I took
her to be tested. I coached and coaxed her like I suppose a football
player coaches and coaxes his team. Bonnie didn’t have electricity or
any future when I met her. She was a seamstress without a seam. Then I
got her a motor for her sewing machine and her business was booming,
possibilities were rife. I loaned her money and capitalized on her
enthusiasm to do good, to make money for her family and secure her
children’s education. It was a done deal, a safe and secure
investment of community funds. Her will and drive were palpable and
infected her husband who ran with the baton. His ideas for their
future were many and grandiose. I pared down and ground the edges a
bit, let up a bit on the accelerator and applied some gentle braking
action, which at the time seemed a bit defeatist, but now, in
retrospect, I’m happy I did because the loss is only moderate.

Shortly after receiving the loan, they bolted from the bank and to
date haven’t paid a penny. I can handle the loss of the money, but
what of the trust. Both fine and upstanding citizens in the community,
they have turned into criminals. How and why I ask myself; how have
such people fallen from the way? I’m deaf, dumb and numb now. I find
it hard to trust others.

Bonnie is pregnant. She fails to feed her other three children, she is
told her virus is “active,” and that she now needs full treatment, but
because of the infant below the bosoms, she cannot take the cocktail.
How will she pay for this little incoming bambino? The loan is lost,
gone somewhere to nowhere, the business is bust and hubby’s grandiose
ideas are still grand. I asked her why she did it. Why she got
pregnant. She gave a coy little girlie glance down there, not really
knowing why she let it happen. “It’s a gift from God,” she says. Does
the hunger that will come from this pregnancy qualify as a gift from
God?

Standing in front of a human being shedding a single tear that barely
has the strength to roll down is numbing. The sensation of
helplessness is not compatible with our human genetics and the stun of
the assault is overwhelming me. A blind woman didn’t see the blackness
of her house, the collapsing roof and the emptiness of a kitchen that
looks more like a mortuary. I did.

“What did you have for lunch today,” I asked the woman’s orphaned
grandchild. “Nothing.” “What did you have for breakfast today,” I
continued. “Nothing”. “What about dinner. What did you have for dinner
yesterday?” “Nothing”. “When did you last eat?” “Yesterday morning.”
Grandma could see nothing, but she could feel. She could feel like a
loser, an incompetent upstanding figure of her once-upon-a-time family
that is no more. She was left by every other member near or far,
husband, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers. She is now on her
own and the legal guardian of her last grandson who is overly exposed
when it is known that he was given no food for nearly two days. It
wasn’t particularly remarkable or unusual. It is just one of those
things, the way it is. When a good deed doer from the church spares
some change they eat. When they don’t they don’t. Sunday service
usually brings the most of those nice people. The tear in grandma’s
eye was like a dagger digging deep and twisting at the same time.
Immediately, anger and rage welled up within. I thought of all the
spoiled and ungrateful children I know who know, but don’t care about
what’s happening across the street to their neighbor.

I inappropriately took a picture of that tear. It wasn’t appropriate,
but she couldn’t see the flash or the darkness in her dungeon of a hut
in daylight. I needed to have the Kodak moment to believe it was real.
And in this way, I can look at it again and feel the same helplessness
that might piss me off again to force me to find some solution for it.

I embarrassingly ask myself what is so terrible with hunger? It is a
sensation like any other sensation: fear, exhaustion, joy. Do I need
to get all dramatic and bent out of shape when I encounter someone on
the side of the road who hasn’t eaten for two days?
Let me show you the tear for you to answer this question…

I’ve seen a lot in this world from the richest to the poorest. Sometimes, I find it fascinating, sometimes I find is demoralizing. Sometimes I’m catapulted into action and other times I’m left devastated on the side of a road watching pick up trucks roll by and wishing one would hit me. The world is a complicated playground. Some play well and others strike out. Some win and some lose. And in the end, we pack up and bring nothing with us to wherever. I guess we’ll all find out when we go there.

I braced myself coming to Africa putting a pretty picked fence around myself and posting “No AIDS Allowed,” without having ever mentioned this in the bylaws. Investing in the dying makes little sense developmental or financially. I chose to stick to the living and make a go at least “saving” them. Often times, relief workers focus on those in dire need. Well, what happens with the rest? They slip deep into dire when put into second place. So, I chose to look after the living and triaged those with AIDS to the other caregivers.