Chickens and Tea

July 4, 2012

The car horn gets me moving quickly and I grab my water bottle on my way out the door.  Q and I are going a couple of hours away to conduct a chicken training to a group of grandma's who are caring for orphans.  Along the way, we talk about many things: the role of women in Zimbabwean society, life during the colonial days, what sort of foods are eaten here which I haven't had yet (worms, field mice, etc),  Hwange National Park, Victoria Falls, the price of food and how it is changing the face of poverty, Lassie, scary-looking dogs, etc, etc. 

Josphine

We sit under an avocado tree on hand hewn benches, surrounded by grandmas who are ready to learn about chickens and their care.  While we wait for more grandmas to arrive, I interview the ones there in order to get their stories down.  I meet one grandma whose name is my own grandmother's, the grandma of my heart.  I tell her that my grandma is Josphine, too, but that we pronounce it differently because my grandma is from Colombia.  She tries out my "Josefina" on her tongue and finds it tastes just as good as her "Josphine".  She repeats it to herself a couple of times, as if to remember it for later.

They seem shy but are willing to answer my questions, which helps me understand their lives just a tiny bit.  The daughter who've died, leaving them with grandbabies to raise.  The sons who've pass on.  The husbands who are no more. Somehow, these women have survived tragedy after tragedy, holding on to a thin veil of hope, believing that despite everything, their grandchildren will do better than they did.  I ask them what the gift of five chickens means to them.

School fees.

Food.

Soap.

A future.

A new blanket.

I take them on a journey of possibilites and we work on numbers.  We determine that at the worst case scenario, they will each have 35-40 chickens by the end of the year (after eating some eggs and losing some chicks to predators or illness).  One woman squints her eyes and says in N'debele, "We will be rich".  Her voice is soft, her poise calm, her tone straight forward.  She shows no external excitement.  In fact, she looks a bit wary, a bit careful as she utters those words.  Once translated, I look at her square in the eyes and say "That is the point".  It seems that no translation is necessary because as the words come out of my mouth and I gesture that this is what we want for them, they all break out in smiles and laughter.  It seems that they were afraid to point out what could possibly be true - that in one year, they might be richer than they ever thought they'd be.  That in a year's time, they might have 35 chickens to call their own, some to be sold, some to be eaten and some to be kept as layers.  Once the realization hits that this is where their children's future might lay, they are eager to know what to do, what the contract demands of them and of us, how to build the best house for their chickens, and how to do record keeping.

Once I am done with the contract and record keeping portion of the workshop, my part in the training is done and I head off in search of wood.  A woman joins me and helps me build a small fire on the opposite side of the small, weather beaten church, while two adolescent girls go to a river for water.  The walk is long and in the time they go and come back, the fire is ready, almost out, revived again.  I've managed to make 50+ butter and jam sandwiches while squatting on the hot ground.  They are stacked in tall columns, these sandwiches, as tasty as I could make them with the two ingredients we have.  Q had purchased the bread, butter, jam, tea, milk, and sugar on our way to the training and I was incredulous at the amount of bread.  In his quiet manner, Q tells me that rural Africans eat as much as they can when food is available because they never know when they will eat again.  He assures me the sandwiches will be gone at tea time. 

The workshop ends at the same time as I round the corner of the church building with a pan in one hand and a small pitcher of water in the other.  Old women with beautiful black, wrinkled, hard-working, sometimes arthritic, hands are surprised that a white woman is offering to wash their hands.  They laugh shyly and hold out their hands over the pan as a thin stream of water gets poured on them.  They scrub and I pour a bit more.  Down the line I go until we are done and can go into the church where four more benches, a large pot of tea, and more than fifty sandwiches wait for us.

Q is right.  There is no food left by the time he and I head out the door. 

A pair of those beautiful old hands grabs one of mine as I say good-bye and she kisses it.  I am undone.  I hug her tightly and she says against my neck one, two, three times - "thank you. thank you. thank you". I say "thank you" back because the gift is mine.

Stigma

One of the worst things about AIDS is that it’s not just a disease. It’s not just a biological phenomenon. It’s a degrading status symbol. Around the world, AIDS is associated with degenerate morality and shame. Once you have it, it becomes an unwanted social marker if you tell and a death sentence if you don’t—and all too often, it is both. The phrase ‘insult to injury’ could never has been more apt. HIV comes with a terrible weight on the victim’s shoulders—not just because knowing that something lethal lives inside you puts an ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach, but because you now have a humiliating social burden to carry as well.

It’s not hard to figure out why HIV and AIDS have a stigma associated with them. When HIV/AIDS first appeared in humans in the mid-1980s, the infected population was primarily composed of marginalized groups—sex workers, intravenous drug users, and homosexuals. In many cultures, each of these groups is associated (some unjustly) with immorality, and this association transferred to the virus. Even in America, upon hearing the world “AIDS,” the listener will often think “homosexual,” “immorality,” or “dirty.” Moreover, the primary mode of transmission is sex—and the more partners you have the greater your chances of contracting HIV. Needless to say, the moral connotation of AIDS is nearly invariably negative. Additionally, in rural areas of developing countries, indigenous beliefs and religions may regard AIDS as the result of sin or spiritual malaise, sharpening the social division HIV can lead to.

The irony is that the marginalized groups among whom AIDS initially spread are now responsible for a small percentage of HIV transmission, at least internationally. In Southern Africa, in countries such as Zimbabwe where we work, HIV/AIDS is a problem that entire societies face. But whether these societies are willing to face it depends on their ability to accept the stigma it carries. Sometimes, entire communities will baldly deny the presence or at least the pervasiveness of HIV. And that denial is deadly, because where available, testing means treatment, and treatment means unnecessary deaths are avoided.

So AIDS means so much more than physical pain. AIDS means ostracism. AIDS means humiliation. AIDS means secrets. AIDS means stigma. And it’s really, really terrible. You’d think at least that kids would escape the social wounds of AIDS, but in many places, they don’t. Even though all children who have HIV were either born with it or had it breastfed to them, that is, no choice of theirs led to their infection, many children with HIV or AIDS face discrimination and neglect because of their condition. Sometimes, HIV+ kids who were also orphaned by AIDS have no caretaker because no one is willing to take on a tainted child. And that is not okay.

The world must begin to see AIDS victims as God’s children, as sisters and brothers whom we are to suffer with, care for, and lift up. They are not tainted, they do not deserve ostracism; they are cherished and deserve love and care. The AFCA strives to provide that love and care, and YOU can be a part of that effort. Visit the main website to learn more.

Hi everyone! It’s Hannah, the summer intern.

As some of you may know, I am currently in Ghana doing a semester study abroad at the University of Ghana. I just wanted to share some of my experiences in Africa so far. I’ve been here for about 2 months now but it feels like so much longer (in a good way!).

Everything starts early and ends early. The sun rises around 6am and sets by 6pm. I constantly talk about my “Ghana bedtime”. In college in United States, it would not be acceptable to go to bed by 10pm every night but here, it’s normal. And you’ve “slept in” if you manage to stay asleep until 8 or 9am!

I’ve been lucky enough to be able to travel quite a bit in these first two months. This is a picture of Wli Falls which is the highest waterfall in West Africa. It was about a 45 minute hike to get to the lower part of the falls and if you want to go to the upper part, it’s an hour and a half. My group only hiked to the lower part but we’re considering going back to hike to the top part. I just recently returned from a two-day trip to Lome, Togo, where I got to tour the Voodoo Fetish Market. Right when I got back, Yahoo! posted an article about the creepiest places in the world (click here) and the market was on the list!


The food here is probably the biggest thing I’ve had to adjust to. I normally don’t eat spicy food but there are only two options here—spicy and spicier. Fufu with groundnut stew is my new favorite food. Rather than chewing you simply dunk the fufu (which is pounded yams or plantains) into the stew and then swallow it whole. I found a recipe for groundnut stew and I highly suggest anyone and everyone try to make it (click here).

Ghana is fantastic and such an interesting cultural experience. One thing I have noticed is that they take HIV/AIDS very seriously. There are signs everywhere advocating for safe sex and HIV prevention which is fantastic. Provided the internet cooperates, I will try to continue to blog a little more about my experiences here.