faithfully dangerous

Today is World AIDS Day.

Yesterday I went and got an HIV test. I thought it was my first time getting one, but then I realized it was really my second. My first HIV test was in Saint Petersburg, Russia, in 2001, at a dark and dismal Soviet-style clinic. I don’t recall getting the result, I only remember it was autumn and there was a cobblestone street outside. They let me in the country, though, so I must have been negative. I blush to think I was so unsavvy back then not to have specifically inquired about my result.

December 1^st is always World AIDS Day. Considering that there are more people infected with HIV than who know a single fact about Saint Patrick – it seems right to mark the day as important, even though it doesn’t sell any greeting cards. Sara and I wanted to make it meaningful and personal; she had the wonderful idea that we go together to ‘make a test’, as they say here, and invited our Mozambican staff to join us if they wanted. Of the five who work closely with us, only one took us up on the offer. Jumped at it, in fact, in a burst of visible relief.

Vumba, our dayguard, had gotten tested two years ago, he explained, but like me, he had never gone back to see his results. He was nervous about it. His girlfriend, Isabel, who works next door, just announced she is expecting a baby. Vumba himself is an AIDS orphan, and his impending fatherhood weighs heavily on him. He is only 23.

For being the day before World AIDS Day (in an area with a 30% infection rate), it was dishearteningly difficult for us to get tested. The first VCT (voluntary counseling and testing) center we stopped at was out of testing kits. The second, downtown at a health clinic, had already closed by 3 PM. Our third try took us to Chimoio Hospital. The lab entrance is tucked behind and it didn't advertise that HIV testing was available. There was no receptionist at the desk, and in fact, no staff of any kind could be seen. It was entirely deserted except for a sun-kissed Portuguese man and his elderly father who sat waiting and smoking beside us. Finally, we pushed through a half-closed door and found a handsome lab tech who was willing to help us make an HIV test.

AIDS is not rocket science. If you have ever been exposed to blood, semen, vaginal fluid, or breast milk, you are at risk. It doesn’t matter if you are rich or black or Christian or a farmer or bisexual or Janet Jackson. HIV spreads in 4 fluids: that is it. Which is why the disease is so discouraging, because what is life made of? It’s made of blood, and vaginal fluid, and breast milk, and semen. It can be really hard for people to avoid them, especially in a developing country. It’s like avoiding life itself.

Maybe it was a mixture of nerves and the glory of sunshine after a solid week of rain, but Sara, Vumba and I got pretty silly as we sat waiting for our lab results to come back. I pretended to loudly blow my nose and then clean myself with the tissue. Vumba pointed out several of his old chicken pox scars to us. Sara carefully spelled out the way she would like her toenails painted when she dies (only silver polish).

Finally, The Handsome Lab Tech returned and handed each of us a stapled piece of paper. He stood in front of us, watching. We got quiet and ripped them open.

You can’t tell if someone is HIV positive. It’s easy to make judgments about someone once they’ve become really ill, but the truth of the matter is, that before the disease progresses, it is impossible to tell if someone is infected. Believe me, I’ve been to some HIV support groups here. Once AIDS is in a population, it is very egalitarian.

Vumba was negative. He sat, staring, and for a second, I thought he was going to cry.

I was negative. I felt odd relief.

Sara was negative. She looked at me and smiled softly.

HIV is not a game. It is a preventable disease that has wiped out an enormous portion of our world population for over 25 years. It continues because of simple injustice, the injustice of selfishness and economics, greed. It is too often a fluke of geography. If 40% of our country’s population had a fatal disease, like Swaziland’s does, medicine to keep us alive would not be withheld from us, as it is for the vast majority of people in the developing world.

There are a million appalling statistics I could feed you, but it is just as easy for you to open today’s newspaper and read them yourself. Besides, I suspect you already know them. All I want to say to you today is simply: All those people who are dying, who will die, the children who will be left, who will die, all of them, all the people – they matter. They are us. AIDS exists in our time, and it matters.

Happy World AIDS Day, 2007.