Common Threads

The gogo speaks in hushed tones in her native Zulu tongue. I listen, focusing on her expression, as I wait for the volunteer to begin translating her story into English. But even before I come to understand her words, the tone of her voice, the sagging of her shoulders and the sadness in her eyes speaks volumes-- telling the story of pain, loss and struggle that is nearly universal. It is a narrative which has unfolded repeatedly over the last few weeks as I have interviewed dozens of Zulu grandmothers, who form the foundation of so many families in this region of the world. Having lost their own children to AIDS, they are now caring for their grandchildren, struggling to cope and make ends meet. One granny describes her morning in this way.

"I woke up this morning worried about how I would cover the taxi fare to bring my grandson to the clinic. My only source of income is the cakes I bake and sell in the town. This morning I got up at 4am to bake cakes, but before they were finished my electricity had been shut off--my prepaid electric card ran out while the cakes were in the oven. Fortunately the cakes were baked enough for me to sell, so I walked in bare feet the distance from my home to the town, and sold my cakes for a total of 48 rand (approx $7.) I took 10 rand to buy bread and bologna for my grandson to have something to eat today, and I used 30 rand to get him here to the hospital."

While each woman's story is her own unique reality, they are more or less a variation on a theme-- common threads which when woven together paint a picture that is almost impossible to fathom. Loss, grief, and poverty form the bleak backdrop, and overlaid against this is the overwhelming responsibility of caring for numerous grandchildren and other extended family members, many of whom are infected with HIV. Most of these grannies live a distance from the hospital, in one of the surrounding townships, all of which are characterized by high unemployment, poverty and HIV prevalence. They often share a small over crowded home, sometimes with 8 to 10 people living in four rooms, and no meaningful source of income to support the family's most basic needs. Daily life is a struggle for these women, who have already suffered the loss of their own children to AIDS. Rarely are they even afforded the time or luxury to properly grieve. Many only become aware of the diagnosis and cause of death of their children after their passing. Tragically, the shame and stigma surrounding HIV/AIDS frequently silences those who are sick, preventing them from seeking the treatment that might well have saved their lives. One granny tells me about loosing her daughter to AIDS...

"My granddaughter was living with her mother and father when her mother was getting so sick. She died and they buried her by the house. I didn't even know about her illness..., she hid it. I only found out later after she was gone. I found the bag of pills where she was living and I said to myself, "why is she hiding this thing?" She didn't take the ARVs, she didn't even die in the hospital. She died in the house. She didn't get any help."

Left in the tragic wake of their death are the true innocent victims--the AIDS orphans, many of whom are infected with HIV through mother to child transmission. Most have no knowledge of their biological fathers, and most will grow up never having a father figure in their lives. Instead, they will depend on their elderly grandmothers for their emotional and physical well-being, both of which are often in serious jeopardy. Over time the children typically show signs of illness; unable to eat, crying with pain, covered in bodily sores. The local clinic is slow to make a diagnosis, the care at the government hospital is totally lacking and inadequate, and the grandmothers continue to feel lost and hopeless, fearing the fate of her children will come to the next generation.

"When I came here to Sinikithemba with Cindy she couldn't even eat. Her throat inside was red and something was growing inside. I didn't know what I must do because her mother passed away in May 2008 and now Cindy has the same sickness her mother had. I am saying to myself, "oh my god, I am going to lose this one too."

Common threads are woven through the painful stories of these women's lives. Yet amazingly, they find the strength to carry on, sacrificing everything for the children they are now devoted to helping and healing. They have found their way to Sinikithemba, a special place of care and compassion, and with that they've found hope and a reason to rejoice. Sinikthemba is a Zulu word which means "we give hope", and that is exactly what it represents to the lives of these women, and the children they care for; hope for their health and their future.

These grannies arrive at Sinikithemba with little more than their fears, their pain and their prayers. And with the care and skills provided by an amazing team of practitioners and counselors, and financial support from Gift of Hope donors, their lives and those of their grandchildren are soon transformed. They still face enormous challenges that most of us cannot begin to comprehend. But soon hope replaces hopelessness, sickness gradually turns to health, and the color and light previously absent from their lives begins to shine. You can see it in their smile and hear it in their voices and their heartfelt words of appreciation.

"I'd lost hope and was afraid for my grandchild, because he had been tested for HIV soon after my daughter passed away and I was afraid he would follow. But Sinikithemba gave me hope that things would be ok and that he could also live a full life."

Another granny describes how she felt after coming to Sinikithemba and learning her grand daughter would be sponsored for care and treatment through the Gift of Hope.

"I am feeling much better now and when Lungile told me about the sponsorship I said, ' ohhhhh…you are taking all of the weight off of my shoulders. I used to pay for a taxi for Notokozo and myself, and then I come and pay here at the hospital too, and all the money was gone. I don’t know what I can possibly say. I am very grateful and very happy to be here at Sinikithemba. I took her to another government hospital and they didn't do anything. Maybe Nontokozo would have passed a way by now if we didn’t find this place…that’s the truth.
The people from Sinikithemba help me so much. I don't care how far it is from my house I want to come here. I just want to stay here..."

Yes, for me the gogos share one overarching common thread...they are all the true and unsung heroes of the HIV/AIDS epidemic. They give so much when they have so little, and rescue the children they love at a time that they too could use some rescuing. I marvel at their strength and courage, their commitment and sacrifice. And to hear their expressions of hope and gratitude, and see the smile on their faces and the love in their hearts, it to truly feel joy for another person...and no one deserves it more than these gogos.