August 15, 2003 — As fate would have it, during the apartheid era I religiously believed that the future or lack thereof for people living with HIV, lay in our own hands.
During that brutal and institutionalized form of segregation, the ball was in the court of those who were oppressed and who subsequently made a conscious and courageous effort to defy the enforcers of a system which was to be universally known as a crime against humanity.
Our greatest leaders, across the political, racial, religious, ethnic and economic spectrum, took the bull by the horns.
I am certain there is absolutely no need to re-quote Madiba's* closing speech, which was supposed to be his last utterance as living human being at the Rivonia treason trial.
(*Note: Millions of South Africans refer to Nelson Mandela as "Madiba," which is Mandela's Xhosa clan name and literally means grandfather.)
However, in the interest of this column and to drive home my point, indulge me.
Madiba said, "During my lifetime I have dedicated myself to the struggle of the African people. I have fought against white domination and I have fought against black domination.
"I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But, if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die."
According to Professor André Brink from the University of Cape Town, Madiba's statement from the dock "was destined to smolder in the homes and servant quarters, the shacks and shebeeens and hovels of the oppressed, and to burn in the conscience of the world."
In this day and age, the last paragraph of that specific speech has also served to expose the cruel and selfish nature of those who assumed political power before and after him.
Today, our elected political leaders are both too sophisticated and too superficial. The fact that 600 people, largely African people, die from HIV-related infections on a daily basis does not seem to have a bearing on their consciences.
Last year, according to UNAids reports, 3.1 million died and 2.1 million people of those unnecessary AIDS deaths were in Africa. The grave fact that 10 million people between the ages of 15-24 and almost 3 million children under the age of 15 live with HIV, does not seem to be a matter of urgency for them.
According to Allister Sparks' new book titled "Beyond the Miracle: Inside the New South Africa," even those who occupy offices in the higher echelons of an AIDS-ridden society are not prepared to lead by example.
Most politicians choose not to learn anything from their own, and our greatest, leaders.
Some, such as the populist ANC politician Peter Mokaba, and Parks Mankahlana, who served both Madiba and President Thabo Mbeki, denied the existence of AIDS. They rejected the promoted use of anti-retroviral drugs as a means of prolonging the lives of those living with HIV.
The status quo prevailed despite escalating and prevalent knowledge that both were living with HIV.
In Mokaba's case, there was even a self-proclaimed traditional healer who divulged that he had treated him prior to his permanent departure, using a homemade concoction known as umbimbi.
It is against this visible lack of leadership, vision and commitment to the cause and the lives of those living with HIV, that I believe that our freedom from the shackles of imminent death lies in our own capable hands.
If we are a massive community of more than 5 million people living with HIV, numerically meaning there are more than 30 million people who are affected by this epidemic. We can win this battle for life.
No one can afford to discriminate and to dismiss our most pertinent issues based on cost and other inconsequential and inconsistent reasons — even our president cannot do that.
We must rise up, defy the social ills and stand up for our right to life. Aluta continua! ("Fare thee well!")
Next: Prepare for Death — It's the Least We Can Do
"Only a Zulu man would be so dumb as to dig his own grave..." | Go »
("Sleep in peace, my brother")
ANC Stars Who Lived in Denial
During that brutal and institutionalized form of segregation, the ball was in the court of those who were oppressed and who subsequently made a conscious and courageous effort to defy the enforcers of a system which was to be universally known as a crime against humanity.
Our greatest leaders, across the political, racial, religious, ethnic and economic spectrum, took the bull by the horns.
I am certain there is absolutely no need to re-quote Madiba's* closing speech, which was supposed to be his last utterance as living human being at the Rivonia treason trial.
(*Note: Millions of South Africans refer to Nelson Mandela as "Madiba," which is Mandela's Xhosa clan name and literally means grandfather.)
However, in the interest of this column and to drive home my point, indulge me.
Madiba said, "During my lifetime I have dedicated myself to the struggle of the African people. I have fought against white domination and I have fought against black domination.
"I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But, if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die."
According to Professor André Brink from the University of Cape Town, Madiba's statement from the dock "was destined to smolder in the homes and servant quarters, the shacks and shebeeens and hovels of the oppressed, and to burn in the conscience of the world."
In this day and age, the last paragraph of that specific speech has also served to expose the cruel and selfish nature of those who assumed political power before and after him.
Today, our elected political leaders are both too sophisticated and too superficial. The fact that 600 people, largely African people, die from HIV-related infections on a daily basis does not seem to have a bearing on their consciences.
Last year, according to UNAids reports, 3.1 million died and 2.1 million people of those unnecessary AIDS deaths were in Africa. The grave fact that 10 million people between the ages of 15-24 and almost 3 million children under the age of 15 live with HIV, does not seem to be a matter of urgency for them.
According to Allister Sparks' new book titled "Beyond the Miracle: Inside the New South Africa," even those who occupy offices in the higher echelons of an AIDS-ridden society are not prepared to lead by example.
Most politicians choose not to learn anything from their own, and our greatest, leaders.
Some, such as the populist ANC politician Peter Mokaba, and Parks Mankahlana, who served both Madiba and President Thabo Mbeki, denied the existence of AIDS. They rejected the promoted use of anti-retroviral drugs as a means of prolonging the lives of those living with HIV.
The status quo prevailed despite escalating and prevalent knowledge that both were living with HIV.
In Mokaba's case, there was even a self-proclaimed traditional healer who divulged that he had treated him prior to his permanent departure, using a homemade concoction known as umbimbi.
It is against this visible lack of leadership, vision and commitment to the cause and the lives of those living with HIV, that I believe that our freedom from the shackles of imminent death lies in our own capable hands.
If we are a massive community of more than 5 million people living with HIV, numerically meaning there are more than 30 million people who are affected by this epidemic. We can win this battle for life.
No one can afford to discriminate and to dismiss our most pertinent issues based on cost and other inconsequential and inconsistent reasons -- even our president cannot do that.
We must rise up, defy the social ills and stand up for our right to life. Aluta continua! ("Fare thee well!")
Next: Prepare for Death -- It's the Least We Can Do
"Only a Zulu man would be so dumb as to dig his own grave..." | Go »
Prepare for Death -- It's the Least We Can Do
I might as well grab a pickaxe and shovel, if I have nothing in hand to prepare for my funeral.
However, I choose to sweat in my living years to ensure that when my spirit is called out by the superior being, at least my body will be taken care of.
I am a wise and mature man of Zulu descent, therefore, since I neither have the time, energy, nor the necessary tools to stab at the ground, I decided to accept free funeral cover from Batho Batsho Bukopane, a black-owned funeral undertaker popularly called B3.
When the idea was initially sold to me, I was cynical, and perhaps a little offended.
Why would a funeral undertaker offer me, a person living with HIV, such a frightening privilege?
Did they perhaps have a premonition on my behalf? Do these people know something I don't? Do they believe my days are numbered?
On the other hand, would it not be equally liberating to know that my family is spared some of the expenses that inadvertently accompany the permanent departure of their loved ones?
I suppose the irony is clear: despite the preparations and cost-saving antics that we employ, we still don't look forward to that fateful day.
Somehow, we are tempted to believe, just as happens with HIV, that it will not happen to us.
I know and accept that someday, somewhere, somehow my spirit will be divorced permanently from my body.
Therefore, it would be of great benefit to me and to all of us not to pretend by referring to a spade as a big spoon.
My upbringing has contributed largely this ominous fear of death and dying. I remember my grandmother spanking me for informing her that "ubaha wase next door ufile" ("the father from next door is dead").
For the next couple of months I was forced to learn the correct and most respectful manner of conveying such terrifying news.
Every time I have to convey this kind of message, I always picture my grandmother's unforgettable angry stare.
Making an indirect referral to death and dying not only reflects the unmaskable fear thereof but is meant to ease the pain and soften the blow.
Even as children, we were obliged to kneel or squat if a funeral procession were to cross our path in the streets of the township and also to grip the hair on top of the scalp, simultaneously.
This was a surrendering posture, if you ask me. Many decades on, I still do not comprehend what this ritual is about and I am not certain whether it is still being enforced. Anyway, blame my ignorance on detribalisation.
On a more serious note, though, death is no child's play and it is absolutely nothing to be scorned.
On the contrary, I think it is imperative that we demystify the reality of death and dying.
I have been quoted in my previous writing as saying something to the effect that all of us should make an effort to befriend death in an effort to understand what it is and what it means to us and to all of our beloved.
As a person living with HIV, it was critical that I learnt to cope with the reality of death and dying because for some peculiar reason, HIV and AIDS has always been and still continues to be congruent to death and dying.
In fact, having outlined briefly the background of myths and misconceptions on this ghostly subject, I believe that many people die many times before their actual death because of fear.
In conclusion, I accepted this well-meaning gesture from B3 for the simple reason that death is imminent, for me and for you and for all of us.
The least I can do is to prepare adequately for it. You can too.
Next: Find Joy in Life's Often Cruel World
"I am fulfilling the promise of life -- to live it to the fullest." | Go »
Find Joy in Life's Often Cruel Road
You may wonder silently and perhaps grudgingly so, why I am so inspired when there is so much despondency, hatred, discrimination, prejudice, loneliness, greed, hunger, starvation, death and dying, and hopelessness and indeed war, in this world.
I remain equally, if not more, confused than you are. In fact, I have since refrained from finding answers -- I am simply enjoying the ride of life, my life.
I am fulfilling the promise of life -- to live it to the fullest. To enjoy the trials and tribulations. To rise above my challenges.
In this highly adventurous, cruel, strikingly beautiful, agonizingly and joyfully unpredictable journey called life, I seek to find salvation. I search tirelessly for emotional inspiration.
To find hope, undying love, compassion, glorious joy, fulfilling happiness. But most of all, I seek harmony and peace and tranquility. For me to accomplish my dream, I have no alternative but to focus on the positive and constructive aspects of life, I look on the bright side of every situation.
Not that I am turning a blind eye to the tragedies and the misfortunes of our times but I suppose the best I can do under these undesirable circumstances is to accept, learn, understand and move on.
I have seen many people, my friends, relatives, colleagues, in-laws and acquaintances drown in their predicaments.
It is almost like being trapped in a quicksand, the more you wriggle, the deeper you sink.
I am old, battered, bruised, experienced and have matured sufficiently to comprehend that time is in the present and continuous tense. There is absolutely nothing one can do with the second that has ticked away and left one in the lurch, so to speak. Yet time, the present and future, heals all wounds. In simple terms, one cannot, should not and must not cry over spilled milk.
I am greatly inspired by individuals who after suffering a major setback pick up the spear and strike to do and be better.
Not only for themselves but most importantly, for the upliftment of those who are less privileged than a few of us.
This is the vision and the purpose of life, my life. This is the greatest lesson of living with HIV for the past 11 years. HIV has taught me to be selfless. To share my experience, my time, my love, my possessions and my passion with the rest of humankind.
I have learnt to believe in myself, I have gained more confidence in my abilities. My spirituality has been reinforced and I believe in the greater being. I am content and fulfilled.
As I celebrated my 34th birthday last Friday, all the disenfranchised, the homeless, the poverty stricken, the suppressed and oppressed people in the world were on my mind.
I wanted to share the celebration of my birthdate with all the children who are scorned and spat on, the beggars on the streets of the ghetto. The so-called scumbags of the universe.
To provide the warmth and comfort that every one of us so truly deserves, if only for a while.
To motivate them to strive for what most of us, from our comfort zones that make us think we are better than others, consider to be a cursed life.
This is the purpose of life, my life. It can be yours too.
Next: Ulale Ngoxolo, Mfowethud
"I had no idea that my own brother would die of AIDS." | Go »
Ulale Ngoxolo, Mfowethu
("Sleep in peace, my brother")
Kincaid wrote about her brother, Devon, who died of AIDS at the age of 33. This was one of the passages I quoted, but now her words are mine: "My brother died. I had expected him to. Sometimes it seemed as if it would be a good thing if he were to just die. And then he did die. When he was still alive, I wondered what the world would be like the moment I knew he was no longer alive... He had been dead for a long time.
"He was lying in his bed, his head was big, bigger than it used to be, but that was because his body had become so small. He lived in death. Perhaps everyone is living in death. I actually do believe that; in his case it was a death I could see. He was alive, he could speak, he still breathed. But he was dead, in waiting.
"His death was imminent as we were all anticipating it, including him, but we never gave any thought that this was true for all of us. Our death is imminent, only we are not anticipating it...yet."
When I quoted Kincaid, I had no idea that my own brother would die of AIDS. I was touched, as happens to all of us, by empathetic imagining of what she went through. But now I know and understand. Her book gave me an insight into the life of a terminally ill person which is now indelibly printed on my brain. Her book prepared me for the worst.
When my brother's health deteriorated, he felt a strong urge to spend time with me. He came to visit two weeks before he died and we talked.
He shared with me some gruesome and dangerous experiences he had in his short, adventurous life. Sphiwe said that he had never, in his wildest anticipation, expected to die of any illness, but such is the nature of death; it is unpredictable.
He lived a fast life. A life of being high and on the run. He lived a criminal life. Several times he went to prison for crimes ranging from murder to hijacking, all within a 24-year life span. Additionally, he was an intravenous drug user.
I had never seen him in the company of a woman because he left his father's -- my father's -- house and rented a flat or room in Hillbrow, the so-called city that never goes to sleep.
At some point he knocked on my door in the middle of the night, in the company of two accomplices. He looked terrified. He was on the run, again. He said that taxi bosses were on his trail.
A few days later his frail body was riddled with bullets. He spent a long time recuperating in the hospital. According to him, this was how he found out that he was HIV positive. He told me this while battling for breath and with tears rolling down his pale cheeks.
I cried with him because I could feel his pain. For the first time I believed. I knew he was in no condition to lie. He'd reached a point of no return. He knew he was facing his own mortality and was feeling a deep sense of regret about how he had led his life. He was almost embarrassed to find himself so helpless because he was used to being in control.
This was a different and difficult situation for me. This was my father's child. He was not a client, neither was he a stranger. He was part of my family. I could not judge him. I am not God. I could not judge him especially when he was ill, helpless and reaching out for love, care, understanding and forgiveness, even though he was far from being considerate of others when he was well.
I wanted to give him all my love and kindness. I told him that I loved him and that I would give him my unwavering support. For hours we sat there, holding hands and chatting.
On his last visit I prepared food for him. I told him I would not be there when our brother came to fetch him. Ironically, I was also not there when his young, battered body was lifted from his deathbed in Ward 16 at the Chris Hani Baragwanath Hospital.
My brother is no more. By the time Sphiwe died of AIDS I wished I could have helped him deal with his gory past. I'm sure that he had time to forgive himself.
As I continue my own journey, I feel deeply wounded and scarred. I wish I could shoulder the burden that this virus visits upon everyone but I know I can't.
My own life will never be the same. May my brother's soul rest in peace.