Viva Vida

Despite my lack of time/sleep/a healthy digestive system, I have begun working with a project in my town called Viva Vida. Their aim is to support those suffering from HIV/AIDS. So while this does include those that are HIV positive, the main focus of the group is helping children who have lost parents by providing emotional support, and aid in attending school, buying a uniform, etc.

The organization is based in a tiny and so picturesque round mud and reed hut, with very few workers, and unfortunately even less money. So while their goal is to monetarily support said children, right now they just make the rounds in Chidenguele, sitting on esteira mats, chatting and checking in on people. But really, every little bit helps when it comes to battling stigma, building trusting relationships, and generally getting people to believe that you can help them and that they should do what you say – for example go to the hospital and get your treatment. Its free for gods sake.

I first heard of the project when a few of my 12^th grade dropped by my house to chat in English. There are about four students that are the main organizers and trainers for the organization. This is what initially really got me interested in the project, these are very smart young people, overcoming their own situations – they similarly live in very little huts, often with little food other than that in their mini-farm, and no money – and trying to create a “geração livre de HIV” or generation free of HIV. Oh HIV slogans.

I went to visit the litte group in the little hut, to get a feel for the organization, their work, their need, etc – basically gathering information to put in a grant proposal. Alfredo, my student came to my house to get me, and led me to the little house. I had no idea what to expect, but suspected it wasn’t one of those shiny, new, nicer than the neighborhood foreign ngos.  I was right. The house is one room, with HIV education posters on the wall, and one table and one chair. The table is covered in HIV education handouts that look like they were made when HIV was first discovered in the early 80’s.

As the special guest I got to sit in the chair, while the rest wrangled up some dilapidated benches and raggedy esteira (reed) mats to sit on. We crowded in, under the dome reed roof which is reinforced with old rice sacks in an effort to make the structure semi-waterproof. The meeting was mostly in chopi – the local language in Chidenguele, but my students were kind enough to translate into Portuguese for me.

“Now you will come with us to visit the people we are helping, because you need to see that we do work. We aren’t an organization that is corrupt.” -Alfredo

I admired Alfredo when I only knew him as a student who studies hard, sort of speaks English, and likes to come to my house to listen to music. But I am now immensely impressed with his honesty, work ethic and passion for this project.

We visited three houses. The first was the house of a man with AIDS. When we arrived, his wife greeted us by shaking our hands and kissing us on the cheeks, more or less happily chatting in chopi – again translation. Then her husband wandered up. Really, it wasn’t even wandering, but I can’t think of a word that indicates an even slower pace. It was obvious he was carefully keeping his distance. No kisses, no contact. I am not sure if this was due to his lack of energy, his case of TB, or the fact that people don’t really understand HIV transmission and have an irrational fear of being anywhere near a positive person. The man was obviously sick, literally skin and bones, and coughing incessantly from TB.

“have you been going to the hospital to get your treatment?”

“No, I haven’t gone since march because it has been a very bad time because I have TB. I have been sick and can’t go”

“But papa, if you go get your treatment you wont feel so sick.”

The vicious cycle that causes a lack of treatment adherence.

Then we went to a house where the husband passed away, so the woman has three children. As she sat on her esteira mat, shelling peanuts she had gathered from her farm and recounting her troubles, Alfredo informed me that she doesn’t work. She just wakes up, goes to her farm, and comes home in the afternoon. There is some food – thanks to said farm – but no income, no way to pay for her children to go to school. So they remain em casa. All day. They don’t even speak Portuguese.

“The problem is, these children won’t have an education, and when they turn 18 won’t be able to leave the house and work. So they will continue this cycle, and their children wont be able to go to school. You have to go to school to secure your future.” – Alfredo

I thought I, as the wise teacher, was supposed to be telling him that. 

The third house was a similar story. Children living with grandparents. No money. No job. The grandfather can’t work a) because he is super old, b) because he has bad eyesight and no glasses and is thus basically can’t do anything. But he was very sweet, and just in the best spirits.

Ultimately, I am not sure how involved I will be in the project, but I am a gateway to money. Yay PEPFAR – something something Presidents Fund for Aids Relief. This will involve a lot of translating things into English to put in Grant proposals and other such exhilarating tasks. I would love to actually work with the organization, going on visits, meeting with the sick and especially with the orphans and vulnerable children. Main problem – I don’t speak Chopi, and these people in the mato mato of Africa definitely don’t speak Portuguese. Ok, I take that back, Grandpa knew about 4 words in English. But he pronounced them so perfectly, at first I could have sworn he was fluent… then I realized that he was just repeating those same four words over and over again.

Although teaching is all well and good, I finally feel like I am doing what I came here to do… not just feeling imperialisty teaching English.