A Heavy Heart

Today for work I visited an education centre a couple of hours north of Durban called Maphumulo. Basically for my job I have to evaluate the effectiveness of education centres that the organization I work for has set up throughout KwaZulu-Natal, which means that I have been fortunate enough to visit many new parts of South Africa and meet many interesting people. One of my favorite parts of these visits is the car rides to and from the sites with my colleagues. Without fail, these rides end in fascinating conversations in which I learn more about this country and about development than I ever did in classes. I think that in my 3 months at my part-time job I have learned far more than in my year of coursework or in the many hours spent writing my dissertation.

Today was a beautiful day here with remarkably clear blue skies. It’s getting cooler, but still not cold. I would say a pleasant 75 degrees. And the part of the province that we drove through was hilly with beautiful rock outcroppings. The hills were filled with lush green trees and spotted with beautiful traditional Zulu homesteads. As we drove further and further from Durban, the sky seemed to get bluer, the grass got greener, and it definitely got a whole lot quieter and more peaceful.

As we drove through the rolling hills along winding dirt roads, my colleague, Stanley, and I got talking about rural development and about the challenges that rural communities face. I asked him about HIV/AIDS in the rural area we were visiting, inquiring whether or not he felt our organization was doing enough to address the epidemic. He shook his head, saying “we can never do enough.” He then went on to tell me a story which I promise you I will never forget.

Stanley visited one of the schools in the area we were driving through to lead a workshop for the teachers not too long ago. He said that one of the teachers told him “you have no idea what we are dealing with here.” Apparently one day at school there was a large number of male students lined up outside of the girls’ bathroom. The teacher went in to investigate, and found that two first grade girls were having sex with the boy students for fifty cents. Fifty cents here is equivalent to about $.07 in the states. At first I didn’t believe Stanley that seven year old girls were actually having sex with these boys, but he assured me that they were. For seven cents. When the teacher brought the girls in to talk to the principal, they said “it’s not a big deal. We’re being lenient. Our mothers charge R50 (about $7) to do it in Durban.” The teacher later found out that both girls were HIV positive, and were most likely spreading HIV to the boys in that bathroom of their primary school.

This story deeply disturbed me on many levels. First of all that these children were having sex at six or seven years of age. I mean that fact alone just made me so incredibly sad. And then there’s the fact that these girls think that prostitution is okay, that they have seen their mothers providing for their families by selling their bodies, and that they also wanted to contribute to their families in this way. Their mothers probably spent most of their time in Durban working as prostitutes, and the girls were forced to fend for themselves. Most likely the seven cents they were making in the bathroom was feeding them and their siblings. Sex for survival.

And then there is the issue of AIDS. Of how easily and quickly it is spread. Of the inability of education and awareness to create behaviour change. Of the sheer magnitude of the problem. I know I’ve shared statistics, but just take a moment and think about it. At least one in five people are HIV positive in South Africa. One in five. Think of your four best friends. If you were South African, chances are at least one of you would have AIDS. Approximately one thousand people die of AIDS every single day in South Africa. That’s like 9/11 happening every three days. And that is in South Africa alone. It does not consider other countries (many countries in Sub-Saharan Africa have similar HIV prevalence rates; the prevalence in Swaziland is 2 in 5). Not to get too political, but perhaps the war on terror is targeting the wrong terrorist.

And so I arrived at the education centre I was evaluating in Maphumulo with a heavy heart. It was located in a primary school and I could not look at the little girls without thinking of those two girls in the bathroom of another primary school not far from there. I could not help but think of the insurmountable challenges that these children faced. I cannot even fathom their lives. And there I was asking whether or not their education centre had enough books. Whether or not they were using the computers (this centre was lucky because it had electricity). Whether or not teachers attended the workshops. It all seemed so frivolous. As Stanley said, we can never do enough. I feel this heavy burden to make things better. Perhaps it’s the American in me. We’re always trying to fix things, usually by throwing money at the problem. But how can anyone fix AIDS? How can you tell those two girls that getting a good education is better than getting paid for sex when they don’t have any food to eat? When they probably won’t live past their tenth birthdays because they will die of AIDS? I have never felt so helpless in my life.

As we drove away from the school this afternoon, Stanley pointed out a rock outcropping on one of the hills we were passing. It was funny shaped, looking sort of like a top hat, and jutted out far above the rest of the hills. After pointing it out to me, Stanley said shaking his head “I wonder what God was trying to do.”

The world is full of mysteries, from funny shaped rock outcroppings to the loss of innocence of young girls in their primary school bathroom. And sometimes we have to wonder, seriously… what is God trying to do? Why do such horrible things happen? There are so many why questions running around in my head. Why young children have to be born with AIDS. Why children must choose between prostitution and starvation. Why education and awareness are not even making a dent in the AIDS epidemic. Why one person is born in a posh American suburb while another person is born in a rural area of South Africa without any water or electricity, where classes are interrupted when a herd of cattle wanders through the schoolyard moo-ing so loudly that the teacher can’t be heard. But most importantly, I am left wondering what can be done. What can I personally do to make any change? What am I supposed to do with these experiences that shake me to the core? Perhaps it is the ultimate struggle that every human being faces… trying to find our places in this big confusing world. Trying to figure out how we fit into the puzzle, how we can best offer ourselves in the never ending quest to make the world a better place. Thus far, I am left only with a heavy heart and a withering sense of hope. Truly, what is God trying to do?