The AIDS Epidemic Hits Home

I am sorry to say that my neighbor's baby, Euclides, died yesterday morning. This little guy, who was about 7 months old, probably had AIDS. He was tiny from birth, constantly ill with cough or fever, and though he ate well just never seemed to grow. His mother is also quite thin and tends to be ill, so it is likely that she has it and passed it to him.

The funeral was this morning. I was told I needed to drive the family with the baby's body in my car, but at the last minute a change was made, so I hopped in the back of the open truck with the other mourners and we drove the 3 miles to the broken-down little cemetery in the middle of the slums. As the little body, wrapped in a cloth, was placed in the grave and the dirt poured on top, I couldn't help but think of how we watched the dirt poured on top of Tabitha's casket, 4 years ago. It is something you never want to experience, and my heart breaks for my neighbor, who was crying so hard she could hardly stand up.

My prayer is that, in the weeks to come, I would be able to be a support to her and encourage her. That she would go to church instead of fleeing from it. She visited a local church a couple of months ago and they prayed for her and her baby. Her health improved, but the baby did not. I pray that she is able to turn to them for comfort and that God will meet her.

The HIV infection rate here is, it is estimated, somewhere between 20 and 35%. Can you imagine if one fifth of Americans were infected with HIV? Can you imagine the response of the public? Here, it is not talked about very much. People don't get tested, many believe that it is caused by a curse from an unhappy neighbor or relative, and there is so much sexual promiscuity that it is running rampant. Medicines are sporadically available, which is almost worse than not having them available at all. We do hear "success stories" of people living with HIV who are healthy and responsible, but these are rare. We hope that, as the years go by, the success stories will become more and the sad stories less. It is too late for little Euclides, and I will miss seeing his bright little brown eyes looking at me from his mother's arms. Those arms are empty now.

Cami