Sunday, November 27, 2005

It's my secret, I can't tell anyone

In South Africa's picturesque but Aids-ravaged Zulu heartland, the pandemic is rarely discussed and victims suffer in silence due to a mixture of ignorance, denial and fear.

Nokuthula (54), who has been living with the disease for several years, sums up her predicament succinctly.

"It's my secret. If I tell the other people, they will be frightened and they will think I am going to die," she says, holding a piece of paper containing the result of her test.

"My husband has got the same little paper, but we do not talk about it," she says, adding: "I have been sick for many years."

South Africa is one of the countries worst affected by the Aids pandemic, with six million people infected with the virus while only 80 000 HIV-positive patients are receiving anti-retroviral drugs (ARVs), the most effective proven treatment of the virus, under a government programme launched in 2003.

The United Nations's annual report on the global Aids crisis released last week said at least 85% of South Africans in need of ARVs were not yet receiving them by mid-2005.

For people living in and around Ufafa, a picture-postcard area of KwaZulu-Natal province replete with green rolling hills, any talk of Aids is clearly taboo, even within the four walls of their homes.

"It's my secret, I can't tell anyone, I can't even tell my mother, she drinks too much, she would tell everybody," says Monica, a 30-year-old using a false name.

Delisile (33) says the stigma associated with Aids is unbearable and invariably put down to sexual promiscuity.

"People think it came through some sort of misbehaviour. They do not want to understand," she said. "The biggest worry is that, sometimes, if you disclose to people, they would not touch you because they are afraid. Sometimes, people won't even eat with the same spoon that you have been using.

"My only wish is to get a place where I can be peaceful."

In Ufafa, where people have neither electricity nor running water, the HIV/Aids rate is alarmingly high. The nearest hospital is in Ixopo, about 15km away.

Endemic poverty is another deterrent and doctors are a luxury for the vast majority.

There is also a long waiting line for access to free ARVs.

Sue Hedden, from the NGO Woza Moya (Let the Spirit Come), confirms this, saying: "People die on that waiting list all the time.

"It's not a lack of ARVs, it's a lack of trained personnel" like doctors, nurses and counsellors, she says, adding: "Denial is still very, very strong. There is not one family in the area that has not been directly affected."

Thokodzani Ngcobo, a 50-year-old former schoolteacher who works for Woza Moya, says: "This secret makes our world very difficult. It's very frustrating in the workplace."

The taboo is so strong that even some of those working for Woza Moya, which provides home-based care and tries to fight against the stigma, prefer to sweep it under the carpet.

At the end of September, a volunteer who had been exhorting people on a daily basis to talk openly about Aids died at the age of 36 -- two weeks after giving birth. After her death, a friend of hers disclosed that she had died of Aids. -- Sapa-AFP

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