For the last few years I have spent quite a bit of time learning about HIV/AIDS and the issues surrounding it. This week I have come into contact with two of the many issues I have been made aware of through this learning, Lesotho and Grandmothers.

I have known for quite some time that the kingdom of Lesotho is one of the hardest hit countries in the world when is comes to HIV/AIDS. After crossing the border from South Africa to Lesotho I immediately, and surprisingly, noticed a change. In the short time I had been here I had already noticed four funeral homes, and I can only assume that this was of course a result of HIV/AIDS. Beyond that though, Lesotho has a very lively and engaging culture like any other. On the surface, with the exception of the funeral homes, it does not appear as though the country is particularly devistated. And as other volunteers I have met here have mentioned, it takes time to connect to the community and hear their stories before one can truly gain an understanding of what is really going on here.

Unfortunately, I know that it would be foolish to believe that I will be able to get a thorough understanding of Lesotho and its struggles with the HIV/AIDS epidemic in just three weeks. That being said, I hope that my short time here will be able to provide me with a greater respect for, if not understanding of, the Basotho people. What I have learnt thus fair is that Lesotho is not going down without a fight. HIV/AIDS awareness appears to be everywhere within Leribe. It is in morning assemblies at high schools, on posters in the grocery store, in books in the library, on the t-shirts of students, and in community centres for youth. There is a spirit here that has yet to be crushed by the pandemic.

Just yesterday we were privileged enough to have the honour of meeting about thirty grandmothers attending a Grandmother’s Day organized by an NGO. On these days Grandmothers from the area meet to support and encourage one another in raising their grandchildren. Yesterday we were present for two lessons. In the first lesson they were taught how to make their own key hole garden using materials from within their community, and in the second lesson they talked about grief and mourning. The women told the stories of how their children had died from HIV/AIDS and then they discussed strategies for dealing with grief and raising their grandchildren. Throughout all of this though, their spirits appeared to be high, and in true Africa form singing and dancing accompanied both lessons. And though we were unable to understand their stories, as they were told in Sesotho, we were able to dance with them, which probably went a lot further than words of condolences and sympathy ever could. Their joy and energy was so infectious that my face hurt from smiling by the end of the dance. I hope that this will not be my last encounter with the spirit of Lesotho and of the women that keep Lesotho alive.

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Nakuru is just as I remembered. I find it unfathomable that during my two years away, the city was flooded with violence and destruction. I cannot believe that some of the lovely people I met could not leave their houses for fear of being hung on the main street. That is not what Nakuru is to me, and it pains me to know that they had to go through such violent times.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand how it could have happened, but it was certainly a heavy dose of reality. In fact, a lot of what we did and saw in Nakuru was very real and eye opening for all of us. We saw the aftermath of violence, the stigma of HIV/AIDS, the depths of poverty, and the absence of health care. And through our meetings with the people of Nakuru who were plagued by at least one of these things, I took one thing away. It counts just to be there; just to listen; just to show up. Yes they wanted and needed our help and resources, but more than that, they cared that we were there. They were endlessly grateful because we went out of our way to visit them and hear what they had to say. It was the least we could do, but it was a lot more than they usually get from the rest of the world. At little bit of understanding, empathy, and respect goes a long way here.

I wish we had more time in Nakuru, as I really felt like it was an invaluable learning experience for all of us. Although I’m excited to see Lesotho and experience yet another culture! With three more weeks to go, I cannot believe that we’re almost on our last leg of our journey! I hope we learn as much there as we did here.

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So we are now safely and happily in Nakuru, Kenya. I am extremely happy to be back, yet I am still very much missing all the amazing friends I met in Bagamoyo. Never in my life have I created such deep and meaningful connections in such a short time. Despite our brief time together, the language barrier, the cultural difference, and the distance, I know that I have made lifelong friends. I cannot possibly describe my sadness or how my heart ached when I saw a circle of grown men crying at the thought of your departure. And I especially cannot describe the fear that I will never get to see these people again. But as Dixon said on our final night, which was full of drumming, dancing, fire eating, and sing-a-longs, “We will all be together again, if not here, then in Heaven.” And I will hold onto those words until we do meet again. I know it’s not the end. One day I will be with Dixon, Issah, Niola, Dowe, James, Young Black, Mattega, and Juma again.

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Today is our last day in Bagamoyo. It has gone by much faster than I ever could have imagined. And even though I’m excited to go on to Kenya, I really wish that I had more time here. With that said, I feel as though I’ve had a truly wonderful final day. We spent the morning with our friends Issah and Dixon from Mtoto Mchuraji on a bike ride overlooking the ocean. It was perfect. I haven’t taken any pictures since I’ve been here (It’s awful, I know!), because I’m more of an “enjoy the experience” kind of person. But I often think about how wonderful it would be for my mom to magically get to see a brief clip of me in the moments when I can’t imagine being anywhere else in the world. The bike ride today was one of those moments. I can only hope that the rest of our trip is filled with moments like that.

From there some of us went on to meet a volunteer coordinator Martha, who works for an NGO in Bagamoyo. She first came to Bagamoyo in 2007 and absolutely fell in love with it, and then decided to go back to make a life for herself here. It was illuminating to see how someone so close to my age, with a similar introduction to Africa, who is living and thriving in the town of Bagamoyo. It’s as though my hopes of possibly living in Africa, or at least spending a significant part of my time there, are not just fantasy. They are possible! It is realistic. And on this, my final day, I am filled with hope.

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Africa’s hitting hard today. Today I feel lost, broken, and for some reason the word heavy comes to mind.

Up until now, I’ve been enthralled by the beauty of community and the culture. I’ve felt so blessed to have been welcomed and embraced by the all of my news friends (the boys at the Mtoto Churachi Art Centre in particular). The hospitality I’ve been shown here is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced and I feel that it would probably be impossible find a town like this in North America.

In a single walk from our house to the Imuma orphanage we are greeted with a “mambo” or “habari” at least 15 times. People here are just so connected and engaged with one another. I’m sure the idea of spending an entire day indoors and segregated from the rest of the community is completely foreign to the people of Bagamoyo, while in North America we do it all the time. We spend our time and money on video games and TV and we forget the value of the people around us. We also overlook the value and beauty of our culture and the arts. Yet in Bagamoyo life seems to revolve around art, it’s as though the two are inseparable. Everywhere you go you are surrounded by drawing, dancing, and drumming, and it’s infectious! And everyone here appears to have this natural ability to move and sing just as easily as breathing. It makes me think about how much we could do in Canada if we just turned everything off and stepped out onto our front lawns.

I do not mean to say that we are bad people or that the people of the town are better than us. I just feel like we’re doing it all wrong. We’re working for more things rather than more time with each other. I know it’s not a brilliant or unique revalation, but it’s true. And that thought has occupied much of my mind for the past week.

And then a knock at the door at 7am brought me back to reality. And I was forced to recognize that pain, suffering and injustice are always lurking behind the beauty. After a day of witnessing the challenges that accompany poverty and HIV, I wonder if a balance can be found. How can we, the world, fight poverty and disease while preserving the unique cultures of the global south? I feel as though development can’t possibly be the answer, because we risk losing too much. At the same time though, how can people pull themselves out of poverty without education and health care which are aided by development? And without development how can a country like Tanzania compete in the global economy? How can we assist people out of extreme poverty without imposing our own way of life on them and harming their culture?

Life was so black and white before this; right and wrong was clear. But now i wonder, how can I do what’s right, when I don’t even know what right is?

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