people
Aaron Nicodemus
After getting over the initial shock of being told that he was HIV-positive, Oziel Mdletshe (31) wrestled with informing his family, his girlfriend and his closest friends.
Once he was assured he had their love and support, he struggled with telling everyone else in KwaMashu, a community outside Durban that has a reputation for being hostile to people living with HIV.
In December 1998, an HIV-positive woman, Gugu Dlamini, was beaten to death outside a shebeen in KwaManchinza, an informal settlement near KwaMashu. Four teenagers allegedly killed her because she was so public about her HIV-positive status.
Mdletshe’s case is unlike that of high court Judge Edwin Cameron, who announced recently that he has Aids. Cameron said he was able to reveal his HIV-positive status for “very particular reasons”: he has a secure job, is surrounded by loved ones, friends and colleagues who support him, and has access to medical care that ensures he remained strong, healthy and productive.
Most of the estimated 3,6-million South Africans who are already HIV-positive do not have such luxuries, Mdletshe included.
HIV has changed Mdletshe’s life. His second child, born with HIV, died soon after birth. He can no longer work at his former job as a car spraypainter because he cannot stand up all day. He now barely makes ends meet as a freelance videographer, and he is currently the media co-ordinator for the National Association of People Living with HIV/Aids (Napwa). The disease forced him to quit smoking. His health is a constant concern, especially since he does not have access to first-class medical care.
Dlamini’s death gained worldwide attention about the dangers of revealing your HIV status in South Africa. The incident placed an international spotlight on one African township where the taboo surrounding Aids – a taboo that is powerfully strong throughout all of Africa – spilled over into murder.
“As a community, we don’t want to accept it,” says Mina Lesoma, a representative on the North Central Council About HIV/Aids. “If you get HIV, you don’t get support within the black community. You’re neglected, and many of their needs aren’t met. But I wouldn’t like to say that the people of KwaMashu are out there gunning for people living with HIV.”
Lesoma says Dlamini’s murder has galvanised many community leaders and organisations to begin an information campaign about HIV/Aids. The campaign, called the KwaMashu Aids Action Forum, will train selected members of the community to teach others about how Aids is transmitted, how to prevent transmission and what to do once you’ve contracted the disease. There will be community forums, videotapes, condoms and literature.
But there is still no support group for people living with HIV in KwaMashu, limited counselling, and the queue at the only clinic in town winds around the block every single day.
A recent study on HIV/Aids revealed that the rate of HIV/Aids in pregnant mothers has risen from 17% to 44% between 1992 and last year in a KwaMashu clinic, the largest such increase at any clinic in the survey. Researchers believe prevalence in pregnant women to be “a good indicator” of the infection rate’s progress within the population.
Mdletshe has not encountered the type of hostility that allegedly caused Dlamini’s death, and says his hometown’s reputation for malice towards people living with HIV is undeserved. “Since the Gugu case, the perception of KwaMashu has been that if you say you have HIV, they’ll kill you,” he says.
But Mdletshe says he has only encountered misunderstanding about HIV/Aids, something common throughout the country. He is determined to use his example to teach others about the disease.
“Her death was a shock,” Mdletshe says. “I realized that, OK, it can happen to me anytime.” After living for two years with HIV, he says it has not radically changed his relationship with the people of KwaMashu. “People see me as a normal person, a responsible person. They treat me the same as they did before,” he says.
His HIV-positive status has not changed his relationship with his neighbours. Mdletshe believes the key to his success in disclosing his status was to do it slowly. First, you come to terms with it yourself, he says. Then you confide in family and friends, earning their support. This process takes time. Only when you have a strong base of support should you consider disclosing your status to everyone else, he says.
Thabile Sibankulu, a nurse at the KwaMashu clinic that has treated Dlamini and Mdletshe, says many people in the township are still afraid to disclose their HIV- positive status. “I think our community is still not sure how it is not transmitted,” she said.
“We’re still determined to work harder in enlightening the community about the disease, and make them aware that anybody can contract HIV. We’re asking the community to join hands with us in fighting HIV/Aids.”
The stigma surrounding HIV/ Aids in African society is a powerful one. People living with HIV/Aids are often fearful of their neighbours’ response. They are often ashamed they contracted the disease. Some even consider killing themselves.
Pat Hlongwane, a volunteer for Napwa, was one of those people. When he discovered he was HIV- positive four years ago, he wrote out a suicide note, loaded a gun and was ready to kill himself when a friend intervened. He has since found God, and has dedicated his time to teaching people about HIV and Aids.
People like Mdletshe and Hlongwane do not consider themselves to be extraordinary or brave. They say they are normal people struggling to survive with a disease that is killing hundreds of thousands of South Africans every single year. They are living proof that there is life after becoming HIV-positive.
“I’m positive,” Mdletshe says, referring to his outlook, not his status. “I want to show people that you can live with HIV.”