Everything I can’t see but that is there

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Rebel forces abducted him when10 years old. He spent years in the bush fighting against the government army until a “poison bullet” pierced his right shin – the wound was small but caused the flesh on most of his leg to rot. In 2004 he was captured by government soldiers and brought to an NGO “reception” center.

He told me that there is “no difference really” between life in the bush and life outside - except that inside the bush you have nothing (the most common thing to eat is mud) and you have no expectations, outside the bush you have expectations but still nothing.

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Rebels abducted these girls too. Once in the bush they were forced to become “wives.” Upon escape/return they are now girl-mothers. Their children are known as “Kony’s {the rebel leader} daughters/sons.”

I wonder: How did these girls/women find themselves in the bush and how did they find their way out? (Boys and girls say that they were often forced to brutally kill those caught trying to escape). What have their eyes witnessed and their bodies endured?

* * *

The geography of the camps and their surroundings tell a story - the government’s strategy of interning people (both by force and by fear) in the name of security comes to life as I imagine how millions of people came to find themselves crowded within inches of each other in grass-thatched huts with nothing to do and no where to go.

It was difficult to know which way to look as I walked around the camp. I wanted to take in everything and yet I also needed to avoid stepping in a pile of steaming feces or on a precious pile of fresh beans. As I navigated, I managed to notice a few centrally located watering taps lined with jerry cans. I saw hut after hut with a doorway decorated in red, white, blue – when flattened and hinged together the tin from USA soya cans apparently makes a perfect door. I glimpsed “Being a human being is not easy” scribbled on a shop wall. I greeted countless barely clothed and mostly barefoot children as mucus poured from their noses and sat unnoticed on their lips. I watched women walk to and fro around me or sit idly on straw mats. When I smelled the harsh, rank odor of local brew I also inevitably saw one or a few men huddled close by. My ears registered the quiet – although hundreds of thousands of people are living within inches of each other it seemed as noisy as a suburban street in America on a summer evening.

* * *

There is a tremendous amount of “finger pointing” here – so much so that HIV positive women and men people often stay alone inside their homes isolated from family and from community. Many women are chased away and a majority of men quietly die in hiding. Many people talk about the disease as if women and girls are its repository – infection is most often said to be caused by girls getting “spoiled” by soldiers and then making themselves look good and “sharing the bed” with another man. However in the quiet corner of a room, men tell me that they “realize that it is our mistake” and they explain how an HIV positive result makes them feel exposed to their market (women). For fear of losing their market, men blame women for bringing the disease into their home. Without hesitation, women tell me that if they had a way to support themselves and their children they would never be with a man. They explain how it is necessary to “pay” (with sex) either a husband or another man so that children can eat and go to school. If they could go back in time, men say they would reduce their libido and women explain that they would stick to one man. Right now, everyone is afraid of dying alone.

I am constantly in awe of the courage each of these women and men shows in testing their blood, coming for treatment and boldly declaring their HIV positive status.