AIDS Widow
I’ll call her Joseline. After her husband’s death to AIDS, his family cast her out, told her she should have died also. Her 17 year old daughter is gone, on her own… somewhere. Joseline is thin, still pretty and delicate; she is quiet in demeanor and a bit shy. I understand she’s doing better than a week ago, but she can barely care for herself now. I went with my friend Janice who calls her ministry Mercy Medicine with children in crisis. It’s a ministry of compassion to women and children who are infected or affected by the HIV virus in South Africa .
We shopped for vegetables that afternoon, a large load, and divided it into four portions. One was for Joseline, the others I would learn about later. Driving out into the rural region, we stopped when we saw Lynn at a corner and asked her to join us in visiting her friend from church who is sick. Continuing along the red dirt roads, we found Daisy out walking too. She always walks everywhere I’m told, helping whomever God sends her to. Daisy knew the way to the place where Joseline stays. She directed us up what seemed a just a path on a hillside, our four-wheel drive vehicle bumping along. When we could drive no further, we got out and walked, carrying cabbage, carrots, squash, bananas, and papaya.
The place Joseline stays is like an unfinished cement block house built into the hill. Only two rooms have concrete floors and doors, the rest is a shell. The unfinished living room still has a dirt floor, rocky like the day the property was cleared. If you want to look at the view, you see grassy hills strewn with boulders and rocks continuing across the red dirt landscape. But we’re not here to look at that view. We focus on Joseline who slowly lifts her head as we arrive.
We are quietly welcomed by a frail woman on a mat on the dirt, in a corner. Today, she sits in the open air shell of a room with a few blankets around her. Her shell of a body still reveals her delicate frame and sweet smile. Each one of us greets her gently. I bend my knees to lower myself and reach out to shake her hand while looking tenderly into her eyes. A small fire is close by and the smoke wafts between us. Stepping back slowly, I see a yellow plastic mug nearby with some water for drinking, apparently that’s all there is for today. Someone will bring more tomorrow. Her packets of medicine sit on the blanket by her side; she lifts them to show to Janice.
Janice uses the opportunity to step forward and ask about her medicines, the dosages, how she’s feeling, chatting like it’s an everyday subject. Janice is in her realm as a nurse. We three find places to sit on chunks of concrete around, trying to act like we’re comfortable. It doesn’t matter, we are here to be with Joseline. We offer friendly comments and ask about her. Then Janice suggests we pray for Joseline. Our words are quiet and affirming, seeking the God of all creation for improved health, bring intervention, his peace.
Concluding our prayers, we turn to offer the vegetables and fruit to Joseline. She directs us to place them in the one locked room that contains her few belongings. Entering the sparse room, we see she has a bit of food already: mealy ground corn, three potatoes, and two onions alongside a small cook stove.
It’s time to leave. Saying goodbye, I find myself a bit disconnected - like an observer in something very private. I am an outsider, they all know her. But I am a guest to a sacred moment among friends. I watch quietly as their eyes connect. My part is to recognize the sacredness of it all and see that Jesus is among us and sharing this moment, one of few remaining for her.
We shopped for vegetables that afternoon, a large load, and divided it into four portions. One was for Joseline, the others I would learn about later. Driving out into the rural region, we stopped when we saw Lynn at a corner and asked her to join us in visiting her friend from church who is sick. Continuing along the red dirt roads, we found Daisy out walking too. She always walks everywhere I’m told, helping whomever God sends her to. Daisy knew the way to the place where Joseline stays. She directed us up what seemed a just a path on a hillside, our four-wheel drive vehicle bumping along. When we could drive no further, we got out and walked, carrying cabbage, carrots, squash, bananas, and papaya.
The place Joseline stays is like an unfinished cement block house built into the hill. Only two rooms have concrete floors and doors, the rest is a shell. The unfinished living room still has a dirt floor, rocky like the day the property was cleared. If you want to look at the view, you see grassy hills strewn with boulders and rocks continuing across the red dirt landscape. But we’re not here to look at that view. We focus on Joseline who slowly lifts her head as we arrive.
We are quietly welcomed by a frail woman on a mat on the dirt, in a corner. Today, she sits in the open air shell of a room with a few blankets around her. Her shell of a body still reveals her delicate frame and sweet smile. Each one of us greets her gently. I bend my knees to lower myself and reach out to shake her hand while looking tenderly into her eyes. A small fire is close by and the smoke wafts between us. Stepping back slowly, I see a yellow plastic mug nearby with some water for drinking, apparently that’s all there is for today. Someone will bring more tomorrow. Her packets of medicine sit on the blanket by her side; she lifts them to show to Janice.
Janice uses the opportunity to step forward and ask about her medicines, the dosages, how she’s feeling, chatting like it’s an everyday subject. Janice is in her realm as a nurse. We three find places to sit on chunks of concrete around, trying to act like we’re comfortable. It doesn’t matter, we are here to be with Joseline. We offer friendly comments and ask about her. Then Janice suggests we pray for Joseline. Our words are quiet and affirming, seeking the God of all creation for improved health, bring intervention, his peace.
Concluding our prayers, we turn to offer the vegetables and fruit to Joseline. She directs us to place them in the one locked room that contains her few belongings. Entering the sparse room, we see she has a bit of food already: mealy ground corn, three potatoes, and two onions alongside a small cook stove.
It’s time to leave. Saying goodbye, I find myself a bit disconnected - like an observer in something very private. I am an outsider, they all know her. But I am a guest to a sacred moment among friends. I watch quietly as their eyes connect. My part is to recognize the sacredness of it all and see that Jesus is among us and sharing this moment, one of few remaining for her.
NOTE: leave funds for food for a month.
