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ALL MY FAMILY ARE DYING
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In Christmas of 2000, I telephoned my brother Danny in Africa to wish him a happy holiday, and much joy for the coming year and new century. After reciprocating my holiday cheer, he was surprised to learn that his letter, sent the previous week, had still not reached me. I hoped it would arrive soon, and proceeded to discuss with him my efforts to bring him to England. We had both left home upon the outbreak of war– I to Europe, he to Kenya – and it was always decided that he would follow me after a visa and other documentation for travel became available to him through my efforts. After a further exchange of friendly words, my friend continued to express his concerns about his letter, and broke off admonishing me, “Just call when you get my letter… then we will talk!”. Well, his obsession really had me going, and was a clear indication to me that some surprise was waiting to reveal itself – maybe a new job, as he was unemployed, or some other piece of good news. I was indeed full of hope and optimistic, it being the holiday season after all, but that was soon to change. I received his letter 24 hours later, and it read as follows:
Dear brother,
How are you? I hope you are doing OK and are adjusted to the European life. But I am praying everyday that God gives me strength to survive this difficult time! What I am about to say, brother, is very difficult; it is hard to tell someone you love – to tell you, that I was diagnosed with AIDS about three weeks ago. I had suspected this for a long time, but I refused to get tested until I became very weak. Because I was very scare. And when I phoned home to tell my wife about it, she informed me that she, too, had been diagnosed with HIV, as well as our eight month old girl, who contracted the virus during my wife’s pregnancy! She had hidden this from me to keep me from worrying.
Because I had waited so long for testing, they advised me that I must begin ARV treatments immediately, my wife and my child too they need immediate ARV before we die altogether with in few weeks. But the problem is that the drug is extremely expensive, and even if you have the money, it is still a rare commodity in the drugstores; you can’t find it anywhere. I don’t want to be a further burden on you, in addition to the money you send me every month, but if you can somehow get the medication to my little girl, at least she can stick around long enough to know her father and uncle. Don’t worry about me. You’re prayers and love are enough.
I could not believe what I was reading. My body became chilled. I began sobbing. The tears were rolling down my cheeks as the world was celebrating a new millennium. I tried calling Danny, but was unsuccessful in reaching him after hours of redialling. So after a sleepless night, and not without more tears, I went to work. This workday was impossible to avoid, as I was supporting my sister, her five children and unemployed husband. Not to mention Danny and myself. I really could not afford to miss a single day. I performed janitorial services at a local hospital. Though I am well educated, an asylum seeker with a temporary work permit is given few options. It was only with great difficulty, then, that I made it through the day, attempting painfully a smile here and there, and a few words with my co-workers as on previous days. When I made it home, I decided to try reaching Nairobi Kenya again, and this time I was successful. Danny made every effort to assure me that he was fine, but that his sole concern was his wife and child, for whose welfare he was really at a loss to provide. I promised that I would do my best.
After that brief and troubling call, I forced myself to make another. I called Danny’s wife in Addis Abeba Ethiopia. I had been the best man in their wedding in 1998, and when she heard it was me, she wept unremittingly for three or four minutes before permitting me to comfort her. To my horror,
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406 days ago
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