Diary of an HIV-positive woman (39)

By JEZEBEL KAMBO
Published February 14, 2010

Hi. My name is Jessica but my friends (who are very few) call me Jezzie while my enemies –a constituency of them – call me Jezebel. I am 25 years old and HIV-positive. I am a mother of 4 -year –old twins – David (Didi) and Terry (Titi). This is my continuing story.

Week 6

Thursday

I have not slept the whole night – some things are plainly heartbreaking. Mariam, Susan and I spent the whole of Wednesday afternoon reading those sad little notes from the girls. To say that my heart is broken is a great understatement. Some of the stories are just too horrendous. What is clear, though, is that it is the same male teacher who has been, and still is, molesting school girls.

Shockingly, the pattern is exactly the same: the teacher asks the pupils to bring books to the staffroom or office, and then the molesting starts.

I receive a call from the OCPD to report to the police station and claim that my kids have just been rescued.

“And please do not make any statements to the press!” he commands me in his usual military manner.

“Yes, sir!” I understand the rules Mr. OCPD, and I will abide by them. These men from the forces just never trust women. There is no way in the world that I am going to reveal that the OCPD and my Cell Five members stage-managed the whole kidnapping exercise.

I drive to the police station,  and meet Mr. OCPD in his office, a red carpeted area with antique mahogany furniture. Didi is the first one to break free from the clasps of a female officer. He comes hurtling down the alley towards me, shouting his head off.  “Mum!” he calls me.

Titi is not far behind. I jump on them, and we roll on the red carpet, tears flowing freely down my cheeks.
“I missed you two so much,” I tell them amidst sobs. The photographers have a field day clicking away.

“We missed you too!” the kids chorus.

Abdul, Mariam and Susan are also there with me to share in my joy. Shida Mingi is in police custody still helping with investigations.

“Thank you, officer!” I take a day off from work to be with the kids. At this rate, I must as well take my leave and sort out my messy life, or start my own side business to supplement my salary. I feel like I am cheating Mr. Kombo of his precious employment time.

I am with the kids at the Waterslides and this time, I also take to the waters, splashing my way to a fun-filled afternoon.

“Why are you wearing a full swim suit?” shrieks Titi. She is used to seeing me in revealing two piece swim suits.

“Just for a change. Mummy is getting old,”  I reply. I dare not reveal my leopard skin to the public. Damn those ARVs. Talking of ARVs, we do have a meeting today evening, which I shall surely attend to monitor my condition. I have vowed to keep fit and healthy.

After a hearty lunch and more swimming, I finally drop the kids home. Aly is more than excited to see them.

“No leaving the house,” I tell Aly and the kids.

“Where are you going?” Titi asks, fear written all over her face. Some of the things we parents indulge in are just inexplicable to kids.

“I am going to the doctor, and I will be very late,” I assure the twins. Their insecurity breaks my heart. Damn you Shida!

“Can we come?” Didi inquires. Again, the same fear in his eyes.

“Not today, darling. But I won’t be long,” I assure them as I leave the house, and melt into the horizon to blend with the fast sinking evening sun.

I am the first one to arrive at the clinic, though within 10 minutes another four members of the support group arrive. There is Tony, Kwame, Mohammed and Yasmin. They all look deceptively healthy, though I guess they must be living positively. We chat as we wait for the other three and the doctor.

“Did you hear about those twins who were rescued today?” Kwame asks me.

I listen as they discuss the deteriorating security situation in the country each giving their pros and cons.

“I hear that the police are involved is some of these cases,” quips Yasmin, a tall lady, who is in the final stages of AIDS. She has full blown AIDS, and has lived with her condition for the last 20 years. She is always upbeat about everything in life.

“Yes, I hear that they demand crazy ransom to just get your loved one,” adds in Kwame. I refrain from commenting.

Finally the last person arrives with the doctor, who is our facilitator. The routine is simple – we always start with a word of prayer before proceeding to the meeting – basically to share our daily battles, and see how we can help one another.

Each person is supposed to give the pros and cons of their lives so far. I listen as each member enumerates what they have achieved, and where they have fallen short. It is very touching to hear comments like, “I followed my prescription religiously.”

Kwame’s turn, and he bares it all. “I managed to resist temptation and save – I hope – one person from infection. I met this girl at my brother’s house, and she was smitten to bits. She gave me a date, which I accepted and went out with her. She ordered drinks, but I told that I only take water. Finally she asked me to accompany her to her place. I refused, and she went wild accusing me of being proud and arrogant, and that I was not worth any woman. I listened to her, and finally told her that I would not accompany her to her apartment in any condition.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. Here is a man who goes out with a woman, and then leaves her high and dry.

“I asked her how sure was I that she was not HIV positive,” Kwame continued. “This made her mad again, and she reiterated that we could always use a condom to be on the safe side. ‘You have not answered my question,’” I told her.

“Finally she said that her status was negative. ‘What would you do if I told you that I am positive?’ I asked her. The shock on her face was just too revealing, and that was the end of the date. She stomped out of the restaurant!”

I am the only one who finds Kwame’s story funny, so I laugh out aloud and everyone turns to check me out.

It is my turn, and I clear my voice. “I will start with the negative. My dieting, medication and resting are all a total mess. I find it difficult not to take alcohol, or miss out at late night parties, or even refrain from sex – protected and unprotected,”  I say. The last bit comes out in a whisper, and I am shocked that I have finally managed to talk about my condition so openly.

The group listens intently, some of them with the knowing expression of ‘we have been there’.
“There are two things that I am extremely proud of. One, I am the mother of the twins who were rescued today,”  I continue. There is instant applause, and for a change no one cares about breaking rules. I am flattered.

“Congratulations!” Yasmin blurts out. The others join in as they come to hug me. I let my tears flow, and three of the girls help in crying. The men, like my son David, remain stoic, though the silence translates to comradeship.

The crying done, I continue with my testimony. “The second one,” I pause for dramatic effect. “Yesterday I managed to get a paedophile arrested!” This time the applause is even louder, though I raise my hand for them to allow me to continue with the story. I narrate to them the whole story of Mr. Mambo. There is pin drop silence.

“I have promised all the girls, who have been molested by the teacher free counselling and free testing,” I conclude. The group indulges in animated discussions.

I do not mention my date with Aisha, one of Mr. Kombo’s women. This I will need to deal with at my own pace.

It is almost 8 p.m. when I pass by the hospital to check on mum.

“The surgery was successful,” Dr. Tobiko assures me. “You should be able to see her from tomorrow.”

I leave the hospital a relieved woman. Despite her drama, she is still my mum.

To be continued.

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