I’ve been back in America for about two and a half months now. A lot has happened and more is still happening all around me. Sometimes I am aware of how quickly time is flying by while other times I find myself getting caught up with the busyness that is American culture. However, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about the family I left back in Swaziland. The first month I was back I found out that Maswane had passed away. And then this past week I received news of Dudu passing away. While these deaths were expected, I am still at a loss as to what to do or even how to handle the news. I’ve realized that I don’t know how to handle death. I guess that’s the case for most young Americans.
In America, we spend a lot of time prolonging the life of loved ones. We have all of these preventative measures we take and all the medicines we need at our fingertips. In Swaziland though, that’s not their reality. There are all these statistics about the average life expectancy being 30 years old, how the HIV/AIDS rate is around 44% and the majority of the children will grow up as orphans. I returned to America and a lot ha been going on. School is a definite priority and I don’t know how I’m going to finish paying for this semester, work is hard to come by, and then I found myself at the doctor’s office. I was treated for a skin rash I picked up from some of the kids as well as preventative treatment for latent TB. The doctor told me that it is important to take care of myself. While I know this to be true, everything inside of me couldn’t stop but think about the kids I got this rash from or those I became infected with TB by. Who is there pleading the case for these kids? Who is telling the families that there are preventative measures that could be taken to prevent a disease from running through their already frail bodies?
Dudu was just a year older than me. She saw her son’s first birthday, but won’t be there to see his second. My last few weeks living in Nsoko, I found myself sitting in Dudu’s house on a weekly basis, checking in on her, seeing how the family was doing and if there was anything I could do to help them out. While I knew that TB was a definite risk, that wasn’t too big of a concern for me. Jesus didn’t run from the lepers because he was afraid he too would become leprous, so why should I be afraid to sit with the sick?
Even in dealing with the latent form of TB, I still feel like people avoid me like I am some leper. My doctor even sits across the room. As humans we all want to feel accepted. But when people are sick the visits become less. When people are dying we avoid them because we would rather run from the pain than deal with it. I’m one of these people. There were times I didn’t want to go across the street to visit Dudu. I was afraid of what I might find when I went over there. But there were other times I was so compelled that I couldn’t do anything but make that 5 minute walk across the street. My last day in Nsoko I sat by Dudu’s bed knowing it was the last time I was going to see her. I looked into her eyes and wished for so much more. And then I broke down. There was nothing left for me to do. I was looking into this young girls eyes and she was so tired. Dudu has taught me more about strength and courage than any class I could ever take. She has taught me more about life than any book I’ve read. She taught me about life and death and dying. And even in all these life lessons there are still so many unknowns about what to do after death.
