huge crime here, as the resale value is immense. So, much of the time, when patients come in to have their blood tested, the trip is wasted. And anyway, chances are that even if the CD4 machine is working, the ARVs will have run out, for the same reason – lack of funding, and fraud. But the theory of PMCT is very good.
Waiting for us outside under a tree were members of the PMCT group, all HIV positive themselves, who do outreach in the community. They had been waiting for hours, because we were running late. In fact we were two hours late leaving Kampala on the first day because of petrol shortages in the city, and we would be late for every single appointment from then on, and yet people would wait for us, sometimes for hours, and we never heard a solitary complaint about it.
As soon as they saw us coming, the PMCT group leapt to their feet and began singing and dancing. We thought it was just a welcome – the welcomes there are terrifyingly elaborate, often involving ululations, and it does feel slightly lame to then extend your hand and say ‘How do you do.’ But in fact they were singing for us some of the songs that they use to explain issues around HIV and AIDS to people in the surrounding villages. My Plan chaperone – like me, a visitor from England – danced along to the songs, but I didn’t, because I was too embarrassed, and then I was ashamed of being embarrassed, and then I was embarrassed of being ashamed, and all remaining hope of me dancing drifted away on a zephyr of British reserve.
The songs and dances are impressive, and an effective way of spreading the word, because in a village where there is no other form of entertainment, if a group of strangers turn up and start singing and dancing, you are going to go and have a look. They travel a long way to spread their message, up to 60km to some of the most remote villages, but although Plan have provided some bicycles for them, they need more. They also need money for musical instruments, for costumes for the short dramas they perform, and so on. As with the clinic, funding is piecemeal and comes from multiple sources. The group has been encouraged to raise their own money by making handicrafts, such as beads, baskets and mats, but there isn’t anybody around who wants to buy these things. The idea is to sell to tourists, but there are no tourists here. There are just other impoverished Ugandans who don’t give a toss about beads.
More disturbing was what the group told us about the home visits they make to AIDS sufferers who are too sick to visit the hospital. The project is so poorly funded that they can’t even afford plastic gloves or basins, which makes it dangerous to touch and wash the wounds of patients, whose AIDS-related illnesses often leave them covered in lesions and sores. Their families are too afraid to touch them, and the patients too weak to look after themselves, so the wounds fester. Many afflicted families will own only one bucket, which they have to use for everything, from washing themselves, to washing food and dishes, to vomiting into. Families also can’t afford separate bedding, which means that they sleep all together, so even where AIDS is not transmitted, AIDS-related illnesses, such as TB, are.
The next day I was taken to visit another school, one of the most deprived in the area. Why I’d come, and what was Plan’s involvement with the school, was not clear. But in any case, I was shown around. Almost two hundred of the youngest children were squeezed into the same classroom, which was also used for storing firewood. The headmistress’ office had also been divided into two so that half of it could be used as a classroom for the older kids. The buildings had pockmarked walls, heaped earth instead of floors, and holes for windows. Still, those that have classrooms at all are lucky, as many of the children have to learn sitting on the ground outside. On the day that I visited, the thought of having lessons out
Waiting for us outside under a tree were members of the PMCT group, all HIV positive themselves, who do outreach in the community. They had been waiting for hours, because we were running late. In fact we were two hours late leaving Kampala on the first day because of petrol shortages in the city, and we would be late for every single appointment from then on, and yet people would wait for us, sometimes for hours, and we never heard a solitary complaint about it.
As soon as they saw us coming, the PMCT group leapt to their feet and began singing and dancing. We thought it was just a welcome – the welcomes there are terrifyingly elaborate, often involving ululations, and it does feel slightly lame to then extend your hand and say ‘How do you do.’ But in fact they were singing for us some of the songs that they use to explain issues around HIV and AIDS to people in the surrounding villages. My Plan chaperone – like me, a visitor from England – danced along to the songs, but I didn’t, because I was too embarrassed, and then I was ashamed of being embarrassed, and then I was embarrassed of being ashamed, and all remaining hope of me dancing drifted away on a zephyr of British reserve.
The songs and dances are impressive, and an effective way of spreading the word, because in a village where there is no other form of entertainment, if a group of strangers turn up and start singing and dancing, you are going to go and have a look. They travel a long way to spread their message, up to 60km to some of the most remote villages, but although Plan have provided some bicycles for them, they need more. They also need money for musical instruments, for costumes for the short dramas they perform, and so on. As with the clinic, funding is piecemeal and comes from multiple sources. The group has been encouraged to raise their own money by making handicrafts, such as beads, baskets and mats, but there isn’t anybody around who wants to buy these things. The idea is to sell to tourists, but there are no tourists here. There are just other impoverished Ugandans who don’t give a toss about beads.
More disturbing was what the group told us about the home visits they make to AIDS sufferers who are too sick to visit the hospital. The project is so poorly funded that they can’t even afford plastic gloves or basins, which makes it dangerous to touch and wash the wounds of patients, whose AIDS-related illnesses often leave them covered in lesions and sores. Their families are too afraid to touch them, and the patients too weak to look after themselves, so the wounds fester. Many afflicted families will own only one bucket, which they have to use for everything, from washing themselves, to washing food and dishes, to vomiting into. Families also can’t afford separate bedding, which means that they sleep all together, so even where AIDS is not transmitted, AIDS-related illnesses, such as TB, are.
The next day I was taken to visit another school, one of the most deprived in the area. Why I’d come, and what was Plan’s involvement with the school, was not clear. But in any case, I was shown around. Almost two hundred of the youngest children were squeezed into the same classroom, which was also used for storing firewood. The headmistress’ office had also been divided into two so that half of it could be used as a classroom for the older kids. The buildings had pockmarked walls, heaped earth instead of floors, and holes for windows. Still, those that have classrooms at all are lucky, as many of the children have to learn sitting on the ground outside. On the day that I visited, the thought of having lessons out
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