7.2.09: Into "The Field"

Left: This gal is Prisca, Rapids caregiver.

In Africa, Westerners are apt to say they are going into "The Field" when they venture of the beaten track into the rural towns and villages to which their aid and charity flows. The esteemed Jack Gray and I ventured off into "The Field" with our intrepid driver Mr. N'Goma to gather qualitative information that would function as the basis of a final report on the efficacy of the RAPIDs healthcare initiative. We met with HIV/AIDs caregivers, people who take on a number of patients in their community, looking after them, administering drugs, sometimes even schlepping the extremely sick ones to the clinic on the back of their bicycles, in oxcarts or wheel barrels. All this effort in exchange for... nothing. These people receive no monetary compensation for their troubles. However there are tens of thousands of these people, willing to give their time for free to help their neighbors in distress. 

We met in front of a three room building which appeared to be the town recreation center. Sitting on benches out front were maybe 30 caregivers, ranging in age from 22 to 67. We introduced ourselves with N'Goma serving as translator, all the while wondering what exactly put us in a position to question these people from a position of authority. After the intros we broke into small groups. I instantly realized the leading questions we had formulated would only draw back scripted, uninteresting answers. "How has the bicycled helped you as a caregiver?" "I am able to see more clients because I can get to them more quickly"... etc. Not exactly ground breaking stuff. So after a couple of stumbles and some awkward moments of silence amongst the group, I was able to start penetrating the group to unearth some interesting stories. 

Each caregiver told me a story of how they had taken a client to the clinic on the back of their bicycle. They described to me their proudest moment as a caregiver, the thing about their community that they were proudest of, and what precipitated their decision to become a caregiver. They also opened up about what the bike allowed them to do outside of their caregiver obligations. From bringing their crops to market 25 plus kms away, to taking their corn to the hammer mill in order to feed their family to seeing family that would otherwise be too far away, it was easy to see what the increased freedom meant to these folks. 

The caregivers were so gracious for what little they had. They tried to illustrate their feelings with the only asset they had to  give back: their good cheer, their smiles and their affection. Literally they had nothing else to give. 

While some of the answers became redundant as groups of five filtered through my interview room, a little work unearthed the unique in each person. Prisca decided to become a caregiver because of her experience raising the orphans of her sister, an HIV/AIDs victim. Others talked about how the bike had allowed them to enjoy economic success (from one cow to three) beyond their wildest dreams. Mary talked about taking care of her mother in law in her capacity as RAPIDs caregiver. The stories once unearthed are so indicative of the hope that is ubiquitous here in spite of the overwhelming struggle and sadness. 

The next day we traveled to the same village and met with trainer of trainers (TOTs) who work on the prevention side of AIDs prevention, spreading awareness and prevention techniques as well as teaching income generating trades such as carpentry, gardening, and farming. These people also had amazing stories. However, they didn't have bicycles and certainly made the most of their audience with a WBR employee, little did they know I am nothing but a lowly intern with no influence on where the bikes go. This open handed, bold faced begging (for lack of a better term) is one of the drawbacks to the charity  that in some cases inspires amazing stories. People see the chicken laying golden eggs and they want one of their own. Indeed, when a white person drives down the road, kids run to the street, pointing at their open palms. But I digress, that is a story for a different post. 

That same day we had the opportunity to meet with the client of a caregiver named Ruth. We went into her home, a little hut with a circumference of maybe 4 feet and a thatched roof. Luckily it doesn't rain all winter in Zambia. She was a wonderful woman, clearly defiant in the face of the disease and determined to overcome it. She responded to our question of whether she felt stigmatized after she contracted HIV. She blithely stated people treated her no differently. During the interview she lied on garment place just in front of the entrance to her tiny little home, holding herself with the composure of a matriarch. Her eyes shone with vitality, even though she was unable to rise from her seated position on her own power and needed the help of her caregiver to move on her feet. She was intensely proud of the little she had and determined in her belief that days lied ahead. Much like her country.