Updated: Jul 9, 2020
| This is the 127th story of Our Life Logs |
I believe a person can still have the strength to pursue their cause well beyond their limits. It is all about mentality and mindset. I began my life in the Nakuru County of Kenya in 1992. As the last born in a family of six siblings, I don’t remember much of my childhood until the death of my father in 1997. When my mother died five years later, I was taken under the wings of my elder sisters and many of my happy childhood memories came from being raised by them.
I oozed confidence as a child thanks to my elder sister, Viola. She was both a mother and a mentor to me. In a bid to emulate her confidence and decisiveness, I spent my life determined to find and mimic her courage. This is the greatest gift she bestowed upon me.
In 2006, I was blissfully living my life as a teenager, attending a boarding school as an average student who was known for being nosy and loving life. I loved joking, and I didn’t take life too seriously. That all changed when my school hosted a blood drive campaign in 2007. On that day, my life turned into a blanket of darkness. They were offering free soda and biscuits to participants. Being a foodie, this was heaven sent for a student with a tight budget and little pocket money. I volunteered to take the blood test, enticed by the promise of freebies.
When my turn came, I hurriedly walked into the tent to get the test over with and win myself the treats. The counselor must have been tired because instead of taking me through the required counseling session, she only inquired if I had a boyfriend and if I had ever tested before, both to which I answered no. She explained how to interpret the HIV test kits and sent me on my way. When my result showed the double strips indicating that I tested positive, my fate was sealed. From that moment on, life became a nightmare.
All the goodies I had wanted so badly suddenly lost all their appeal. I walked in a trance after the results, struggling to envision what these results would mean for me. All the negative perceptions I had about HIV/AIDS were now flooding my brain. To me, HIV meant death—and my death sentence was so real I could almost smell it. HIV positive meant I’d be destined for a life of wrinkled skin, brown weak hair, and red cracked lips. Not to mention I would die really soon!
My legs felt weak as I walked farther away from the tent. I leaned on a nearby pole to help myself sit down and get ahold of my racing heartbeat. Could God be this unfair? I had been a good girl. Carefree yes, but never had I been intimate with anyone, yet, I had a despicable monster crawling in my blood. It hit me with a pang of anger and bitterness.
I wanted to talk to my siblings about the results, but not over the phone. This was too important. Instead, I went to my best friend and blurted out about this news, desperate to tell someone. She laughed, thinking I was pulling a prank on her because I was always making fun. I pulled out the result card and showed it to her. When it finally dawned on her that I was serious, she became the friend I needed right then, and said all the right things I wanted to hear.
I should have known that she was just a teenager then, unable to handle such a life-changing confession.
I didn’t tell my sisters for four days. I had not gathered the courage yet. Perhaps because I was still in denial and that’s why I kept quiet. My secret was only safe for four days before my friend told someone and it spread all over school. While I was heading to the dining hall for my meal, I noticed students holed up in small groups whispering. They shied away and did not want to associate with me. I felt like a plague. These were people whom I played and laughed with just five days earlier.
I decided I would tell my siblings during visiting day and chose go to my school counselor instead. This was one of the greatest choices I ever made. The counselor was very understanding and educated me about the what being HIV positive really meant. She told me that most people lived with HIV and that it was no longer a death sentence, contrary to my original perception. She offered unconditional support, as did most of my teachers.
I wanted to tell my sisters about my problem in person, but since that would be difficult, I faced my fears and called my eldest sister after the counselor’s insistence. My teachers made things bearable. Still, I struggled to endure the stigmatization from ignorant students until I completed high school in 2010.
During the call to my eldest sister, Viola, I learned the source of my predicament. I was born to HIV/AIDS positive parents and the only one infected. My mother had a problem accessing the anti-retroviral drugs she needed to prevent mother to child transmission. To be the only one infected out of all my siblings felt unfair. They could live normal lives while I would have to go through endless medication and needles. I felt bitter, yet I could not bring myself to judge my parents without understanding their predicament. True, I used to get sick as a toddler, but I thought it was just normal for children my age. With no proper care, stigma and lack of information, her fate—same as dad’s—was sealed. My siblings were not sure if I was infected, but with the knowledge I had given them, they took it upon themselves to ensure that I had the best care to manage it.
I was given to one of my aunts who could afford to take care of me. I went through three sets of counselling sessions before I was finally enrolled in drug therapy. My CD-4 count was at its lowest which meant I was prone to opportunistic diseases like meningitis. The fear of knowing I was going to have to take ARVs (antiretroviral drugs) my whole life was shuttering. I felt confused, odd, suffered low self-esteem, felt unworthy of living, and…I felt like a loser.
I didn’t start dating until after high school and trying to date did not make my status any easier to cope with. I had decided that unlike most people who had the virus, I would not engage in sexual activity with multiple partners to spread the disease. In fact, any man who hinted that he was interested in me would be met with a clear-cut response.
“I am infected with HIV.”
Most guys dropped the chase when they learned that detail about me, but some thought I was using that as an excuse to disqualify them. When I’d prompt them to go with me for an HIV test, most of them left me alone. This was how my encounters with men went until I met one special guy who did not care about my status at all. He loved me as I was and was willing to be with me, despite my status.
I have always loved kids, yet I was scared to have kids after discovering my status. Around this time, I started taking a course in counseling and HIV/AIDS. I learned how HIV is contracted, what really triggers the opportunistic infections, and most of all, how to end the misconceptions through advocating for a Stigma Free Society. I was comforted by the knowledge I had learned from the course, so I went ahead and got married.
I became a member of a treatment facility which gave me immeasurable support to give me the proper advice to deal with my HIV status since 2009. What I figured out was that as long as I was taking all