Talking to people about HIV/AIDS is difficult. The fact of the matter is, I’m told ¼ of the people I meet here in this province are infected – that’s an incredibly high rate, but the illness is still highly stigmatized. It is this stigma that makes what can be a manageable illness worse for the person infected – they often don’t want others to know, which makes them less likely to receive treatment, or in some cases some people may not even want to be tested and know whether or not they are infected. It’s hard to imagine not wanting to know if you have an illness that could eventually kill you, but it all comes back to stigma and what others will think of you. So even though the disease is common, the stigma makes it even more difficult for children to deal with the disease and death of a parent. Around the world these children still seem to be viewed as “AIDS orphans,” somehow different from a child who loses their parent to some other illness. Sadly, the children typically do not receive an outpouring of public sympathy. And for these children, after the death of their parent or caregiver, they are faced with a daunting question: what will happen to me now?

I’ve been working with a child here named Njabulo. He is quite possibly one of the most adorable children I’ve ever met, and for some reason he started clinging to me from the first day he was brought to the hospice. He lost his mother to AIDS, and was being cared for by his grandmother. When she passed away, his aunt took care of him, but isn’t able to take care for him permanently. Not knowing what to do, she brought him to the hospice a few weeks ago. Njabulo has adjusted surprisingly well, but as I mentioned earlier, he has become my little sidekick. He follows me around and gets jealous when I am with other children. If there was a way to bring him to Canada I would, but it’s not that easy; so he – like some of the other children – will be living at the hospice indefinitely. It’s hard to think about what he’s gone through (and the thousands of other children like him) but I have to say that it makes me grateful that a place like the hospice exists, where they are willing to not only care for adult patients but to take in children who have nowhere else to go. And I’m happy to be one of the adults in his life who can show him love and give him attention... I’ll just feel terrible when it’s time to leave! But I take comfort knowing that he will continue to get the care he needs here, with no stigma attached.