Chanda's Secrets (23 page)

I was about to tell them about Mama when Iris called out, “Chanda, come quick.” She was pointing at something outside.

I hurried over. There, perched on the wheelbarrow, was my stork. It craned its neck toward us. Iris and Soly waved. The stork raised its right foot as if giving us a blessing. Then it arched its back and began to fly, circling the yard three times before disappearing into the night.

I held my babies close.

“That was Mama, wasn't it?” whispered Soly.

My mind said no, but my heart said, “Yes.”

“She's gone now?”

“Yes.”

I
T HASN'T BEEN EASY SINCE
M
AMA DIED.
Some days I'm so tired I can barely move, and the pain of Mama's death is so big I don't know where to put it. I try to keep busy, like she did.

The Tafas looked after the funeral expenses, including a moriti.

“I'll pay you back,” I said.

“No,” Mrs. Tafa insisted. “We're paying
you
back.”

The whole community came to the burial feast. For once, nobody had to lie about the cause of death. We could breathe freely.

Every so often someone came up and whispered: “I have a parent who's sick.” Or a grandparent. Or an aunt, an uncle, a cousin, a best friend. “You're the first person we've been able to tell.”

Before Mama left for Tiro, she'd written a will. One copy was left with Mrs. Tafa, a second with the priest. Mama gave everything—the house and her belongings—to me in trust. I was put in charge of Iris and Soly.

I asked Esther to move in permanently and to bring her brothers and sister along. One brother was happily settled with her Uncle Kagiso, but the other brother and sister came. The house was crowded for awhile, but Mr. Tafa built a pair of extra rooms at the side.

We've also increased the size of our chicken coop and vegetable garden. Weekends, we all chip in on the chores. Weekdays, most of the housework is done by Esther while I do supply work at the elementary school.

The hardest time was when I took Soly and Iris to the hospital to see Nurse Viser. Esther came, too, with her brother and sister.

“Awhile ago, you asked if I wanted to be tested for AIDS,” I said. “I wasn't ready then. I am now. This is my family. We all want the truth.”

The tests came back negative. Except for Esther's. We held each other and cried.

Nurse Viser put Esther on a list to get anti-retroviral drugs through a relief agency. “The bad news is, the list is long and it'll take awhile for your name to get to the top,” she said. “The good news is, your health is excellent and you may be able to get treatment before you're sick. Remember, new drugs are discovered each year. Don't give up hope.”

Nurse Viser also arranged for Esther to meet with the counselor at the Thabo Welcome Centre. Esther carries on as if she's fearless. But it's only an act. The day of her appointment she was terrified.

“Would you like me to go with you?” I asked.

“Are you sure?” she hesitated. “People may think you have AIDS too.”

“So what? I don't care what people think anymore.”

Esther squealed and danced me around the room. “You're my best friend forever!”

When people first go to the Welcome Centre, they usually enter through the back door, checking over their shoulder to see if anyone's watching. Not us. “If people are going to talk, let's give them something to talk about,” I said. Esther put on a bright skirt and a polka-dot blouse, and I got into the yellow dress with blue parakeets that Mama got from Mrs. Tafa. We sang all the
way as we biked the ten miles to Section Ten and marched in through the Welcome Centre's front door.

A large white bedsheet was draped along the entrance hall. Beside the sheet, a felt marker hung from a string. Dozens of people had used it to write sayings on the sheet: “Everyone is either infected or affected”; “We can't change the past, but we can change the future”; “Where there is love there is life. Where there is life there is hope”; “Live now.”

We walked down the hall, past a counseling room, into an open meeting space. In the corner, a group of women, all different ages, and a couple of men, sat around a coffee table next to a piano, having tea and biscuits. Some of them looked healthy; others were very thin. They greeted us with a smile: “Dumêlang.”

“Dumêla,” Esther said in a loud voice. “I'm here for my appointment.”

A large woman got up from the group. She gave Esther a big squeeze. “Dumêla. I'm the counselor, Banyana Kaone.”

My jaw dropped. “So this is Banyana Kaone,” I thought. “The AIDS Lady in the newspaper who hands out condoms. Up close she doesn't look old and weird. She looks like a mama.” Next thing I knew, she was hugging me, too, and suddenly the Welcome Centre felt like home.

Esther and I have been coming every week since. Sometimes more. There's singalongs and card games and potluck suppers. Most of all, there's companionship, the comfort of being with friends who're going through the same thing.

“I'm not alone,” says Esther. “I'm alive again.”

Mama said I should save my anger to fight injustice. Well, I know what's unjust. The ignorance about AIDS. The shame. The stigma. The silence. The secrets that keep us hiding behind
the curtain. The Welcome Centre throws back that curtain. It lets in the fresh air and light.

But it's the only center for miles and miles. No wonder going there seems strange and scary. There need to be centers everywhere.

I think about this as I sit outside, staring at the moon, unable to sleep. I close my eyes and I picture a center in my very own front yard. The Lilian Kabelo Friendship Project.

I burst out laughing. It's a crazy idea. But it's not stupid. I don't need a building. Not right away. I just need a place for people to meet. And I have this yard.

The Lilian Kabelo Friendship Project.

Dreams, dreams, dreams...

A
LLAN
S
TRATTON IS AN AWARD-WINNING
and internationally published and produced playwright and novelist. In preparation to write
Chanda's Secrets
, Allan traveled to South Africa, Zimbabwe, and Botswana, where various agencies introduced him to those living with and working to fight HIV/AIDS. He was invited into homes, aid and education organizations, and mortuaries in city, village, and cattle post. This book was made possible by the guidance and encouragement of the people he met there, including everyone at the Ghetto Artists in Francistown, who do street theatre on HIV/AIDS testing and prevention; the Tshireletso Shining Stars AIDS Awareness Group, an HIV/AIDS day-care centre; COCEPWA (Coping Centre for People Living with HIV/AIDS); the Light and Courage Centre; PACT (Peer Approach to Counseling by Teens); The Kagisano Women's Shelter Project; and the Coady International Institute. Allan lives in Toronto.

© 2004 Allan Stratton

Line drawings by Warren Clark

Editing by Barbara Pulling

Copy editing by Elizabeth McLean

Design by Irvin Cheung / iCheung Design

Cover image used with permission of Bavaria Film International/Bavaria Media GmbH

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This edition published in 2012 by
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We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.

The publisher acknowledges with thanks the Canadian International Development Agency and the Federation of Canadian Municipalities for their support in the development of this publication.

Cataloging in Publication

Stratton, Allan

      Chanda's secrets / by Allan Stratton.

ISBN 1-55037-835-X (bound).—ISBN 1-55037-834-1 (pbk.)

       I. Title.

PS8587.T723C45 2004         C813'.54                              C2003-906069-1

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