Roberto Bazzoni Onlus : Zimbabwe: From the other side of the coin

Zimbabwe: From the other side of the coin - Elaine Dolan

ELAINE DOLAN

ROBERTO BAZZONI ONLUS

TRIP TO ZIMBABWE MAY 2005

Monday 16 May 2005

A drive down to Mr. Barr’s garage. The Barr’s educate their children at home, for lack of funding to send them to school. Despite inflation at 300% this year on top of 1000% only two years ago; when there is no petrol at the petrol station, no soap in the shops, no crops in the fields, no bread on the shelves; a family must pay for school fees for their children to go to school. A child can only attend primary school if he or she has first attended a nursery. On top of that, the child must have a full school uniform, with all the trimmings, correct shoes and hats…and then there’s the summer uniform. A domestic worker, for example, will earn Zim$800,000 per month. An average school costs Zim$12 million per term. A bush school will cost Zim$3 million per term. The majority of the country doesn’t have enough money to put food in their bellies so how can they afford to send their children to school? And with 80% of the population unemployed in the country, what is the point?

Mr Barr is another of the vital pegs in the system. He keeps the containers which have been sent over from Italy and elsewhere. They contain pasta, rice, ragu, milk, salt, beans…bits of things useless elsewhere, but vital at the right moment here. There are shelves, blankets, clothes with the tags still on them which will be sold at the local shops for cash (another vital and scarce commodity). We pick up some supplies to bring to St. Michael’s Hospital.

We stop to visit a good friend of Carlo. She tells us of a neighbour who has just been arrested. A local house had just been raided (looted) by the “police”. The neighbour’s parking on a road led to blocking their escape. So he is arrested for murder. Under new Zimbabwean laws a person can be arrested and incarcerated for up to 21 days without being charged. Officially. The reality is that this can often include beatings and tortures of the most horrific kind. Many brutal crimes are now committed in the name of “the law”, “justice”, and in the name of politics. The President has allowed himself the right to pardon any of these crimes committed, even when the culprit has been proven guilty. He has also freed himself from retribution for any of his deeds.

We move on. It is a long journey. Chinhoyi – Harare – Ngezi to St. Michael’s hospital via the road to South Africa. We meet Dr. Maria Grazia and Oscar. They live on a small hill just beside the hospital. The hospital is an oasis in a wilderness, reachable by a dirt road and surrounded only by the odd settlement/ hut. Oscar has had a stroke and has lost the use of his legs and left arm. He is confined to a wheelchair. A vocal and mischievous character. But he clearly needs much care. He has no intention of returning to Italy. And he is a strong character. Maria Grazia married him seven years ago after having spent 30 years or so working at St Michael’s. She is also a strong character and has much fight in her yet. But she is 72 years old. She is a little woman. Maybe it was the weight of so many hopes and lives that bent her back a little out of shape. What about resting? What about retirement? When is it time to stop and to and seek home? And seek comfort? But how can you leave with so many big brown eyes looking to you? And if you do? Who do they look to next? Will someone take up the baton? Or will all those lives, all those hours and months of care go to waste? Will all those people die?

We go to see the hospital. The operation room ceiling has fallen in. Hospital records of who is on our AIDS programme are written by hand. There is a new born baby in the incubation room. She is the size of two small hands. The incubation room consists of an electric heater with a bowl of water in front of it.

There are smiling happy faces when we meet some of the patients. Maybe because we are strange, maybe because we come bearing gifts, who knows? There are a few too sick to move. The physiotherapy pool is their high-tech pride and joy. It’s not working. It has been empty for weeks because their physiotherapist has been off sick. Of course he has AIDS. He is in recovery thanks to the ARV drugs provided by the Roberto Bazzoni Onlus. We meet him - smiling, but very thin. Apparently a shadow of the man he was.

At Mariele’s House for Children, we are greeted by the pattering of 29 pairs of little feet. We are immediately given hugs and smiles. They are all curious and playful. When they see the sweets we have brought they fall in love with us and try every trick to have our attention. Normal children; like any others; runny noses, scraped knees, dirty paws, tears, smiles…only that 9 of those beautiful babies have AIDS. Many of the rest are in this home because their parents have died of AIDS. They manage to jump and dance and play and laugh because of the ARV treatment they are receiving under the RBO programme and because they are in an environment of love. They are cared for by people willing to give them much love. Dr. Carlo knows them by name. He is ready to sweep any three of them off their feet at a time and to provide bear hugs as desired. We have a rendition on the xylophone and even another on the drums by the two smallest. And we go on our merry way: amazed, sad, delighted.

Tuesday 17 May 2005

We make our way to the Luisa Guidotti Hospital, Mutoko. This is the main stronghold of our programme. It is about 180 kms north east of Harare; the first and and until recently, only centre in the country providing free ARV treatment; in a country where 50% of the population between the ages of 15 and 45 are infected with AIDS.

On our way, just outside Harare, we pass Warren Park. It is the largest cemetery I have seen and stretches further than the eye can see. So many people are being put in the ground everyday. A job too large for the undertakers, now the family must bury their own dead. A chink of business is seen and seized by those who have come to make ends meet by selling wreaths and flowers at the side of the street approaching the cemetery.

By now 90% of the patients who come to the Luisa Guidotti Hospital looking for treatment of one ailment or another, are infected with the AIDS virus.

With no fuel available, other than on the black market and so no public transport to speak of, patients from around the province, in need of care, struggle to arrive for treatment.

As we entered the hospital, a family carried away a coffin for burial.
There are families setting up camp outside where they will wait and hope for their loved ones recovery. It is coming into winter now and is 27 degrees. I wonder about their waiting in the heat of summer.

Dr. Carlo works here with Dr. Marilena Pesaresi. Between them they juggle the patients that just keep coming – turned away from half empty hospitals due to inadequate structures/facilities/supplies/staffing; they come here to accept even a space on the floor. Dr. Carlo is now the only surgeon available to a catchment area of 1.4million people. His task is large and they keep coming.

We meet a young man with a broken leg. He has been assaulted with a rock and has come from miles looking for treatment after having been turned away from another hospital in Mutoko where they had no plaster to bind his leg.

We meet Tafadzwa. She is 32 and a patient suffering from AIDS. She has come to the hospital suffering an AIDS opportunistic disease – Peritonitis. This is an inflammation of the abdomen. She is so swollen, she looks pregnant. She whimpers with the pain. She has travelled some 540km by public bus (enduring each and every bump and jolt that entailed) in search of care. She is too weak for operation but here she will be given the care she needs and deserves.

The support of the Roberto Bazzoni Onlus allows Dr. Carlo and Dr. Marilena focus on other aspects of the running of the hospital:

The lack of food situation is deteriorating and of course nourishment is a vital part of any recovery treatment. The hospital used to provide three meals per day. The Zimbabwean diet consists of a type of maize (similar to polenta) and meat. Now there is simply not enough. There is no meat. Now there is only one meal a day. And the lack of fuel means that this must be cooked on open fires outside of the hospital. The help of donors abroad slightly alleviates this problem but more is always needed. Another task on Dr. Carlo’s list.

There is a brain-drain in Zimbabwe. Waiting it out until this unfavourable government falls is too much for many. Zimbabwe’s education was once highly regarded. Many of those who can, now flee their country. Some have gone into exile. Some to eak out a better living in an attempt to support their families from afar. There are currently 2.5 million Zimbabweans living between England, South Africa and Australia. Dr. Carlo, with the help of others has set up a school for nurses at the hospital. Here patients can become carers. By signing a three year contract, they are given the qualifications to allow them their independence while helping to heal their people. Specialising medical students from Italy can come to learn as well as to help.

Until three months ago there was no running water for the staff quarters of the hospital - a place where whole families live, their livelihoods dependant on the running of this centre. A bore hole has been dug. Now there is water.

There are constant challenges. Of every kind; Lack of supplies; lack of personnel; lack of equipment; lack of food; lack of transport; lack of funding; ignorance; cultural difference; political unrest; pandemic…At this hospital there is much pain. There is much difficulty in achieving that which elsewhere is simple. But it is a place where there is much hope.

As we retire to the staff quarters, it is getting dark. Families of patients are now preparing their beds on the ground to sleep before waiting again the next day…

Wednesday 18 May 2005

In the morning the hospital comes to life early.
At the staff quarters of the hospital, there is a young boy hoping around in the grass. I’m sure I recognise him from one of the photos sent by Dr. Carlo and so I call his name. It is Nicholas. His is one of the first children to be put on or Pedimune ARV treatment programme for children. He is 8 years old. Now he goes to school and he looks healthy and happy.

Outside the hospital things begin to buzz into action. There are some stalls where families of the sick try to sell some vegetables to get by. One stall is empty. The local priest has disallowed members/supporters of the opposition party to set up their goods there. They are forced to leave their merchandise on the ground. The dictatorship touches every aspect of every life in Zimbabwe.

The structures and organisation of the hospital need revision. Lack of personnel and lack of funds make efficiencies we take for granted elsewhere become daily challenges. The Roberto Bazzoni Onlus will uphold its support by including also some of these responsibilities in its undertakings. Logistics and finance are discussed and some staff is assumed. (Here a goal of attaining necessary efficiencies will be achieved. So too will much needed livelihood be given to a family. The hugs and obvious joy resulting from this news only proves how much it was needed).

In the afternoon we steal a few hours to see the Chiwero National Park – the home of zebra, giraffe, rhinos etc. The natural beauty of the country that we see before us only serves to put into sharp relief the dark cloud which hangs over it. The whole country is an oxymoron.

Thursday 19 May 2005

My heart is just nearly breaking with what I have witnessed. It is breaking for the love, the goodness, the strength and the courage I have encountered. And it’s breaking for the cruelty, the misery, the sadness, the madness, the greed and the pain I have just seen.

At San Marcellino Village we saw a baby. It looked like it may be premature. So tiny was it. Dr. Carlo said it was abandoned and undernourished; and that it could be anywhere up to two years old. Once he met an abandoned “baby” who was five years old and weighed only 5kgs. Can you imagine that? We met Enika and Talent. 7 and 9 years old. They both had been raped by their fathers. Raped and abused. Witch doctors will have their followers believe that AIDS can be cured through sexual relations with a virgin – and so many innocent children are led to the same sorry situation of their parents. When they came to the home apparently Enika’s knees remained firmly together, always. Wherever she was, whatever she did. Neither child would be alone with any man. You should have seen these girls smile. The brightness in their eyes. The love they gave each other – and the other children. They were so good. Two little angels. All they themselves needed was some love.

Everyone we met who worked on these projects talked a lot. They had a lot to say. A lot to share. But perhaps they needed someone to hear. Bearing witness to and fighting against and pushing and trying and struggling and continuously seeing people whimpering with pain and dying with heart ache cannot be easy. They needed love too. They needed the hugs they gave out so willingly too. They may be super human but they are human all the same.

And we met Sybil and Norman who run San Marcellino Village. Caring for 39 children (and preparing to take on more). These children hunger attention. Some are sick with AIDS. Most, if not all have suffered tremendous trauma. How to juggle one child or three? How to juggle 39 who are sick, traumatised and needy in a country which cuts off your electricity without a moments notice, just as you are making the dinner or washing their tiny pairs of socks; when you may find no sugar, butter, milk or meat on the shelves; where the gas tanks are empty; where the government hides behind fixed exchange rates. (€1 “officially” equals some Zim$7,000. In reality €1actually equals approximately Zim$20,000); where you cannot leave a child alone with a man for fear he may try to “cure” himself of this illness; where you face corruption and discrimination and at any time unless you behave correctly (and then that’s sometimes not enough), your license may be revoked. Who can do that? And with no money? Where do they find the strength?

We visited the Giovanni Spagnolli Woman’s Centre in Harare. A programme where mothers can come for treatment, counselling and training to become independent. This like the other sites we have visited is supported by the supply of ARV drugs as well as other structural and financial support provided by the Roberto Bazzoni Onlus. The women sat in a circle in the sunshine. Some of them quite ravaged, some of them smiling. They said they had a play for us. They had created it themselves. A story to tell us of their lives. These women stunned us.

We were told the story of a man, suffering with AIDS, but under treatment, who cannot find the courage to tell his wife of his illness. The wife feels unwell. She is confused. There is no money for food, no money for rent or for the children. There is no money for a doctor, yet her husband has been working. He tells her not to worry. She’ll be ok. She should drink water.

We learn about the misery. About the worry. About a home being torn apart. Angst. Depression. Fear. Suspicion.

This young girl’s friends tell her of a centre where she can be tested in peace and in confidentiality. Where she can receive treatment for free, in a country where “not even a banana is free”. When she finally finds the courage to tell her husband of her illness she is accused of infidelity.

My scribblings are nothing. If you had seen those girls…One of them burst into tears during the performance. One of those girls who had had the bubbliest of smiles not 15 minutes earlier – too close to home was that which we saw before us.

In their interpretation they lived happily ever after – they said – due to and thanks to the great hearts of people like us – like you – who care enough to help. We were all dumbfounded and scrambling to wipe away our tears by the end of it. And the fact is that their reality was likely far worse than that depicted in their performance. Such strength and courage did it take to share their rawness with us.

Silence. Clearing of throats; then a few words were spoken; thanks and encouragement. Good words – but put into shadow by that humbling experience.

And then they broke into song! Clapping and singing – beautiful African voices and we all danced and we all smiled and there was much joy. And I am not exaggerating if I tell you it was magic.

The faithful Red Cross jeep waited for us to take us to the next destination: Dzivaresekwa – to see where many of these ladies come from. And from where more will potentially also arrive. Dusty streets, children in bare feet, houses on top of one another. This is where those little nuns push on through and burrow in – determined to help. Not taking no for an answer. Those ladies – so kind and so good with the resolve and drive and determination of an ox. And the hearts and tenderness of I don’t know what.

Then we went to see the Papal Nuncio, Mons. Adams. We had tea with his Excellency and told him of the touching happening of the day. And the real and veritable results of what has been done – of a group being formed, who are not only healing medically, but who are finding hope in their solidarity. Who have shed their fear and who may go on to help others to do the same. Some valid and intense discussions were entered into; which cut right to the centre of the challenges our project faces.

The evening closed with another feast on the table of those amazing women; Sr. Mary Jo, Sr. Francesca and Sr. Zaveria. Loaves and fishes must have been what they started with in this country but I can tell you they turned water into wine. More business was taken care of. Laughs were had. Even a song was sung. And once more, when they reminded us of our parting gifts; I was shaken – touched again– by people who continue giving. They just keep on giving. Where are the words? What can you give back?

Friday 20 May 2005

I am shamed and embarrassed at the kindness we have been shown. At the thanks we have been given, when our part seems so tiny. It seems so tiny beside what is needed and beside that which is being done by others. I am shamed by the energy of these Duracell bunnies that just keep going, facing hurdle after hurdle and who bear it willingly, giving love and showing kindness on their way. I see what I have and what I do and what I could do and what I could give. I am saddened by the possibility of a country with all its people in it being allowed to slip so far under – by what they have endured and what they endure. But I have seen the work of some. I have seen the results of our work and they are Results. There are people now living and walking and breathing and we even saw them singing and clapping and dancing, because of what we have collectively done – all of us together. So what happens if we try a little bit harder?

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