Aren’t we often like Ebenezer Scrooge at our desk or computer, burying our nose in pointless minutiae and trivia, while the import of our very lives is floating just over our heads? Another commonality between us and Scrooge: our times are both Dickensian. And today, mine is the voice of a writer you used to know, telling you that we should change. I'm all about sports. Yet, the box scores of our lives are as quickly forgotten as Weber State v. Cal. Poly. Still, there’s still time to put up a difference-making shot. But, the shot clock is running down.
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The couple was so young and beautiful. Lisa was the result of tough, committed and loving parenting. I met her on the day before her wedding. She was the consummate FSU co-ed, as sweet and gorgeous as the oranges that dot the state of Florida. The grateful recipient of all the things we parents want our kids to have, she was the shining jewel in her Italian-American family’s crown. Her husband and I ran together in college. We remained very tight; partly because I kept his bawdy secrets, and he mine. After college, he became a Marine Chopper Pilot. He saw duty in places like Kuwait, Oman, and the mean streets of Oceanside, CA.. Later he joined an organization called the Diplomatic Security Service. He’s done “church work” in every unpalatable cesspool nation in the world. He’s guarded Maddie Albright, Colin Powell, Former Israeli PM Ehud Barak and the late Chairman Yasser Arafat, to name a few. Lisa couldn’t have known it at the time. But, on the day of their wedding, she stood on the altar with the Marine version of Pirate Jack Sparrow. His is a rare amalgamation of whimsy, lunacy and courage that has allowed each day’s evening cocktail to remain just as pleasant despite any particular day’s inordinant carnage. Marines refer to his ability as “compartmentalization”. It is his ability to drown out bad sights and sounds by turning up the volume on the looping Door’s soundtrack that plays in his head. She couldn’t have possibly known what was in store. And, he cut a fine figure of a Marine in St. Petersburg, Florida on his wedding day.
Last year, J. Scott was stationed at our American Embassy in France. We visited in the Spring of ’05. We took Paris by storm. We even got to hob-knob with Ambassador Leach at the annual embassy Easter egg hunt. Lisa and J. Scott were conversant in French. They ate baguettes, fromage and drank café’ du lait. Their little daughter was speaking the language and wearing stockings and a French beret’. Their toddler son had adapted to small dogs and dark chocolate, too. During our visit however, they received news that J. Scott would be assigned to manage security at the American Embassy in Swaziland (tiny country bordering South Africa). To put it in terms that we can appreciate, that is like being taken FIRST in the draft…. by the league doormat.
Prior to moving to any new assignment, the State Department educates my friends, so that they are best prepared. Here is some of the information they received:
• Swaziland is among the world's countries with the greatest prevalence of HIV and the greatest need for treatment, training and education.
• In 2002, 39% of pregnant mothers were HIV positive. The survey from 2005 listed this rate at 56%.
• In southern Africa, 50% of all deaths of children under the age of five are caused by HIV/Aids.
• By 2010, 10% to 15% of the population of Swaziland will be orphans.
(http://bayloraids.org/newsreleases/release23.pdf)
Life is almost hopeless in Swaziland. Almost. Although we Americans only concern ourselves with Baylor’s recruiting class and win-loss record, it should also be noted that Baylor School of Medicine teamed with Bristol Meyers Squibb to turn ground last year on a new hospital, which was scheduled to open this winter: The Pediatric HIV/AIDS Center of Swaziland. So, there is a glimmer of consciousness being dedicated to the pandemic that kills the children of Swaziland. But, it’s only a glimmer mind you, because the children have to compete for our attention with the Super Bowl, the upcoming World Baseball Classic, as well as Spring Training. And, for goodness' sake, let’s not forget Tiger Woods or the almighty Professional Bowler’s Tour.
Lisa sent me an email at the beginning of the week. After all the righteous indignation I could muster to qualify and quantify the Super Bowl officiating, I decided to give her email a quick look:
I have to tell you the story of this day. We brought the shoes and some clothes to a woman named Sylvia. She is HIV positive. Her husband already passed away, she has a daughter Fifi pictured with the group of girls (Fifi's eyes are an unusual almond shape.) Sylvia's house is typical Swazi, no electricity, no running water. She has an outhouse in the back and they bathe and wash clothes in the river, they also drink from it. Sylvia works at the gov't hospital with the AIDS babies and mothers. She helps administer drugs and counsels them on nutrition and nursing etc. She is amazing!! Some Swazi's don't believe AIDS is a disease, some are
superstitious and believe it's a curse some one put on them. Sylvia was called by the chief of her village because a mob was trying to kill an old man they accused of causing the AIDS. She calmed the crowd and saved the man. She showed us around her village, the empty huts where people lived and died and the kids are just gone?! The baby is newborn,(I got to hold him), both of his parents are positive, they just found out! Scott asks me why I want to help them, what do I think I can accomplish? I don't know the answer to this yet. I know I have seen their faces, and I have seen the children, and I can't turn away. Love you much Lisa
Reading those words from one so close and dear made me think of my own daughter. I take my aspirations for her for granted. How dark would my reality be if I had the same realizations as the parents of Swaziland; that I could offer my children nothing and no hope in the future? I was reminded of a recent dialogue I had heard at the first play my daughter ever saw in person.
They were a boy and a girl. Yellow, meager, ragged, scowling, wolfish; but prostrate, too, in their humility. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its freshest tints, a stale and shriveled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing. No change, no degradation, no perversion of humanity, in any grade, through all the mysteries of wonderful creation, has monsters half so horrible and dread.
Scrooge started back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.
`Spirit, are they yours?' Scrooge could say no more.
`They are Man's,' said the Spirit, looking down upon them. `And they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it,' cried the Spirit,…. ' --Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
I received another message from Lisa on Wednesday, February 8, 2006:
Hope all is well with Edna and the kids. We miss you all so much. Loved the
pictures sent at Christmas!! Scott has been filling you in on my experiences on the front trenches of the African poverty and AIDS epidemic. Pretty awful! I have met such wonderful people in Swaziland. They are so poor, no running water, no electricity, yet very happy and welcoming. After the treatment by the French it is a
little shocking. I was at the Mbabane Government Hospital last week. You can't imagine being in this hospital, a cement building, no food, no nursing staff. The patients are literally stacked one on top of the other, laying on the floor. I met a
boy, he was about 14 years old, he looked like he was 80. He was sitting on a chair crying, his mother was holding his hand. He told our interpreter that he was so hungry, he wanted beans and rice to eat. The mother had no money, no food is handed out in the hospital, just tea and a piece of bread every day. The father was at home and would not support them, they were farmers, lived out in the country. I had nothing with me, just a hand knitted bear from the USA, which we gave to him. (The Mother Bear Project, check out the website! ) A woman we were with went back the next day to bring the boy and his mother some rice, he had died that night. The boy had AIDS, he was raped by a man that had infected him. This boy died hungry, scared, and shunned by his father. No one will know him, he will never graduate from high school, have a family, make a difference in this world. But I knew him, I saw his tears and heard his crying for help. I will never go back to that hospital without money in my pocket. I am left with his face in my mind. Lisa
There is no record of the boy. The mother disappeared into the night. My friend would never know the boy’s name. But, as Lisa exposed herself to sickness and despair on the precipice of hell on earth, she had met he who was so ‘meager, ragged, scowling, wolfish’ described by Dickens: Ignorance.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
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Please send a check for any amount to:
Lisa Mooneyham
2350 Mbabane Place
Dulles,VA 20189
Note: Aids Children
This is a State Department Address. Mail is filtered for any objectionable material. Please just send check or clothes.
