Everything is better when the sky is blue in Africa

It stopped raining. This morning, Lulu joined me on the patio for coffee and sunshine. For the first time, she talked to me about her husband and about how she feels about the fact that he gave her HIV. The answer is very clear to her: she forgives him. He is in the ground, and she loves him very dearly, and she will not this against him. She told me that he did in fact confess to her that he was infected shortly before he died. He had been afraid to tell her because he thought that she might divorce him because of his infidelity. She told him then, "I would never divorce you. If you had told me, we could use a condom and I would not be infected." But immediately, she offered forgiveness. She repeated this often: "I forgive him. I forgive him. I love him."

For Lulu, the imperative to forgive is tightly bound to what it means to love. She recognizes that he made his choice out of fear, and he also suffered. Now that he is gone, her decision to forgive or not has to do with the health of her own body. To forgive is to heal herself; not to forgive is to impose further sickness on her body. That he confessed to her and that she loved her husband without bound make forgiveness the only choice she can imagine. The only one she would hurt by not forgiving is herself.

Lulu is a devout member of the Church of Christ (which is basically the same thing here as it is in America, except with drums and music). Today I heard for the first time her belief that excessive and faithful prayer may well deliver her from HIV. She recounted stories of other women she knows who prayed and prayed and eventually turned up with negative HIV tests. I didn't know exactly what to say to this. Who am I to argue with her sustaining hope? The outcome will be the same, but at least she will have lived a hopeful life, aiming toward a future deliverance that is unlikely to arrive, but aiming nonetheless. Any kind of hope is worth something, I think. It heals the small details of a day, even if it does not heal ultimately. I did not come to South Africa to argue for science. Everything is worth hoping for.

As I was writing this, Lulu appeared in my room with these pictures of her family. Pearl is ten years old now, so these look to be about eight or nine years ago. Lulu's husband's name is Oswald, and he is originally from Zimbabwe. At this time they lived in Cape Town.