She Died.

South Africa. Swaziland. Mozambique.

My three months in Africa will be a haunting experience. HIV/AIDS in Africa is more ubiquitous than Starbucks. My time in Africa will be spent fighting the effects that AIDS has caused on the continent.

A happy baby boy is bouncing in a crib in southern Africa. He looks and acts just like any other baby you’ve seen. He coos, laughs. There is a spark of genuine joy in his bright eyes. Turn your head just a bit. Look over there–in the corner of the room. Do you see that woman with the lifeless eyes? She is the baby’s mother. She looks down when you catch her eye, and though she knows you mean her no harm, you can sense the fear marked by her bowed head.

You want to know her story, so you ask questions. It is difficult to ask–what do you say? But it is even more difficult to hear her answers. She is the victim of an AIDS cleansing ritual. The victim of a lie. It is a lie that circulates across Africa and states that if you have sex with a virgin you will be cured of AIDS. This beautiful woman was systematically raped by a man who thought her virgin blood would cure him.

And that bouncing boy? That smiling baby? He was the product of that rape. And someday, a day that will steal the joy from this boy’s eyes, he will learn that he is infected by HIV.

She died.
He is orphaned.
 

Unfortunately, this story is not unique.

I don’t have the tools to cure this epidemic. I will do my best to prevent it, but more than likely to not much avail. My time spent in Africa will be spent telling the victims of this atrocity that their hope is not futile. 

I will tell them their journey does not end here. I will tell them their purpose is not void. I will encourage them. I will feed them. I will clothe them. I will love them. 

I will tell them their hopelessnes is defeated. I will tell them their despair is defeated. Their pain is defeated. Their guilt is defeated. Their regret is defeated. Their death is defeated!

Every shadow passes with rising of the sun. The Son.