I read a story on this page shared by a lady whose mother was diagnosed with HIV. She said her mother has been so emotionally affected by the diagnosis that she believes it was transmitted to her spiritually. Honestly, if not for a few disparities in the stories, I would have said one of my sisters brought our family’s story to this page. Although I am certain her story is different from mine, they are similar.

Just like hers, my family didn’t have it easy when we were growing up. My parents have five children, and I am the second-born and only son. We used to live in a single room in a Zongo community until my father landed a well-paying job in the government sector. The job came with accommodation so we moved from our Zongo neighborhood to an estate that served as a bungalow for workers.

We lived there for a little over five years. We had to move when my dad’s company was privatized by the then government and he was part of the employees that were laid off. My dad was offered the first right to purchase the house we were living in, but he could not afford it. We had no choice but to move to a chamber and hall apartment. It was a downgrade but we were positive that my father would get another good job and our lives would return to normal.

My mother who was selling porridge (koko) at the time we were in the estate and was doing well could not sustain her business after we moved. Market moved from bad to worse. My dad also struggled to find another job until he finally got a position in a private security job. The money wasn’t much so my mother resorted to moving from house to house to do other people’s laundry jobs so she could support my dad feed us and pay our fees. Us kids also played our parts in earning income for our household. On weekends and vacations, I assisted my mother to sell her porridge. My sisters also carried water to the beach to sell.

Despite all our best efforts, we were always sacked school fees. My parents were always moving us to new schools because of this. Over time, the hopes of our family getting back on its feet were dashed. Things got worse to the point where we could no longer renew our rent. We had to move from the chamber and hall apartment to a single room in our old Zongo neighborhood. Can you imagine a family of seven sleeping in a small single room? At night, we slept like inmates at the Nsawam prisons.

My elder sister who had completed Secondary School at the time got a shop attendant job with little pay. She supported the house with the little she earned while my dad continued with his private security job. Later he got a job to work as a security person in a church. The money was better than what he was earning so he quit and took the church job.

My mother’s porridge business had completely collapsed at this point. Nonetheless, she continued with the house-to-house laundry and later took up a night job in a bakery by oiling the baking pans. My younger sisters and I sometimes went to assist her at the bakery on Friday nights because the pay was based on the number of pans you cleaned and oiled. My sisters would then go on to assist her with the laundry job throughout the weekend.

I completed Secondary School and right away got a job at a Comms-Center. I didn’t earn enough but it was better than nothing. When my SSSCE results were released, my father was very proud of me. He never expected me to get the grades I did with the challenges we faced. You see, he could not afford to buy me any additional material I required in school apart from what the school gave me (which was part of the school fees).

Although the grades looked good on paper, I felt I needed to better two papers to gain admission to the university. My elder sister assisted me, and I sat for those two papers as a private candidate. By the grace of God, it worked out in my favour when the results were released. I applied to the university and the polytechnic that very year.

Unfortunately, we lost my father in the first month of the next year. He fell ill and died shortly. He was buried within two weeks. My extended family came and did what they had to do and after that, left us to our fate. The polytechnic admission letter arrived but I dumped it in the trash. My mother continued with her struggles doing other people’s laundry until she also got sick.

We wanted her to get the best medical care but we couldn’t afford it. There was no family to come to our aid. My three younger sisters were in school. My elder sister was working as a shop attendant while I still worked at the Comms-Center. Out of desperation, I started secretly borrowing money from my job to take care of the hospital bills. I intended to pay it back secretly. Unfortunately, luck eluded me and the owner found out. I was disgraced and fired.

My mother had gone to a clinic, and they prescribed drugs and labs, but we could not afford them. So, she resolved to use local herbs from the roadside. You could see the pain and suffering in our eyes. You could see she was not getting better. We felt she was going to die. We even heard rumors of her impending death which we later found out was started by my uncle (my father’s younger brother) in my hometown.

Before I lost my job, I had applied for a position in a government organization. I sat for an aptitude test and thereafter went for an interview. God being so good, it did not take long before I got a letter from the organization for a medical examination. I went through it and got my appointment letter. By then, my mother’s illness seemed to be moving from bad to worse.

One of my younger sisters had completed SSS around the same time and was awaiting her results. Because of our struggles, she was sent away to stay and assist a rich woman. I heard she was used as a maidservant and was maltreated. By the time her results were released, I had worked for some time and things were much better. We had turned the corner. She was very intelligent, so I pulled her out of the rich woman’s house and took her to the university.

Today, she is a big girl and a major supporter of the family. The other last two have made it too. My elder sister was not left out. She also gained employment in the government sector and is doing very well.

Now let me take you back a few years. When I received my first salary after I started my new job, I gave the entire amount to my mother. It was ten times what I earned from my old job. My mother took the money to the hospital, and after some checks and lab tests were undertaken, she was diagnosed HIV positive. That night we cried more than we did when we lost our father.

My mother was referred to a unit at the Korlebu Teaching Hospital and after some processes, she was given some drugs (anti-retroviral). We supported her by setting alarms for her to take her drugs. The initial reaction to taking the drugs in my mother’s case was not easy. I remember she experienced body itches. Especially her legs. She wanted to quit taking the drugs, but us her five children said, “Not on our watch.”

With time, her body adjusted to the drugs. One of my sisters always accompanied her to her doctor’s appointments. In the beginning, we did not know how she contracted it. It was not listed by the pathologist as the cause of death for my father. My mother, in her quest for answers, attributed her illness to spiritual causes. Still, we insisted she takes her drugs.

Many years later, my mother learned that a woman, my father had an affair with had died from the same disease. So maybe my father contracted it from her and gave it to my mother. But then does it really matter? Obviously no! All that mattered to us was that our mother was healthy.

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Family members who got to know about her illness stigmatized my mother. But trust me, she did not care. They said she would die soon but that soon never came. As I write, some of them have passed on from other illnesses and we attended their funerals, but my HIV-positive mother still lives. She had met some of them too at the hospital unit and when they tried to hide, she got closer, greeted them, and had a chat with them.

The doctors have now limited her intake of the anti-retroviral drugs. On my last follow-up on how many times she takes her drugs, she said once a day and her doctor’s appointment had been shifted from every three months to six months or so. She does not frequent the hospital like she used to, and the quantum of drugs given to her has reduced.

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The doctors always praise her when they undertake a lab test on her. My dear mother who was diagnosed has lived with her illness for over twenty years and counting. She is nearing her seventies and is very strong. She does not have the usual health issues that come with old age.

I just want to tell the lady who posted her story to tell her mother that her diagnosis is not the end of the world. I hope my story will help you and your family, or any other person going through a similar issue to find their way to the light. All hope is not lost until you give up.

—Kobby

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