Nintey percent of young people today
living with HIV got it through mother-to-child transmission. For fear of stigma
many keep their status a secret
The hard slap across her face got
her ears ringing. She did not hear all the insults her tormentor threw at her,
in full view and in the hearing of her classmates. On returning to school five
weeks later, to write her exams, 18-year-old Angella Sengendo noticed something
odd: Everyone seemed to tip toe around her, their faces a mixture of fear, pity
and disgust, save for her three close friends, who were privy to her condition.
One of these friends explained to
her why. "On that day the teacher slapped you; she shouted that she pitied
your father because you are a burden, being HIV-positive and that you should
consider yourself lucky to be in school!"
Sengendo, now 20 years old, still
reels in anger as to why a teacher she and her father had trusted to keep
silent about her status, had betrayed her.
At the age of six, her parent's fuss
over her made her realise she was different. "I was not like my sister and
cousins. At family gatherings, I was the only one wrapped in ill-fitting thick
sweaters and scarves when it got cold," she quietly says, with a faraway
look in her eyes. If she so much as coughed slightly, that was the end of the
party for her.
She would be rushed to the clinic as
her agemates stayed behind to play.
"I started to hate the word
hospital, because it meant returning home with lots of tablets and syrups. A
week never went by without a visit to my uncle's hospital," she says.
Sengendo was not the curious type,
so she never asked her parents about it.
At Kampala Junior Academy, despite
the tons of medicines she had to take at home, school was fun. "The
teachers were friendly and I made friends whose company I immensely enjoyed. I
even took up swimming and I was a star.
One cold morning, during a lesson,
in P7, she suddenly felt ill. "I could not continue writing. I must have
looked really sick because the teacher walked up to my desk and in a whisper
asked whether I was fine."
Before long, her father was driving
her to hospital. She had developed asthma. It meant more drugs, but something
else took her smile away.
"I was advised to stop
swimming, yet I loved it."
At secondary school, life began to
throw lemons at her. "First were the questions I never had answers to: How
come your cough never goes away? Why do you often go home?'" she narrates.
The school was located in a swampy
area, so the damp conditions aggrevated her condition. Almost every three
weeks, she was taken home ill.
In S2, students started talking. She
would see them in small groups, perhaps trying to get answers to the questions
she never responded to.
Sengendo became reserved. The school
matron was the icing on the already bitter cake.
"She was really mean to me,
especially when I returned from home. 'What sort of disease are you suffering
from?' she would shout, embarrassing me," Sengendo narrates. Even when the
questions grew louder, Sengendo never put her parents to task for answers.
"One day, my mother picked me
from school. This time however, we headed to an unfamiliar hospital. She
explained to me that previously, I was attending a children's hospital but
because I was now grown, I had to attend one for adults. I later learnt it was
the Joint Clinical Research Center (JCRC). I remember walking in with my mother
and seeing a crowded place with sick looking people, some in wheel
chairs."
Sengendo narrates that whenever she
and her mother visited JCRC, some tests were run on her, then her mother would
enter a room and leave her waiting outside.
"When she came out, we would
hurriedly walk to my father's car. It's like they never wanted anyone to know
we were there."
On one of those trips, Sengendo got
into the car and sat, while her parents discussed something in hushed tones.
"I saw papers on the front car seat. One of them read HIV-positive. Then,
I was 14. I knew what HIV was, so I wondered whether it was me or my mother who
had it."
Sengendo still could not find it in
her to ask her parents who was HIV-positive.
In the third term holidays, seated
between her parents on the verandah at home one evening, they broke the news to
her.
"They said my immunity was low
and not like other children's, and that I needed to take vitamins. It was a
blow, what I had been suspecting for a while was true. They said I had got it
at birth. My mother had been involved in an accident and had had a blood
transfusion.
Sengendo asked about her younger
sister. She was told that because by the time her mother was pregnant, she was
already aware of her HIV-positive status, necessary precautions were taken and
so she was negative.
"Even with the bad news, a part
of me was glad, that at least, my younger sister would not have to face the
trials I was facing," she says.
The following year, she enrolled in
another school for S3, but the relief was short-lived.
"A few weeks in the school and
I was baptised 'the sickly one'. The one-and-a-half years I spent there was
hell. My grades fell and even when I copied the notes of the lessons I had
missed, it was not enough for me to catch up," she says.
As if that was not enough, she
developed migraines, which the doctor said were a result of a swollen sinus.
Though she responded well to the medication, she had fallen too far behind in
her classwork and had to repeat the class in another school. Sengendo was
depressed. "I kept asking myself, why me? Why wasn't I like any other
teenager? Why was I asked to repeat a class yet it was because of a condition I
was born with?" she says.
In the new school, she confided in
two of her roommates. "I knew they would soon start asking questions about
my on and off sickness. I just had to tell them, although my mother did not
want me to do so. My father, on the other hand, encouraged me to."
Fortunately, the girls were
sympathetic. They accepted her and helped her when she fell sick.
Her face brightens up as she says:
"It was the first boarding school where I felt comfortable. I had fun and
started swimming again. The administration knew about my condition and was
caring."
Towards her O'level exams, the
migraines struck again. "I spent the night awake, saying to myself there
was no way I was going to repeat another year. The administration was concerned.
My father took me away for treatment and fortunately I was able to return in
time."
She managed to complete her exams
without any other incidents. "The administration of the school was so
happy for me and promised to enroll me for A'level." However, the school's
policy on corporal punishment for wrong doers made her opt for another school,
so she enrolled at a different school.
At the new school, the director of
studies and school matron made her prefect because then she would be exempted
from housework and punishments.
"The school was different from
all the others I had been to. It was an interesting life, from letting us grow
hair, to attending dances and allowing a cool dress code" Sengendo
remembers. She opened up to three of her friends about her condition. They
became close friends and none of them ever breathed a word of it to anyone.
Sadly, Shortly afterwards, her mother passed way.
Five weeks to the A'level exams,
Sengendo was seated close to a group of angry girls, who had earlier been told
by the director of studies to leave their dormitories. They were not happy.
Being in a group, they hurled
insults at the director, knowing she would not be able to tell who exactly had
done so.
"The school matron heard and
walked in the direction. Unfortunately, I was seated near to these girls. When
the matron reported the matter to the director of studies, it is only me who
was singled out. I was summoned to her office.
She did not wait for me to get in.
She met me at the verandah and started hurling insults at me, even when I tried
to defend myself."
The office was in a quadrangle, so
when the other students heard, they gathered on the other verandahs to watch.
"The other girls tried to tell
her that I was innocent, but she would not listen. She slapped me hard and
continued yelling. The ringing in my ears was so loud, I could not hear what
she was saying," Sengendo narrates.
Sengendo was handed an expulsion
letter. She called her father.
"I had never seen him so angry.
We went back the following day and the teacher told her side of the story,
insisting I was guilty. She said all she would allow me do was return for
exams."
She says the five weeks she spent at
home were hell. The anger in her would not let her concentrate on her studies.
To make matters worse, her father blamed her.
"There was no one at home I
could confide in. The only person who encouraged me was my counsellor at the
hospital from where I got my ARVs."
By the time she returned to sit her
exams, the whole school knew she was HIV-positive. "I felt like I was
suffocating in the school. Thankfully, my friends who had always known my
status did not change their attitude towards me," Sengendo says.
To add insult to injury, both the
matron and director of studies were in charge of checking the girls for any
cheating material before they got into the exam room.
"Each time I saw them, a flash
of the incident would go through my mind and I would get so angry that I did
not care what I wrote."
When the results were released, she
had scored only two points. She blames the school's director of studies and the
matron for her failure.
She says the top administration in
different schools should take note of and punish those guilty of stigmatising
HIV-positive students.
"This should be taken seriously
because the way you treat students affects them negatively. I am not the first
and will not be the last to face stigma unless there is change."
She believes that schools should
leave it to the student to decide whether or not to disclose to their status.
Five weeks to the A'level exams,
Sengendo was seated close to a group of angry girls, who had earlier been told
by the director of studies to leave their dormitories. They were not happy.
Being in a group, they hurled
insults at the director, knowing she would not be able to tell who exactly had
done so.
"The school matron heard and
walked in the direction. Unfortunately, I was seated near to these girls. When
the matron reported the matter to the director of studies, it is only me who
was singled out.
I was summoned to her office. She
did not wait for me to get in. She met me at the verandah and started hurling
insults at me, even when I tried to defend myself."
The office was in a quadrangle, so
when the other students heard, they gathered on the other verandahs to watch.
"The other girls tried to tell
her that I was innocent, but she would not listen. She slapped me hard and
continued yelling. The ringing in my ears was so loud, I could not hear what
she was saying," Sengendo narrates.
Sengendo was handed an expulsion
letter. She called her father.
"I had never seen him so angry.
We went back the following day and the teacher told her side of the story,
insisting I was guilty. She said all she would allow me do was return for
exams."
She says the five weeks she spent at
home were hell. The anger in her would not let her concentrate on her studies.
To make matters worse, her father blamed her.
"There was no one at home I
could confide in. The only person who encouraged me was my counsellor at the
hospital from where I got my ARVs."
By the time she returned to sit her
exams, the whole school knew she was HIV-positive. "I felt like I was
suffocating in the school. Thankfully, my friends who had always known my
status did not change their attitude towards me," Sengendo says.
To add insult to injury, both the
matron and director of studies were in charge of checking the girls for any
cheating material before they got into the exam room.
"Each time I saw them, a flash
of the incident would go through my mind and I would get so angry that I did
not care what I wrote."
When the results were released, she
had scored only two points. She blames the school's director of studies and the
matron for her failure.
She says the top administration in
different schools should take note of and punish those guilty of stigmatising
HIV-positive students.
"This should be taken seriously
because the way you treat students affects them negatively. I am not the first
and will not be the last to face stigma unless there is change."
She believes that schools should
leave it to the student to decide whether or not to disclose to their status.
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