Who Will Heal the Healer?

My Story — Who Will Heal the Healer?

Elizabeth Owuor-Oyugi works in Kenya for CARE as the Sector Manager, HIV/AIDS and Civil Society Organizations Strengthening.

Click photo to view an enlarged version (All photos ©2005 CARE/Elizabeth Owuor-Oyugi )

World AIDS Day, for those of us who work fighting HIV/AIDS in Africa, is more than an abstract commemoration. It is a stark reminder of the struggles we face as professionals, parents and family members as the pandemic continues to ravage the continent.

The greater part of my working life has been spent designing, developing and implementing programs that address the needs of the poor and disadvantaged in our communities, specifically children who are victims of abuse and neglect. For years I advocated — albeit from a detached perspective — for the rights enshrined in the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child.

That was until 2001, when suddenly the needs of vulnerable children became starkly real for me. My country, Kenya, has one of the world's highest rates of HIV/AIDS infection, and one by one, my siblings started succumbing to the disease. They left behind a host of children whose care fell squarely in my lap. This came after I lost both my parents to complications of hypertension and heart failure in 1994 and 1998 respectively.

My first three siblings died within eight weeks of each other. The fourth one followed two years later, in July 2003. My last sister is currently bedridden and it is just a matter of time before she, too, follows the path of the others.

Eunice as she is now - at 12 years - and Elizabeth's other niece, Parvin, who is now 15. Parvin was the child of a single parent - Elizabeth's youngest sister, who died in 2003.

Already a mother of three, I suddenly found myself with six more children to provide for, literally overnight. Compared to other Kenyans, I am lucky to have a relatively well-paying job, so catering to the material needs of the children, though an uphill task, has been manageable but with a lot of sacrifice.

The greatest challenge for me has been in the area of emotional support for the children, who now range in age between 12 and 17 years. When I opted to take my two orphaned nieces into my house and meet the educational needs of my four nephews, I only thought of their material needs — food, shelter, clothing and, of course, education. For my two nieces, there was also the issue of their protection from possible sexual abuse that is becoming increasingly common for children in Kenya. My intentions were all noble and I believed I could do it! But nothing in life — not my 11 years of heading one of the most reputable child rights advocacy organizations in Kenya, not my master’s degree, not my thesis on children's right to participation — had adequately prepared me to take care of HIV/AIDS orphans.

As my nieces and nephews have made material and emotional demands on me, I have found myself getting angry and increasingly resentful of them. The fact that nobody asked me to take care of them is beside the point. Many are the times I have screamed, "stop bugging me, I did not kill your parents!" I regret the words as soon as I have uttered them, but that has not prevented a repeat reaction and the vicious cycle continues. That two of the children have proved to be particularly difficult has only made a bad situation worse.

Subconsciously, I have felt resentful that my nieces and nephews do not appreciate the sacrifices I have had to make on their behalf. A close and trusted friend once pointed out to me that children have a right to love and protection and that I should not expect them to feel gratitude for what I am doing, as it is not their fault they lost their parents. I was livid and did not speak to her for over a month.

As a sworn advocate of children's rights, I have often asked myself whether I am practicing what I preach. I don't think so — I am only human, but this horrible disease dehumanizes you. To make a long story short, it has been a delicate balancing act.

When I go to conferences and hear criticism of caretakers by people who've never had to take care of children orphaned by HIV/AIDS, it takes all my willpower not to scream at them, because they don't have the slightest clue what they are talking about.

Eunice is one of the two difficult kids under Elizabeth's care. The other one is one of four boys whose school fees she pays but who lives with other extended family members.

Taking care of someone else's child, even if he or she is your sibling's, is emotionally draining. You live in perpetual fear of people accusing you of mistreating the orphans. More often than not, you find yourself allowing them to get away with what your own biological children cannot. No children are angels, and they will try your patience to the limit!

Even as development workers talk of meeting the psychosocial needs of orphans and vulnerable children, I often wonder whether they realize that the caregivers might be in greater need of psychosocial support than the children. Believe me, as caregivers, we badly need training that prepares us for what is in store for us when under the emotional stress of the funeral of a close relative, we offer to take over the upbringing of their five-year-old, not realizing that it is a lifelong commitment. It is worse when one is compelled to take in more than one child.

All of us in the HIV/AIDS field are working as hard as we can to win the battle agains this disease. But sometimes, especially on a day like today, the theory is overwhelmed by the reality.