Today, My son Israel turns two. To say I’m happy would be an
understatement. Like I told you all last week, this child brings magic
into my life. Don’t get me wrong, all my children are special, but, like
all mothers will attest, each child has his or her unique attribute.
I wish a certain pastor, whom I
met sometime back at Aga Khan Walk in Nairobi, would attend
Issa’s birthday party. When I met him, he greeted me warmly, something
that didn’t surprise me. Why, every day I meet people who tell me they
feel as if they know me. Either they’ve read about me, heard me over the
radio or we’ve met at a certain meeting.
But this pastor’s happiness at
meeting me in person wasn’t to tell me that I inspired him. As he took
my hand and pulled me aside, he remarked: “I’ve looked for you for a
very long time, and I thank God that we have finally met.”
At this point, I had no doubt
that he was a con artist. You know, the ones who tell you to close your
eyes in prayer, and promise to double the money in your handbag, all the
while quoting from the Bible.
I was wrong though; this pastor had a different agenda. The H-word. I should’ve seen it coming.
“Asunta, do you know God can do a
miracle for you and you can be HIV-free? That’s what God has been
showing me. That you can be healed and stay free for the rest of your
life.”
I didn’t know how to dismiss him
politely. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m a believer. As far as my healing’s
concerned though, I’ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt.
Once, when I wasn’t wiser, I
believed a certain man who claimed to have the ability to heal diseases
such as HIV. He charged 10,000 bob for a prayer. It took me six months
to save the money. My hope had shot past the stars. Yeah, I never got
the said healing, and the false hopes I’d built came crushing down on
me.
I chased loads of faith healers. When I
didn’t get anywhere, I settled for the “miracle” God had placed right in
front of my nose: antiretorivals (ARVs) and adherence.
“I appreciate your concern
pastor, but please know that I’m comfortable with my HIV status. I’ve
accepted that for over 20 years,” I told him.
“I really don’t need a miracle in the manner you’ve presented, but a miracle all the same.”
The miracle I actually need is
money to foot bills for 16 students who we’ve admitted to local
universities. I have no idea where their fees will come from, yet I want
them to drink from the fountain of knowledge.
I also need a miracle to complete
paying my mortgage. It looks as if I’ve been paying it forever, and
just the other day, banks decided to increase their interest rates. If
we’re talking miracles, this is it. I have no issues with my HIV status.
Sometimes, we look for miracles
so far away, that we miss the ones God has already performed. For me to
get Issa after I’d lived with HIV for over 25 years is a miracle. No
hater will convince me otherwise.
What I didn’t tell the pastor was
that I didn’t know exactly what I’d do differently if I woke up one day
and found out I was HIV negative. I would work the same way I do. Live
the same way I live, and love my children and family like I’ve always
done. Plus, I’d love God the same way I do, unconditionally, because my
love isn’t based on miracles, signs and wonders.
You’re probably wondering why I’d
want this pastor to attend Issa’s second birthday. I’d want him to
behold a miracle: Issa’s certificate that says he’s HIV negative. It’s
in things like this that I see God’s hand, and how He confounds us all.
I have an attitude adjustment. I believe that every day, for every single breathing being, with or without HIV, is a miracle.
The miracles I look for aren’t
like the ones that made Pharaoh wonder during Moses’ time, but
seemingly-inconsequential happenstances. And look at me, I’m a miracle.
Despite all odds, God has blessed me with a healthy HIV-free third
child.
This is the diary of Asunta Wagura, a mother-of-three who tested
HIV-positive 25 years ago. She is the executive director of the Kenya
Network of Women with Aids (KENWA)
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