Adventures of Huckleberry Chittick and Jimmy Sawyer – Espionage agents?

We arrived in Matadi a few days ago to travel down the mighty Congo River and visit remote villages that have heard nothing about AIDS. It was all arranged weeks ago while I was in the U.S. by our official hosts, RACOJ SIDA. However, we were denied permission at the very last moment by Bas Congo province authorities that questioned why two Americans like Jimmy and me wanted to take boats on the Congo River – with cameras. Only later did we find out from a friend who worked in the Mayor’s office of Matadi, that officials had concerns about possible espionage on our part because the DRC is presently involved in a civil war and the River is of strategic military importance. It is such a ludicrous suggestion for anyone who knows me well (right, DRB?). And Jimmy is a mild-mannered Clark Kent type with an accepting disposition and popular with the young ladies because he is guileless. When I first planned my visit, the rebel advances were still unknown and months away.

In the eastern part of the country, there is an active war with competing factions of rebels fighting poorly paid troops. Allegations are made that Rwanda’s government is helping to fan the flames against their neighboring enemy. Many of the Hutus who were responsible for the horrific genocide and fled to the Congo, are operating there with impunity terrorizing the population. International news media have publicized the violence around Goma and reported on the hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing the indiscriminate killing. UN peacekeeping troops are there but are limited in their power to stop the fighting (when we landed in Kinshasa, air transports with “UN” emblazoned on their sides, lined one runway.

To the northwest near the other Congo (Brazzaville), rebels crossed the Congo River into the DRC a while back and attempted a coup d’etat that failed but put a scare in the authorities. It’s no wonder that tourism is strongly discouraged and visas are often denied. It is necessary to get prior permission to film here, especially anything that could be considered crucial to national security like bridges, ports, police stations, military posts, highways, airports, etc. I have discovered that white people and foreigners cannot take videos in areas that show the unpolished side of life including potholes and crowded slums.

Matadi is a city built on hills at a crook in the River. It is about a seven-hour drive from Kinshasa by car. When we went down to the port to hire a boat to take us into the interior, we saw more boats sunk or grounded than we did afloat. I fully expected that we could hire a motorboat as I have done on the Corantyne River between Suriname and Guyana, the Mekong delta between Thailand and Burma (Myanmar) and on the Amazon near Manaus in Brazil. How wrong I was… the only boats afloat appeared to be the narrow canoes of solo fishermen that were battling the swift currents with long poles/paddles after a week of torrential rains (it is the rainy season here).

We met Mr. Mongo (or Mango) who showed us two boats. One looked like a relic from the Normandy beaches on D-Day. It was the transport for area police and soldiers and could carry 20-30 troops standing up, protected by high sides. However, it had no seats and no ladder to climb into the craft. They seriously suggested that it would be easy for me to get in and out (heck, I have trouble getting out of a bathtub).

When I turned down that offer, I saw the only other one available. Because of its odd condition but familiar shape, I dubbed it the “African Queen 2.” He assured me that this was a good boat because it is reliably used to transport sand. Again, no chairs, no ladder and high walls but it came with six life preservers – a requirement that the River’s Maritime Commissioner insisted had to be present for us white people. There was no such concern about providing life preservers for Congolese passengers. In fact, there were no passenger boats to carry the public! They were left to hire a canoe.

After I inspected the boats, I asked if there were any others. I was told no, this is the Congo. Take it or leave it. I was perplexed that our Matadi hosts hadn’t researched this better. Mongo wanted $200-plus a day for a total of at least $400 for two days to visit four villages. I said absolutely not and the volunteers got him down to $300 with half paid each morning and the remaining half paid upon our safe arrival back to port. He wanted it upfront but no way was I that dumb. I had doubts almost immediately when a kindly man who identified himself as chief of the neighborhood surrounding the port suggested obliquely that Mongo’s boats were not operational.

I was told we had to secure permission personally from the Maritime Commissioner early the next morning. At the meeting, we discovered that we both had a love for dogs. He had three and I told him about my similarly colored yellow Lab “Jazz.” The man liked Jimmy who is very friendly and well-liked everywhere we go. The Commissioner said that Mr. Mongo’s boats were not safe and would not give us permission. He knew of somebody else who had a boat further up the river but of course, at a much higher price. I was noncommittal wanting to see where the bureaucracy trail would lead us because I had my heart set on doing AIDS work in villages along the Congo. Jimmy was really keen on experiencing this remote region too and was up for the adventure.

The Commissioner called the Mayor on his cell and we were told to go to his office immediately. I was all for a speedy resolution because I wanted to be on the River by 10. When we got to the City Hall, no Mayor was present. His staff didn’t know where he was. As we milled around, I got impatient and went into the offices to get an answer when he would be there. I asked the volunteers to call the Commissioner back and tell him the situation but they were reluctant to disturb him.

A RACOJ volunteer worked for the deputy mayor and he brought us to meet the President of the Council with whom we needed to discuss the matter before the Mayor would arrive (I was beginning to suspect he did not want to deal with the issue; not surprising for bureaucrats that don’t want to get blamed by higher ups). Already two hours had passed and I had been originally told by the Matadi group that the entire process would only take 20 minutes. We met the President whose small office looked like it was once a tiled bathroom with just enough room for a desk and chair and two others. I tried to visualize how he could squeeze behind his desk and into his chair.

He said the work that I had been doing in Matadi at the marketplace and speaking to four large classes at the university was illegal. To continue my AIDS outreach, I would have to secure permission now from the Immigration Services as well as from his supervisor the Mayor (whenever he appeared). He wanted to know why I was so interested to go on the River when there was plenty of work still to do in his city. It was becoming clear that the authorities did not want Jimmy and me to venture on the Congo.

I explained that I was a volunteer here in the DRC to do my AIDS outreach. I had received an official visa and visiting river villages was what I wanted, using the metaphor of two-way traffic on a street. He wouldn’t budge. When I realized that I would be spending the whole day in one meeting after the other, possibly with “fees” involved, I said thank you but no thanks -- I was heading back to Kinshasa where our problems were less than here in Matadi because my only concern was doing my AIDS trainings. He was surprised and tried to change my mind but I stood up to leave and shook his hand. He insisted on making copies of our passports.

I have found from experience that sometimes it is just better to cut your losses when you can. I did this in Matadi. Jimmy was disappointed but understood the writing on the wall.

What I will remember of Matadi was the two very successful (but “illegal”) AIDS Attacks. One was at a large market surrounding a football field where I went from seller to seller. Some sold fruits (pineapples and mangos) and vegetables (plantains, cassava and greens); others sold a kind of cheap charcoal for cooking-fires. At every stop, people gathered around us including those from the opposite side of the field who ran over to see the commotion. I went into a tiny seamstress shop where I spoke to six women at length about their gender’s vulnerability to HIV (I co-taught a seminar on this subject at Harvard’s School of Public Health in the spring of 1995 under the late Dr. Jonathan Mann, a mentor and supporter of my thesis predicting a future wave of teen HIV/AIDS). One woman, the owner, kept sewing but asked most of the questions. She was the Madame Defarge of the group.

As with most women, they had many questions, mostly about protecting babies and themselves from their men who sleep around and visit prostitutes. This is a concern of many Congolese women that we meet. Females always want to know the symptoms so they can discover if their man has AIDS but I said only a blood test could verify that.

Outside, we talked to a group of boys and young men about the need to be safe and use condoms. Every time I get to this point in the talk, they all ask me for condoms. I say I don’t have any but they can get them from the RACOJ volunteers who assist me. I have little interest in passing out condoms because anything distributed for free in public becomes the sole focal point – not the critical information I want them to hear. I always know what clinic or local NGO to go to. I have made exceptions to this rule where condoms are not available, most notably in remote areas of Kwa-Zula land in South Africa (some given to women), to young female and male sex workers in rural Laos and in the oasis town of Siwa in the Egyptian desert near Libya.

After two hours of extensive talking with hundreds of shopkeepers and customers, we headed to the University on top of a high bluff. (Like Kigali in Rwanda, Matadi has steep streets and hilltops that descend to the Congo River. I suppose we could call it the San Francisco of the Congo.) The afternoon sun was at its zenith and I was tired and my throat was parched from all the talking but I had the opportunity to reach another 500 young people. At the University, I had first understood that I was speaking at one assembly but they had me speak in four different, large classrooms where noise from outside and inside the cavernous structure could be heard. Word quickly spread that a foreigner was talking about sex and AIDS as people peered through the windows.

Let me describe the classrooms. Imagine rooms side-by-side with very high ceilings and space beneath the roof and the top of the tall plaster walls to let the stultifying air circulate. No lights except from the outside sun. Then picture a hundred students or more sitting cramped together on narrow benches with a single, small desk running the length of each row (reminiscent of a one-room schoolhouse). No American student would accept these conditions but the Congolese appreciate the opportunity to attend. They are desperate to get a university education because that means better jobs and a more secure future. Every male says they cannot even consider marriage until they have saved enough money for a wife and babies. Many females want to be business leaders or medical personnel so they have some measure of financial independence. So the urge to study under any conditions and succeed takes all precedence. I admire them greatly.

In every talk, I concentrated on the fact that because there is no cure or vaccine, they have to make behavioral choices that require self-discipline. I explain that it is their choice whether to: postpone initial sexual activity (perhaps until marriage); or commit to only having sex with one partner in a monogamous relationship; or use condoms every time. I always emphasize that they each of them are good people (looking them directly in the eyes and pointing to a few for emphasis). I add that I know they are trying their best to succeed in a country in turmoil, that their dreams can come true some day with a university degree -- as long as they don’t get AIDS. It is a message that they clearly understand.

In each room, questions followed my talks. The questions were excellent but showed a lack of medically accurate information. For example, “Is it true that women get AIDS more than men because how can a male get it from a female?” and “Why do babies get AIDS if they don’t have sex?” Before I answer, I smile and always ask the student to stand up, say their name, age, and what they’re studying. After my answer, I use that information to wrap up my message with their personal information to convince them that their hopes for their futures will be bleak if they contract HIV/AIDS. “Why would you work so hard to get this university degree in business to see it all go to waste with a young death for you, your spouse and babies?” I always ask for their help in carrying the message on to their peers and younger siblings. The response is always overwhelmingly, “Yes!” often shouted out like at a rally.

On the way back to Kinshasa (and three stops by police to get payments from the driver – I didn’t pay), we made four surprise AIDS Attacks in small villages. I always ask permission of the chief to enter, especially because Jimmy and I are white and our volunteers have video cameras. Actually, Jimmy has been able to film in these rural places. When asked if they know about AIDS, most say they do not know anything. I tell them to read my cards (for those that are literate) and to listen to everything that comes on the radio about SIDA. Some of these communities occasionally have a trucker stop to buy vegetables and fruits. I warn them that intimate relations by their women with drivers, no matter what the price paid, is very dangerous and a possible death sentence. Just as gay bathhouses helped spread HIV in the United States in the 70s before AIDS was discovered, HIV was traveling the transcontinental highways of Africa by truck. Drivers are known for buying sex wherever they can and naive village women know nothing about AIDS. All they know is that their children are starving and they need to get food into their bellies.

Today we are back in Kinshasa, staying at a budget hotel because our funds are dwindling. Tomorrow I hope to make it to an area of the Congo River. My hosts strongly suggest that we must get official permission, but frankly at this point, I think it’s better to revert to my traditional modus operandi, which is to fly under the radar and just go ahead and do my outreach. When a policeman stops me, I will smile and say, “Que? I need permission?” Because we received official visas based on my request to do AIDS work, I feel this is well within my rights as an HIV prevention expert. The TeenAIDS’ mission statement reads: “It is the human right of every maturing adolescent to have full and honest access to medically-accurate information about HIV/AIDS” and prevention education cannot be denied any teen because censorship of the biological facts leads to more HIV, not less sex. It’s the creed I live by.

Reality Check

Let’s be clear: being white in a major African country like the Congo (DRC) where white people are not commonly seen (due in large measure to the on-again, off-again civil wars) presents headaches. Older generations have been around Europeans for a long time but many of the children and youth have not. For them, we are a curiosity with many tales passed down about our kind, a number that are very unflattering but undoubtedly true -- and some stereotypically wrong.

Yet the fact remains that millions of their ancestors were sold into slavery and even butchered. King Leopold of Belgium encouraged violence against the population (including cutting off limbs as punishment) to add to his private wealth and that of his countrymen. The rape of the Congo’s vast resources continues.

While black and white businessmen today are the venture capitalists (including supporting rival factions in the fighting to gain an advantage over the control of the resources), the impoverished citizen sees little or no benefit from the rebel wars and economic pillage. Their deep resentment is aimed primarily at whites that have traditionally represented wealth and power. At least when they see a compatriot driving around in his Mercedes, they see that as progress with the hope that someday they can get a piece of the pie (these sentiments have been expressed to me by university students).

So the reality is that here in the heart of the continent, the hue of our skin spells $$ and worse. The Congolese have suffered much under foreigners (and their own) and suffer still. Few countries I have visited appear more color conscious. I’m sorry about that but I understand the historical raison d’etre.

AIDS is the latest bogeyman to strike fear into the populace. Wherever I go, questions are asked, why is there no cure? Why can’t it be stopped? One concerned mother queried, “If we can’t tell who has it, how can we protect our children?” Once they hear that no cure or vaccine exists, a sense of sad resignation sets in. It is more bad news that says that they have no control over their fate.

However, I tell them that there is good news! If they learn the facts about HIV transmission, they can take proactive steps to prevent the virus from entering their bodies. Everywhere we go, the TeenAIDS business cards (in different languages: Lingala, French or English) introduce our mission with simple information imprinted on the back. These cards supplement what the volunteers and I preach. We say that HIV lives in hot human blood and some bodily fluids, especially semen and vaginal fluids. There can be no sexual transmission of HIV if a person is abstinent. We add that sex within a truly monogamous relationship is safest (after a blood test determines no prior transmission). This point is key because every woman needs to understand that a cheating man can bring the virus home to her and then her babies. It is something that I have witnessed everywhere. We also tell young women not to go with men for money or favors and tell young males to not visit prostitutes.

And when sex is frequent or unplanned, only a condom (“preservative” en Francais) is an acceptable medical prophylactic. With a barrier, both partners are relatively assured that they can remain HIV-negative – but nothing in life is ever guaranteed to be 100% safe. The volunteers of RACOJ SIDA arrange the free distribution of condoms (one 22 year-old visitor with a representation for many girlfriends yesterday wanted a gross, a box of 144 – Samuel said not that many).

It is disappointing that U.S. policy still clings to the discredited idea that we must not promote condoms because it will push youth into sex. All reputable studies show it to be untrue. In fact, teens who think condoms are a good idea have less risky sex than do those youth left in the dark). Censorship of the medical information kills more innocent people than does open communication. Youth are having sex everyday with or without condoms and despite what adults preach – across America, Africa and around the world.

As a nation, we have an opportunity to save lives yet we feel, politically and religiously, the need to emphasize abstinence-only-until-marriage – and no condoms -- even if that unattainable goal means youth will take unnecessary risks and die as a result. Because of economic hardship, men do not get married here until they have saved money and are at least 25 or 30, that’s a long time to wait and is well past every male’s sexual prime. This encourages going to prostitutes and young women looking for sugar daddies. In the time of the Old Testament, boys and girls were often married upon entering adolescence. By 30, they were grandparents.

I tell youth that sex is normal and natural (a fact that they know to be true) but that there are serious consequences in the day of AIDS. They must choose their own level of risk once they learn the correct information and their best bet is to educate their friends and peers too. Only by stopping the further spread of HIV among their generation can they cut down on their chances of getting it when they become sexually active. It is a life-saving message that they can understand and follow.

In the Congo and the countries I have walked in, blood tests are free at clinics – if they can get to them. A few days ago we stopped in remote villages where the chiefs learned about this detection method and complained that no one had come to them to do testing. My volunteers took down the names and locations and are reporting them to the medical authorities. Hopefully, NGO and government assistance will be forthcoming. It is important to note that a blood test’s results take time and are only “good” up until the next unprotected sexual act.

I explain that there is some medicine available for pregnant mothers who are HIV-positive. The mother must take AZT (or the new derivatives) before birth and the baby afterwards. There is a reasonable likelihood that the baby can be saved. We tell mothers to be tested, wash the baby of all blood at birth and if HIV-positive, to find another woman to breastfeed the child because their milk could transmit the virus.

In many traditional African cultures, boys are taken into the jungle at about age 14 or 15 to learn the responsibilities of men. I have talked with three friends who did this. As part of this initiation, the young males are circumcised as a group. Often the same bloody knife is used on all, a potentially dangerous practice if one is infected with a blood-borne disease like AIDS. (The latest scientific evidence strongly suggests that uncircumcised males are at greater risk for HIV.) Female genital mutilation is practiced in some areas – another great risk for young women.

We tell youth that they have the right to know the medical facts to protect their lives – and they have a responsibility to share this information with their peers. If they heed the advice, they should live long and healthy lives. Conversely, if they ignore the warnings, there is a likelihood that they could get HIV/AIDS and die. Our TeenAIDS’ message “sells” self-responsibility and common action.

For people who have never heard of SIDA or only know that it kills, this information is earth-shattering. Once told the critical information, they are given the power to control their destiny to a larger degree than before receiving the news. In America and Europe, we take AIDS for granted because we have heard so much about it. Many people are bored and complacent about the subject. Here, just the opposite is true! We are waking youth up to the truth and saving lives in the process – at the most grassroots level of direct, personal contact.

In some ways, I am an Ambassador of Good Will for America (well, after Obama’s election, nothing can top that). They are still a bit incredulous that we elected Barack Obama, the first black man to be our President because it doesn’t fit the widespread notion or a racist, white America. The fact that a comfortable majority of people voted for him shatters the myth that all whites think black skin makes you inferior. His election as leader of the most powerful nation says a lot about changing American attitudes. Even small villages in remote locations have heard the news, usually by foot but also by truckers (the same people who spread HIV/AIDS across Africa in the early years of the pandemic).

When I first approach a crowd in a market, village or in the city center, I see scowls of distrust and sometimes dismissive or angry gestures. But by the time the AIDS Attack is over, they are rushing to shake my hand and those of the PeerCorps volunteers with vigor. African faces brighten when told I am an American volunteer who is bringing AIDS information to their people – for free. Often I hear, “Nzambe a pambola” (“God Bless you”) from the crowd including smiling teens who give me the thumbs up. They are genuinely surprised and appreciative. One of the first things that the volunteers tell people is that is why they are volunteering too. Eighteen year-old Herve always makes this point and encourages young listeners to help too by telling their friends when they go home. He adds that it makes him proud to join Dr. John and know that he is helping his country. These words are the only payment I need.

So let’s say that I am in a position to set a good example that benefits America’s reputation. Any of us who serves a noble cause around the world is doing this. For all the complaining about Bush, U.S. government policies and its global motives, many Congolese like Americans as a people. It’s the dream of many teens to be “American,” to live in our country and share the wealth and good times. I encourage them to stay in their homeland and improve themselves by getting an education and informing their friends how to avoid HIV/AIDS. That’s my work.

The next blog: Adventures of Huckleberry Chittick and Jimmy Sawyer

Round and Round

Some times it seems as if events are spinning out of control. That is what is happening here in complex Congo DRC. I am so tired of all this unnecessary bureaucracy and police interventions. After working for nine days here and appearing on a nationwide TV show for an hour talking about my “AIDS Attacks” on the streets, I was told yesterday by a top official in the city of Matadi that our work was illegal and suggested that a number of official permissions would be needed (with compensation) to continue. I thanked him and said no but we were leaving immediately to do our free work in other communities. He was surprised. I was set free.

My number one concern is spreading the gospel of AIDS prevention to as many youth as possible -- and to those adults who are often keenly interested. Anything that interrupts this mission unnecessarily is bothersome at best and a great irritant at worst. And because I survive on a very tight budget (with funds that I raise primarily from private donors), I have to watch expenses closely. That can sometimes be a titanic task in unsettled places where one emergency arises after another.

I do this work because it is my passion. I receive no salary or compensation. In fact, I have put myself in the poorhouse by contributing all my savings, occasional income and importantly, my time and expertise to this cause. If I didn’t truly believe that my volunteers and I are saving lives every day, then I would “retire” and earn a decent salary based on my experiences and degrees from Dartmouth, MIT and Harvard. Friends and strangers ask me this all the time. “Why do you stay with TeenAIDS?” They just don’t get it. But I get it and so do all the young people who join me in this voluntary effort to educate their generation from a killer disease.

My hat is off to all the wonderful volunteers I have trained over twelve years and who contribute their time unselfishly. They are the heroes in my book. In the Congo, I have worked with many hard-working teens and university students, some from RACOJ SIDA, the excellent NGO here that has sponsored me and helped me organize my schedule. They also operate under a limited income/budget but have contributed to my work here.

I remember a UNDP person in Vietnam who said that my kind of work bothered him and his colleagues (ex-pats are an extremely close knit group working and socializing together). Expecting to hear that they disapproved of my teaching only teens or something, I was astonished to hear that they did not like that I was a 24/7 volunteer who spent the bulk of my time talking on the streets, encouraging kids to do the same thing. It embarrassed them in front of Vietnamese officials that I was not getting paid to do my work. After all, most UN and NGO professionals overseas get paid a higher salary (because of “hardship” in developing nations) with good housing, food and travel allowances and comfortable pensions. (I want to be clear that I am talking about professionals and positions with formal contracts, not the occasional student on work study or a charitable volunteer who donates a set time to an NGO for a cause they believe in).

The upshot of the man’s comments was that I should be getting paid a salary because otherwise, it made them look bad when the locals knew I was volunteering with my level of expertise. I laughed aloud when he said it was not befitting Harvard, his alma mater too.

It was an elitist argument – in some ways, a bit racist.

What does it say about the AIDS crisis and the tremendous amount of education that is needed to inform youth how to protect their bodies if protocol and public perception interfere with the delivery of the news?

The simple truth is that there are different ways to spread critical information. I have devised an innovative model that works extremely well in over 80 countries where I have tested it firsthand. I have had more direct interaction with youth on the subject of AIDS, sex and prevention than perhaps anyone else alive. And the fact that I have been able to accomplish this with thousands of unpaid volunteers is a major health story. It is incredible that there are professionals in the field who feel threatened by this kind of work (the UN person’s objection was only the first in a string of similar comments that I have heard in my global travels). I never say anything to detract from their contributions but I don’t feel any necessity to conceal the truth about the effectiveness of the TeenAIDS’ model.

My next blog is coming soon – it is about the last few days of outreach in the Congo.

Random Thoughts: Police Shakedown and Sex

Police Shakedown

Today, Jerome, the driver for RACOJ SIDA was arrested for violating a minor traffic regulation in front of three policemen directing traffic in the city center. According to my volunteers, it was likely that the cops decided that mre money could be extracted from a driver with a white man sitting in the car. And the fact that Christmas is right around the corner, is an added incentive for poorly paid police looking for extra pocket money (according to a representative in Congo President Kabila’s office who interceded on our behalf).

It is no surprise that some corruption exists in most societies, rich and poor. The DRC is no exception. I already have written about the police at the Kinshasa airport demanding money to allow us to pass through immigration without having to endure a lengthy baggage search, i.e., if we didn’t pay up, the process would be made extra troublesome. While I hate the idea of paying bribes, I understand that the alternative could be more costly and time consuming. Traveling overseas, I try to avoid any conflicts with authorities whenever I can but if backed up against a wall, and this has happened in Kenya, Cuba, China, Vietnam and Nigeria – watch out! I have a righteous temper.

Why Jerome drove too far into the intersecting traffic lane is perplexing since he recently had trouble with other police. When the smugly smiling cop came over to us, Jerome got upset because he knew that money was going to be extorted as soon as they ask for one’s papers. Now, I had learned at an early age (with my learner’s permit) that you never, ever argue with a policeman. If he wants your registration and license, you present them without argument. But that is in the U.S.

The policeman jumped in the car and we drove off to a nearby station. I said nothing not wishing to compound a testy situation until I understood all the facts. Jerome asked me for 1,500 Congolese francs (about $2.80) when we arrived. The car was impounded and Jerome was held inside. I told him to try and get their names and not to tell them where I was staying. After an hour, he came out and said they wanted $10. I told RACOJ volunteers Dandy and Samuel that a request for cash was only to see if we would pay. It had been my experience that they would demand more. However, I gave the U.S. $10 to Jerome to help him out. Sure enough, I was soon told they wanted $100. I said absolutely not in a loud voice.

The volunteers were told to translate that we were going to contact the civil authorities, I would call the TV station where I had just been interviewed the day before and I would contact friends at the DRC Embassy in Washington. Luckily, Princess’ brother worked in the President’s office. When the police heard this, they backed down. “Don’t tell anyone that we wanted money,” they begged. But of course, we did tell. The brother called the police chief and said pay offs were against the law and that Dr. Chittick was a guest in the DRC helping their people as a volunteer.

Minutes later, Jerome was released without paying anything. We had lost a couple of hours but were soon off to the University of Kinshasa for an afternoon of AIDS Attacks.

Sex and young men

Sexual activity among youth exists in the Congo despite first denials. I have an ability to get true information from youth. I never ask, “Are you having sex?” Instead, I ask what their friends are saying. This allows for a buffer between possible embarrassment and frank conversation. Usually, after discussing the general consensus of their peers, boys begin talking in the first person. Once they do, they talk a lot.

I doubt if more than a handful of people in the world have had more experience gathering information from youth on sex and AIDS than me. I developed these interrogatory techniques (quantitative and qualitative) at Harvard and on the streets of the world interacting directly with over 300,000 young people.

In the DRC, I have had some excellent volunteers. The majority of males say they have had sex. A minority say they have been with prostitutes but insist they have always used condoms (I have found over the years that this is what young men think I and other adults want to hear – I know otherwise; that in the spur of the moment, sex takes place without much forethought).

Two confident and outspoken volunteers (18 and 19) have said they have not had sex and do not want to until they are married – at least, that is there firm opinion now. But they add that most of their friends are having sex and quiz them on why they choose not to. They say there is peer pressure to experiment but they are steadfast. One admits to masturbation, they other said he doesn’t. When asked why they choose to remain virgins, one answered it is because he is Christian. The other said that religion is not part of his decision. Rather he wants no distractions from his studies and sense of purpose in life: to be a leader of his people. Both are surrounded by friends but the second one is a prominent student leader at his university and has a team of young AIDS volunteers from around Kinshasa. He said many of his male friends want to emulate his abstinence but cannot. He is not ridiculed by peers for not having sex. Many girls come on to him but he explains that he will wait for his one true love in life – which, of course, makes him more intriguing and attractive to females.

Girls are having sex willingly here. I will write about that later.

Mercedes Benz

The Congo is rich in minerals and natural resources like gold, diamonds, timber, etc., yet this is one of the poorest countries that I have visited. The economy is in shambles and most people spend their time trying to find the money to put food in their bellies. And yet, I have seen many more Mercedes Benz here in Kinshasa than I see around my home city in Massachusetts. These expensive cars are not being driven by ex-pats and foreign businessmen but by Congolese citizens (please no racist comments like they must be chauffeurs). In fact, as a percentage of all private cars on the road, I see them here more than anywhere else outside of Germany and Switzerland. I was told that used Mercedes are imported from Europe into Africa and they are the preferred car of instant prestige for the very top of society.

Crazy Guy

We did an AIDS attack in an area that one of the volunteers described as a township with many “hooligans.” We were waiting for Princess to come back from a store, and being impatient to get to work, I said to everybody in the minivan, “Time for an AIDS Attack!” We all jumped out (well, I tend to slither down and out because of my weight and the height of the front passenger seat). I went over to some people at the side of the road waiting for buses. As soon as we started distributing cards, people in the vicinity started gravitating towards us. Finding me in the middle of tall Congolese is like “Looking for Waldo.” The videos show all.

Soon we had 30-40 people listening to five of us with other passer-bys picking up cards as they moved to catch the small buses. I did some speaking with the help of Samuel’s translation, and near me other volunteers were talking too. It was an AIDS attack in surround sound. It was gratifying for me to see the volunteers talking to strangers about SIDA. They are animated, energized, and convincing. The faces of the people listening tell the story. AIDS Attacks work very effectively in the Congo where people have not seen this technique before.

Unfortunately, we attracted a nasty, young hooligan who demanded money for cold water, then a beer and finally money. He got beside me, pushing into me and looking at my shirt pocket where I keep business cards and sometimes a little money. Immediately I recognized the type. I smiled, thanked the crowd and backed away with my hand on my back pocket where I had my wallet. I announced to the volunteers that the AIDS Attack was over and it was time to get into the van. The obnoxious one followed and tried to put his hand inside but I was quicker than him and had the window up and the door locked and we were gone in a flash. These things happen but they do not diminish the effectiveness of direct street outreach.

Rude Drivers

People walking on the streets have absolutely no pedestrian rights in Kinshasa. I am amazed and anguished by the rudeness of drivers who believe they own the road. Drivers of public and private cars and mini buses drive right up to people (within inches) walking in the street and sometimes onto the sidewalk and honk repeatedly to force walkers to get out of the way. I have seen this lack of respect for pedestrians with our driver, Jerome, whom I like very much. Many people weave and bob between the lanes of traffic in a hurry to get to work or get home. I have lost track of how many times I thought he was going to hit somebody who was just walking and didn’t know our minivan was approaching them from behind.

This afternoon, we actually hit (well, strongly nudged) a young man crossing the road when Jerome stepped on the gas to get a leg up on another driver. Being young and virile, the man was mad and let Jerome know it. Yet, the guy walked away without finding a policeman. Jerome actually complained to me that pedestrians think they are equal to people in cars. It’s not as if pedestrians are purposely jay walking but the large crowds have nowhere else to walk. I have said to Jerome a few times, “Be careful” but it’s a lost cause. When I told him that he would be cited for endangerment and likely arrested in the United States for this kind of driving, he laughed at the notion that police would be called by regular people and that drivers could be in big trouble. Perhaps ten times a day, he almost hits someone. They yell at Jerome and some scowl after looking at the white man in the front seat who is embarrassed to be seen in such a reckless auto.

Coming home from the police station in a taxi, this new driver changed direction in the middle of an intersection and came within INCHES of a twenty-something young woman who had no time to react and get out of the way. I gasped and had Samuel translate, “How would you feel if that happened to your mother?” He shrugged and said his mother was dead and smirked. Then, what if that had been his wife holding his baby? He had no answer. I told him that I didn’t like his attitude or his driving. When we got to our destination, he wanted $15, true highway robbery. I asked him how much he earned in a day – he replied “$40.” I said fine, I will give you $8 for the 90 minutes he had spent with us, adding that it was still too much but he could take it or leave it. He hissed like a cobra all the way to the front door.

The OTHER Congo

Jimmy was very surprised when I just informed him that we would be crossing the Congo River to visit Brazzaville, the real “Congo.” (The DRC was formerly called the Belgian Congo before it was known as Zaire.) We will be taking some volunteers with us and will spread out to do AIDS Attacks in the capitol city. Adding this Congo will make it 84 countries to date – but heck, who is counting?

Dogs and Animals

You see very few dogs in Kinshasa. I think I have seen three in the course of this first week. I notice that when they approach youth, the kids pat them and scratch behind their ears. That puts a smile on my face. In some countries, I have seen canines run in packs and get kicked and manhandled. As a lover of dogs, I say a quick prayer for my Yellow Lab “Jazz” back home and for the dog here, hoping that my brief entreaties will protect them both. It’s weird – just now I hear barking in the neighborhood as I write this blog.

I have yet to see a horse or a donkey here. I see miniature families of goats munching on the grass at the side of the road. All carts are pulled or pushed by human labor.

Tourists?

I don’t see any tourists here. The DRC is not anxious to invite them to visit. You must go through the bureaucracy and get an official letter of invitation. I have given up my paid plane ticket to Angola because that government (that has the hammer and sickle on their standard) is the same way. A note: Cuba had sent thousands of troops there in the fighting decades ago which was how HIV/AIDS was introduced to Fidel’s land. You would think that poor, developing countries would welcome tourist dollars to stimulate the economy and provide jobs. The fact that they discourage travelers says something about their anxiety regarding globalizing influences.

Satellite Phone

I think the satellite phone service we got is a scam. We researched different companies online before we left. One of them promised to provide excellent service in Africa for a rate of about $500 a month. With limited resources, I weighed the pros and cons. But with an historic global webcast in the offing, I knew we needed dependable communication with home base. Their terms allowed for free incoming phone calls but expensive rates if we called out. We figured that we could call people first for under a minute and ask them to call us back without charge.

I’m convinced that it’s a racket because we have had nothing but problems with people trying to call into us but yet we’re able to call out to people. We can substantiate twenty-six instances of missed calls by twelve different callers, including the BBC in London, Sirius satellite radio in the U.S., the TeenAIDS office, and other people, including Jimmy’s parents. All complain that they constantly get voicemail and never get connected to us. Yet the phone fails to ring and rarely do we get the voicemails that we have paid for. We are documenting all the problems and I am going to follow up on reimbursement when I get back. But just to let you know in the fairness of disclosure, avoid the company the Florida-based company that is known as the Satellite Phone Store. Caveat emptor.

We have had much better luck with renting a cell phone, buying a SIM card and purchasing air minutes. That is how I did the BBC interview from London (if you want to hear the interview, the link is on the front page of www.teenaids.org..

Webcast Congrats

December 1st was World AIDS Day (WAD) and once again TeenAIDS was in the forefront of international outreach to youth by sponsoring our Third Annual Global Webcast for Teens. It was historic because for the first time a worldwide webcast on AIDS for youth originated live from Africa. Last year’s webcast was live from Harvard. TeenAIDS was the first NGO or organization to pioneer this kind of event on WAD and we will continue it every year.

It almost did not take place. We have had nothing but problems connecting to the internet in Africa and especially in the Congo. Almost every internet connection is dial-up. As a result, we were not able to access the webcast ourselves. Finally on December 2nd and 3rd we started getting feedback from people around the world that the webcast was a success, yet we still have not seen it and probably won’t get to see it until we return home in mid-December.

Peter Keto and Erik Weikert deserve accolades for their tremendous work as Executive Co-Producers! George Stemper of Onstream Media arranged the global distribution and deserves thanks.

African Time

I feel a commitment to use my time when I am awake to talk with youth about AIDS. I actually grow anxious when I am sitting in an office. I dislike when I am late for meetings that have been scheduled with young people and this week alone we have been late by as much as two hours to some meetings due to traffic, etc. But nobody here seems to be concerned. Showing up an hour late isn’t a problem. For example, I was told to be at a university yesterday at 10:00 to speak. Yet, the room and microphone was not ready until 1 pm. In the interim, I made do with AIDS Attacks around campus but when I started to tell my volunteers that we had to get things moving, I don’t think they really thought it was a problem except that they could see that I was growing impatient. This is Africa Time. I try to get used to it but I’m afraid that I’m too much of a Yankee.

Potholes

As in many developing nations where there are not sufficient funds for infrastructure and roads are a real mess. I have never seen potholes worse than these within the city limits of Kinshasa. We went through some potholes today that actually looked like sinkholes in the middle of the road, from one side to the other. A few probably dropped five feet because when cars in front of us dropped down, only their roofs were seen. I got the video camera to record one of the larger ones and was told to put the camera away. I was not allowed to take these pictures because of the national policy not to discredit the government. I was told it would be all right for a Congolese to take video, but not for a “Mumdele” (white man). Later, we stopped at a school for young children who sang and danced to welcome us. When I got back to the minivan, Jerome warned me that a policeman had come to him and said, “Why was the foreigner filming these [negative] scenes of the Congo?”

Rainy AIDS Attacks

It is the rainy season in the Congo. Last night there was a tremendous downpour just as we finished speaking at RACOJ headquarters to 100 students and then at a staff training. As we got into the minivan, a few raindrops started. People walking along the streets started to scurry. You don’t see many umbrellas except in the hot sun when older people are carrying them. For many people, a light rain is a welcome blessing but the black storm clouds suggested it was going to be a major storm.

Within 15 minutes, the winds had picked up a lot and the rain was coming down steadily. Now young people were running and older ones were taking cover. Soon, all traffic came to a standstill. One thing about traffic rules here, is they appear to be almost non-existent, except when a policeman is standing there. Cars will go out of their lanes, directly into the other lanes to pass each other. Cars sometimes go up on the sidewalks, pushing pedestrians aside to gain an advantage. Because the heavy rains came at rush hour, all that we could hear was the heavy downpour and the incessant honking of hundreds of horns. The water started to fill the street and side streets were nearly impassable because the water hid the deepest potholes, making driving even more difficult.

We sat for close to an hour in this traffic mess. When the rain slowed down, people were trying to navigate through the maze of stalled cars. Traffic police were angrily yelling at autos, minibuses, and taxis to move. Finally we were able to extricate ourselves. Every time we came to a stop, Dandy and Samuel jumped out of the van and used the time to go up to cars and buses, to knock on the windows and do AIDS Attacks. Perhaps they passed out 250 cars in the space of 40 minutes. Dandy said that people were very curious and wanted to know what the card was about. When he explained that Dr. John was in the Congo and his work was AIDS prevention with youth, people were interested. It made me happy to see that AIDS attacks are now becoming part of the SIDA outreach in the Congo.

Condoms

Condoms are both a private subject culturally (often a taboo subject ) and also a public health one because of major NGO and UNAIDS funding in the Congo. Yet few condoms are getting into the hands of young men at risk according to the AIDS workers that I have asked. Where are they? Are people at the top aware there is a problem distributing them at the grassroots level? Is there true accountability?

A Different Kind of Youth (and a P.S. - UFO)

When I travel, I pay close attention to how young people react to their environment and with whom they interact. I make quick observations that are usually accurate based on my experiences traveling to over 100 countries (including many before my AIDS Walks began in 1998) and from living with families in diverse foreign cultures. However, I recognize that any snap judgments are tentative and could very well prove mistaken over longer observation. Besides being an AIDS educator trained at Harvard, I am an ethnologist, multi-culturalist, politician and pop psychologist. These are my first impressions of Congolese youth.

There is a malaise and moroseness in young people here – at least those in the capitol city of Kinshasa. At the end of the week when I travel into the interior up the Congo River, I will see how those youth react. I believe that part of it comes from the abject poverty, past and present possibility of civil conflict and reality of an uncertain economic future. Globalization is creating opportunities and problems for all teens -- especially when they see how well their peers in other societies live. TV, music and movies give them a look at life in developed countries where youth have money, cars, families that provide material wealth and more chances to succeed. Here there is almost no middle class with most living in poverty and a few in luxury.

Congolese youth are worried and it shows. What strikes me foremost is the lack of direct eye contact and cheerful countenances that can be found in other countries that are equally disadvantaged. A similar economy is Haiti where I have worked but even there youth appeared happier than here. In the Congo DR, I must work doubly hard to get them to respond in conversation. It happens but with great effort. This was not an issue in Sudan, Kenya or Rwanda, even with their own difficult situations.

I was struck by this comment from one of my volunteers who said, “The first question youth ask is where to find food* today?” In his family of ten siblings, often they are lucky to eat once a day. There are days when they have nothing. Can you imagine many American teens that have to say that? I am not talking about a runaway or a drugged out teen who is temporarily without money for food and chooses not to ask for help – but rather the vast majority of a nation’s youth like here in the Congo.

On World AIDS Day I was with university youth at a good private school (UPC – Protestant University in the Congo). After meeting with its administrators and receiving personal permission from the Rector to do my outreach, I walked around with many volunteers. We conducted AIDS Attacks along every pathway and corridor. I met perhaps 400 hundred as they passed between classes and talked with friends. I watched as they greeted fellow students and sometimes I observed them joking and engrossed in conversation. Yet only occasionally, not frequently, did I see really happy or engaged young people.

Yesterday and today, I noticed the exact same phenomenon in our teen meetings, street outreach and market interventions. I know what I see and can compare it with experiences elsewhere. If I was not so experienced in interacting with young people worldwide (perhaps more than most experts in the field because few have walked the streets as extensively as I have), I would not be able to make these generalizations.

Except for a few instances, young people are not as relaxed as I expected. In conversations with key informants, they understand what I observe and acknowledge it as true but assume that most youth are like this. I tell them for most other nations and societies, this feeling of dejection is the exception not the rule.

But when I visit children in schools or catch their eyes on the street, they appear happy for the most part. They wave and they look me in the eyes. They laugh and play like kids everywhere. What happens in the space of a few years that profoundly changes them?

A 19 year-old university student said, “It is despair. We do not know where life is going. We don’t think it will be good. I worry too.” When I asked if he was not talking about the economy and future jobs, he said yes but added there exists a weariness that saps their youthful energy. If there is little or no hope, why dream of better things? He thought “malaise” was an apropos term. He said that the history of the Congo was a brutal one with abusive foreign colonialists, home-bred dictators and war. He added that his country had four major groups, Bangala, Bakongo, Baluba and Baswahili and 400 dialects. He added that people are despondent that there is no administration, few human rights or leaders that can ensure that life will be good. He said many feel exploited – that everyone above their position in life exploits them.

But I said other countries have similar histories.

When pressed for an explanation, my informant said, “You must understand that Congolese sleep on gold and diamonds but have nothing in their stomachs.”

I told him that there is some other reason for what I observe and he said he would think more about it.

However, I was encouraged when meeting with a team at the RACOJ-SIDA offices. Ten peer leaders (all university students) were there and were inspired to do AIDS prevention outreach with teens in schools and neighborhoods. We talked about themselves and their work as volunteers (in a society where even a few dollars could buy them food). These are the future leaders of a new Congo – if they don’t lose hope.

* The young 18 year-old volunteer said tea or coffee was a luxury as were fruit juices. He was describing life in the city, not the countryside where the soil is rich and farmers can provide many essentials. Rice and plantains are staples; Congolese palm oil is often put on rice or used in cooking sauces. Sometimes there are fruits like bananas and mangos but they can be expensive. They also eat fufu, cassava and its leaves and pondu. Fish (“thomson”) is less expensive than chicken but any meats are a rarity as an everyday staple. He added there is bread in the city (French baguettes) and that peanuts are not expensive and provide protein he thought. And of course, there is always water. On the streets, you see many young men carrying tall plastic bags on their heads filled with water in sealed baggies for sale.

P.S. UFO

Coming back from the home of Princess, who is one of the supervisors at RACOJ, I looked up at the night sky and noticed a strange phenomenon. It was a crisp, crescent moon low in the sky, with two lights equidistantly spaced above the horns of the crescent. I stared at the image thinking they were two airplanes passing above the moon, but they didn’t move. It sounds ridiculous but it looked more like a representation of the smiley face that was pasted in a coal-black sky.

In fact, the moon and stars didn’t look that far away. If I had to guess, I’d say they weren’t more than a couple thousand meters. I said out loud in front of seven passengers in the minivan, “That’s really strange. Look at that! I wonder what it is?” Jerome, the driver said, “Those are two stars” and kept his eye on the road for the next humungous pothole and/or pedestrian. I thought he must be right for what else could it be except a … ? Jimmy just thought I was just joking. I looked up again at the smile and let the matter drop.

The next evening, some of the volunteers were in our apartment watching the television news while I prepared notes for the next day’s activities. Because the TV commentary was in Lingala that I couldn’t understand, I ignored the noise. For some reason, I glanced up and there it was! The smiley face in the night sky on the news!

The image was interspersed with many people being interviewed about what it was. I became very excited and said to everybody, “That’s what I saw! That’s what I saw!” So Princess and Kevin translated what was being said. People on the street were saying the exact same thing, that it wasn’t two stars or a crescent moon but something else.

Although it appeared to be unidentified on the news, I received this wonderful e-mail from TeenAIDS board member and good friend Bunny Bullock:

John,
What a treat to get all details on your incredible trip! I really love your writing and it was so special to see the crescent moon with Jupiter and Venus so unbelievably close, knowing you could see it (assumung the the weather was clear)and get as excited as I was ! It looked as though someone had pasted a page from a children's book up in the sky.....what a sight. Keep the news coming. Hugs, Bunny

From Congo with Love (posted on World AIDS Day)

I did my live radio interview with BBC world radio (“UpAllNight”) a few hours ago at the dawn of December 1 that marks our remembrance of the disease that has now killed millions of innocent lives – many of whom are youth. As a kid in the 50s, I was brought up on the Lone Ranger, Buck Rogers and Tarzan. These Saturday morning serials captivated me and my imagination ran wild. I remember being fascinated by Tarzan in the jungles of the Congo (although the scenes were probably shot on film lots in Santa Barbara with some added documentary footage of crocodiles and monkeys thrown in). I was naïve and impressionable. Since then, a steady diet of National Geographic, college courses and video travel logs have given me a more accurate idea of what this region of central Africa is really like. As a teen, I remember hearing about Patrice Lumumba and his tragic, still mysterious demise in an airplane crash.

When I first planned this “Heart of Africa” trip last spring, the Congo was a preferred destination on my AIDS prevention Walk because of its high rates of HIV with teens increasingly at greater risk. Additionally, some university youth in Kinshasa had emailed me to come having heard of my unique brand of street outreach from medical students who hosted me in Nigeria. What many people do not know is that there are two Congos (the one we are in now was formerly known as Zaire). This Congo is referred to as the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC).

After a truly maddening departure from Nairobi on an over-taxed Kenya Airways’ system, the plane flew into Kinshasa. Until twenty miles from the airport, the landscape was verdant green. Then it turned dusty and muddy closer to the capitol city of Kinshasa.

Security was everywhere at the airport, more than I am accustomed to seeing. However, the country is in turmoil with advancing rebels to the east leaving many citizens uneasy. Passing through immigration with our pre-arranged visas, soldiers had to unlock the doors to let us pass into the baggage area. The room was hot and muggy as a hundred tired passengers jostled for space by the baggage belt. Our bags were nowhere to be seen.

There was plenty of baggage handlers promising to find the bags for a fee. I said no, we would wait. A fellow passenger from Angola warned us not to go with anyone. Just then a policeman came up to me and said, “Dr. Chittick?” I was surprised, figuring he must have been asked by RACOJ, the NGO sponsoring our visit, to find me. He asked if we had our bags and I said not yet. He told us to be sure to let him know when we had them. When he walked away the Angolan repeated in a whisper to Jimmy not to go with anyone. Little did I know that he was referring to the policeman.

After a lot of jostling to get bags, we retrieved all four of them. The policeman and his buddy came over smiling and said, “I can arrange to get you through customs without having your bags searched.” He added, “Do you know what I mean?” When I played a little dumb, he said he needed $50. I explained that I was a volunteer and was traveling on a very strict budget. He pointed to the long line of tired passengers having their bags searched. He said, “How much do you have?” Not to have the inspection hassle was worth the $27 I had in my pocket. He snatched it from my hands and moved us to the doors leading to the outside.

We met our wonderful hosts; Princess, Samuel, Benj, and Jerome who took us to their NGO car. We were surrounded by people begging for money, including Army soldiers who were clearly perturbed that the police had gotten to us first. I saw one of our group making small payments as we got in the minivan. Princess speaks excellent English and has organized our schedule while Tresor Kasia, her supervisor is in Senegal. Samuel acts as my translator, Benj is an organizer and Jerome is our driver.

Kinshasa is a very large, poor city. But the people look strong and colorful in their garb. Markets are everywhere. Our drive in was interrupted by traffic jams, crowds walking the streets and some potholes as big as washing machines. Within two hours of landing, we were going to our first meeting. It was held at the DDLC English School where posters advertising its specialization in American English featured the smiling countenance of Barack Obama! The school was unfinished with cinder block walls, makeshift desks, and mostly covered by tin roofs. But the staff and students were proud of what they had because they knew these skills would provide them with a better livelihood.

As the young people arrived, Jimmy and I introduced us and passed out French business cards. Although the official language is French, some students would have much preferred the English ones because of lingering resentment towards French government policies since before Lumumba’s ascension (we noticed this in Rwanda as well). Within minutes, twenty students were sitting in their seats as I was introduced. I explained why I was in the DRC and started off with the story of Marlena, a favorite for young people because it features a smart, young woman who happened to be African American. As I wove her story into a living tableau, the students became very interested to hear of her travails. Although it was an English school, it was decided that some translation was needed and that always means doubling the time to talk. However, no one minded and soon there was a score of people standing outside peering in the windows to hear how Marlena contracted HIV. There are always tears at the end.

At the end of an hour and 20 minutes, we asked for questions. A young man of 18 named Kevin asked a question about how babies get infected and can it be prevented. He was a brave soul to stand up in front of his teachers and class and ask the foreigner his question in almost impeccable English. At the end of the Q & A, Kevin came up to me and asked if he could be a volunteer. I said yes and asked him to talk to Samuel.

After this meeting, we drove to a poor neighborhood for an outdoor meeting. Here, I spoke in detail about the sexual transmission of HIV. The crowd had many questions.

It gets dark in the Congo at about six o’clock every night so lights are necessary. However, the city power failed as happens frequently in developing nations and I had to walk to the minivan blind as a mole with my hands being held by RACOJ’s volunteers. We went to Princess’ home where her mother served us all an incredible meal featuring Congolese specialties. Then it was back to our lodging to make final preparations with our U.S. team for our live global webcast on World AIDS Day. I am entirely indebted to Peter Keto and Erik Weikert for their dedication to make sure it will occur despite the tremendous technical problems involved. Megan Benevides and Johanne Cimon assisted in key ways. With the time difference and because of problems with our satellite phone, we worked very late into the night.

On Sunday at around 7:30 am, the phone rang and the receptionist said there was a young man waiting for us in the lobby. I asked who it was because we weren’t supposed to be picked up until 8:30. She said, “His name is Kevin.” And that’s how our newest volunteer joined our efforts. He told his parents he was going to work for us as a PeerCorps helper. Together with Jimmy, we all walked across a dusty park to the “Atomic Internet Café” – where the power was out. So we did a number of AIDS attacks in the city park mostly with young men. Kevin has proved to be a valuable addition.

Jimmy and a new helper named Dandy of 19 worked to fix the internet connection while I left with the RACOJ team for a pre-arranged meeting of about 50 young people in a semi open-air assembly. I always introduce myself and shake hands with everyone in the audience before I speak because I’ve learned that it breaks the ice and I am less intimidating as a foreign speaker. As I looked out on the mixed crowd of teen boys and girls, a lot of them had their heads down avoiding eye contact. I have noticed this behavior in the Congo but not in Sudan where all the faces were eager to hear the news about AIDS. Perhaps the fact that Congolese youth are sexually active and Muslim students are not plays a role.

I told an abbreviated story of Karen and my former volunteer Bwire from Kenya. Both illustrated the dilemma young people face when they fall in love but don’t know the HIV status of their potential partners. Some of the girls squirmed in their seats when I talked about how boys often lie to young females and treat sex like a competitive sports event, i.e. how many goals can I score. The boys laughed but not the women. But when the story ended, the girls were paying rapt attention, which is how I know my talk was effective.

Kevin explained how he joined our group that morning after listening to me the day before at the English school. We had more Q & A and one young man, a new teacher of high school students, said he wanted to be a volunteer. I said, “Great! How about if I visit your school this week?” I don’t think he quite believed that I was serious, so he and Samuel have made arrangements for me to talk to his students. You could tell he was very proud to have Dr. John go to his school.

We still had 15 minutes before the minivan would show up, so I asked if they would do me a favor. The group said, “Yes!” I said, “I would like to hear a song. Would you sing?” They said, “In French or Lingala or English?” I wanted to hear their native tongue. Two boys stood up and rapped a song about SIDA (AIDS). Congolese love music and you can hear it everywhere. A girl in the back row was impatient to perform. She stood up and had a lovely voice and sang about love and AIDS. Evidently, this is a hot theme on the radio for youth. Then I found a young girl of about eleven who was hanging around the edges of the crowd listening and I invited her to sing. Her brother encouraged her. She truly had an incredible voice. Then Kevin sang a song and another young woman stood up and sang in English about being a soldier in the army of Christ.

By this time, the place was rocking, so I braved a version of “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and a number of students joined in. Saying goodbye was difficult because this was more than just a regular AIDS training. In many ways we all bonded, the students, the RACOJ staff, the neighbors, our new volunteer Kevin and me. As we left the courtyard, there was a big crowd outside who had been listening to the music.

We did more AIDS Attacks around the city which fascinates the Congolese volunteers. The idea of going up to somebody you don’t know and introducing AIDS is not at all a common practice but I explained that our role is to start conversations about SIDA so that people begin talking about a subject that for many is still taboo because it deals with sex.

We had another wonderful fish meal with Princess’ family that was cooked by her sister Fifi. Jimmy and I begged off early so we could return to our place and finalize the webcast details with the U.S. and so I could prepare for my BBC interview. We stayed up until five in the morning after talking with Peter and Erik in Massachusetts. Assured that everything was going well, we got a couple hours sleep and are now waiting for the minivan to show up for a lecture at one of the big universities that is being covered by the press and will be broadcast tonight nationwide on Congolese television.

If you can watch our global webcast today, please do so by going to www.teenaids.org and hitting the button on the front page. If you missed the live version, it is archived so you can view it at your leisure.

What a great job I have. I don’t get any financial rewards but I know that we are saving young lives and that is payment enough.

AIDS Attacks, a deadly snake and more

The last few days in Rwanda have been filled with AIDS Attacks in remote villages. Unlike our street outreach in urban areas where it is easy to find large numbers of young people to talk with -- in the countryside, people of all ages are curious whenever they see a crowd. And our AIDS Attacks always generate crowds. Adults leave their chores and amble over. For the first time on this trip, I was hearing little children saying the local name for “White Man” because these kids rarely if ever have seen one in the flesh.

I have been traveling with an assortment of young people from different non-government organizations (NGOs) that we are partnering with: RAPP SIDA, Rwanda Youth Network and Together As One (a Christian Ministry). I offer my expertise to any group and in return, they send volunteers. Steven, Christella, Emmanuel, Peter, Issa, Suleiman and Andrew joined us two days ago and we had encounters with many people that said they had neither heard of nor knew anything about AIDS. And this is in central Africa where HIV rates have skyrocketed! Others said they knew a killer disease existed but didn’t really understand how it was transmitted. They all wanted to know more.

Well, most everyone. In a market, one young motorbike driver (a local taxi) turned away in disgust when I offered him a card. I told the other drivers that they needed to talk with him later because denial could lead to mistaken transmission. A few minutes later, he returned from taking his fare. I was encouraged until he refused my offer a second time. He wanted to be sure his friends knew he was smarter than they were.

On a dusty road to nowhere, we met two sisters with their young babies. Their conversation centered on philandering husbands. They asked me how a wife can keep her man from sleeping around. Not being a marriage counselor or an expert in this field, I told them they should use the argument that these men will have a greater chance of getting HIV -- and AIDS is a difficult way to die. It certainly isn’t sexy for the ladies. Once the virus has entered their bodies it will never go away until the day they leave this earth.

I stressed that women should use the argument that their HIV-positive men will be passing AIDS to their babies, perhaps their baby sons. In many parts of Africa, boys are favored by fathers who see the number of their male offspring as a sign of virility while a girl, if the first born, is said to bring wealth (this is based on the exchange of the traditional dowry of cows upon marriage). Christella read the information off the cards we pass out because the sisters couldn’t understand French or English. I was really happy that Christella was with us at these moments when we need to get the AIDS message to vulnerable women. Her younger friend Sarah had dome the same thing the day before.

In my previous blog of yesterday, I told you about the genocide prisoners whom we met along another country road. They traveled in packs without any guards or police escorts. I looked into one older man’s red eyes trying to search his soul. No luck. He was probably about 45 years-old and his face showed scars. When I greeted him, he smiled at me and shook my hand vigorously. Most likely, he had no idea that a side of me was horrified to think that this was one of the mass murderers who slaughtered babies and children out of irrational tribal anger. Andrew was especially effective when talking to these men about the sexual transmission of HIV because even though prisoners are locked away from female interaction, sex is still in their lives. It is not that they are homosexual but that they remain sexual even in lockup.

We stopped along a major thoroughfare to talk with three young men between the ages of 17 and 20. They were playing soccer with a ball made out of a a form of pandanus leaf. It actually bounced like a regular ball. One said that he knew about AIDS because members of his family were sick. Soon more people joined us from intersecting byways. While Steven translated for me, Christella spoke mostly to the young women and Andrew talked to older couples, perhaps parents of the football players. By this point, my volunteers knew everything that I was going to say and they were very effective in getting the AIDS message across. I try to keep our attacks between ten and twenty minutes to distribute the cards, explain the relevant information and answer their questions. As we left, the crowd dispersed in every direction carrying the news on to their friends.

Rose and Jimmy joined Andrew and I yesterday as we headed north of the city. Not traveling with a set itinerary or even a destination in mind, we looked for our next group. As we crossed a small river with five or so men digging up the muddy silt (to sell to farmers), Andrew yelled, “Look, they are killing a snake!” Damned if I couldn’t see anything because my eyesight is so bad in the bright African sun. I could only make out one man smashing his shovel repeatedly in the grass. A crowd had gathered on the bridge staring at the scene with children holding onto their mothers. Seizing the opportunity, we stopped and got out of our car for an AIDS Attack but Rose stayed back whispering, “I hate snakes.”

Between the deadly snake and me in a bright Hawaiian shirt, the attention of the crowd was divided until the men in the river brought the wounded -- but still writhing reptile -- up to the crowd that quickly formed in a circle. It was a little less than a meter long but quite thick. Somebody said it must be a young snake. I asked Andrew if he knew what kind it was and he said a cobra but I wasn’t sure.

Standing less than five feet away, I was not anxious because the poor thing was badly injured and unable to strike. Andrew introduced me and I began speaking -- yet we all occasionally glanced down at the ground whenever it twisted and constricted. After speaking, one outspoken woman spoke animatedly, asking how she could follow my advice and avoid blood and bodily fluids when it was her task to take care of her family members who were already sick. I suggested getting rubber gloves like those used for dish washing but Rose said the cost would be prohibitive for such a poor person. I then suggested asking a clinic for a pair of latex ones or for NGOs to arrange their distribution in areas where AIDS is prevalent.

At another stop at a settlement on the side of a hill overlooking a valley of rice paddies, we had an unusual encounter that made Rose angry (she always has a smile on her face). I was talking with a man who ran a cooperative (mostly selling kasava, plantains and rice from a sack marked “Thailand”) when I was told there was a man with AIDS down the hill who wanted to talk with me. So I gingerly made my way down a steep path to a group of young men playing a game of chance. Now, I have two rules when doing street outreach. First, I never engage a drunk in conversation and never interrupt people gambling because you will get blamed if they lose. One man was doing a bit of both.

My intuition was tired but as long as there are people to talk with, I am like the Energizer bunny. I told him that I was saddened by his condition but he still had a good life to live. I suggested he tell his story to other young men to help them learn from his example. As Rose translated, he continually interrupted, laughing and obnoxious. It was clear that she was getting upset. I recognized the Rwandan word for “joke” and then “serious.” Evidently, he was giving kindly Rose a tough time by showing off in front of his peers. However, none were laughing – they were clearly uncomfortable with his rudeness. Rose had been telling him the names of clinics he could visit but he showed no interest. She decided then that he was not sick with AIDS but just playing around. I occasionally run into these types and when I do, I have to make a snap decision. Quickly judging that he was not belligerent but simply an ass, I asked Rose to translate for me.

I ignored him and spoke to his peers directly. I said that if people ignore good advice then they run the risk of making a mistake that could result in a shortened life. I explained that Rose and the other volunteers were giving their time freely and every thinking person should take advantage of hearing the truth about HIV, suggesting that educated peers should help their friends learn the facts. I then asked the boys to help any friend that needed advice. Leaving the group, I smiled at the rude one, shook his hand and said, “bon chance.”

AIDS Attacks are interesting in every regard. I learn something each time. As we drove away, my mind turned to the scarred face of the prisoner, the two sisters, the bike driver and the dying snake surrounded by his human enemies…

Rwanda Genocide Redux

Flying over the green, rolling hills of Rwanda, I gazed down at the maze of red-dirt rural streets with a sickened feeling in my stomach. I couldn’t help but think that here is where hundreds of thousands of mutilated bodies lay just fourteen years ago. In one of the worst acts of genocide in the recent past, 800,000 Rwandans (mostly from the minority Tutsi tribe) were hacked to death in 1994. Then, the entire world including powerful stalwarts of human rights like the UN, France (Rwanda’s colonial overseer) and the U.S. did nothing constructive to intervene and stop the mass killing. We sat on our hands and said it wasn’t our problem. Incredibly, this all happened in only 90 days, making it a monthly death rate that rivaled and exceeded any similar time span during the Holocaust.

Rwanda has made an almost miraculous recovery since those horrific days. A policy of national reconciliation has been in effect and most Rwandans see themselves as one people, not separate just members of the Hutu and Tutsi tribes. Following the genocide, massive amounts of foreign aid flooded the country, much the result of deep remorse and guilt. Some people now call this country the Switzerland of Africa because of its keen sense for encouraging business investment. On the surface, all looks wonderful but lurking underneath are personal stories that tell another story. Let me explain.

People are still walking the streets who were the murderers amidst others who are the surviving victims. A foreign visitor like me has little idea of who is who. In the intervening years, many have gone to jail but at least 10,000 of the worst offenders escaped into the eastern Congo (DRC) where they are continuing the killing and raping of innocent citizens. Today, the media is full of reports about the renewed fighting in the Congo (the next destination on my trip). Rwanda is unofficially involved battling rebel elements inside the DRC. Under President Kagame, himself a onetime Tutsi rebel leader that fought the Hutus, Rwanda has tried mightily to put this chapter of its history to bed but it goes on and on. The plunder of mineral resources plays a major role in the regional conflict.

I work with young volunteers of all persuasions, because the only battle that I want to fight is the war against teen HIV/AIDS. I have been walking the hilly streets of Kigali and in remote areas to the East to convince youth that HIV is now their worst enemy.

Andrew and Christella have been accompanying me on my outreach that we refer to as “AIDS Attacks.” Both are dedicated volunteers in spreading the gospel of taking personal responsibility for one’s behaviors to avoid the silently spreading disease. Christella is now 19 years old and a student entering university. A very pretty young woman, she has a shy demeanor upon first glance and speaks in a low voice. Yet, she has become a most powerful spokesperson in my crusade. Today she told me the story of he memories as a five year-old girl, when the mass killings began in April of 1994.

She remembers her frightened mother taking her by her hand and scurrying through the bush to the home of her mother’s best friend, a member of the majority Hutu tribe. Christella remembers her mother begging her best friend to hide her daughter from the marauding bands armed with machetes. The Hutu woman, named Bendetta, was worried and said she would take in Christella but could not take her two year-old baby brother out of fear for her own safety. Bendetta insisted that Christella must always claim that she was her youngest daughter and never mention her real mother. After a tearful goodbye, Christella saw her mother for the last time as she disappeared out the back door and into the night.

Over the next few months, angry men with blood on their clothes the color of the bright red soil of Rwanda, came to the door and demanded to know where Tutsis were hiding. Scared out of her mind, little Christella always said that she was the youngest daughter in Bendetta’s family. It worked and she survived -- but not her mother, father and younger brother. She knows that her parents were hacked to death and her younger sibling was repeatedly bashed against a wall until his brains spilled out onto the ground wet with blood of others. During the three months the killing went on, Christella witnessed gruesome murders and saw the decaying bodies that littered her neighborhood.

Andrew was eleven years old in 1994. Months before the Hutu radio stations urged their people to kill every Tutsi, he knew what was coming because every night people were taken out of their homes and disappeared. He ran into the bush along with other boys without saying goodbye to their parents to save their own lives and become boy soldiers fighting the Hutus. At first, he and the other boys cooked the meals while the men went off to fight. Andrew also acted as a medic, dragging the bodies of dead and wounded back to their hidden camps. He told me that some people still call him doctor, based on his knowledge of dressing wounds.

Andrew received his first gun a few weeks later and did what every soldier must do. When he returned home after the Hutu army was defeated, his parents cried for joy as they thought he had died. He cried also because miraculously his parents had survived too, hiding in the hills. He estimated that he must have seen hundreds, if not thousands of dead bodies during this period of time.

Today, we went to some remote villages. Making our AIDS Attacks wherever we see young people, we drove down a bumpy road. We stopped by a one room hut talking with a few teens who were tending goats and small cows. None of them had heard about AIDS. We were passed by scores of prisoners going to their rural barracks after a hard day of doing road improvements and construction. Dressed in blue garb, each man carried shovels, picks, axes – and machetes. Andrew told me that these were the men who were responsible for the genocide. I talked with many of them about AIDS and how it was an unseen killer that was spreading through Rwanda. My French language business cards with AIDS facts and advice did not help in this rural region where illiteracy is high. So it was Andrew and Christella who told these men how to save their lives.

Our TeenAIDS’ mission is an equal opportunity one. We talk with everyone. The men thanked me and my volunteers for sharing the information. Soon they trudged down the red-dirt road that went into a lush valley. As I saw the blue shirts and sharp tools disappear, I shuddered to think that only fourteen years before, they were the ones killing innocent babies, children, teenagers, and adults. And to think that Christella and Andrew were eager to share their knowledge with these men!

They say politics makes strange bedfellows. Well, the necessity of fighting AIDS makes for unusual liaisons and today was not the exception.

Leaving Khartoum with Fondness

Without a doubt, my work in Sudan has been among the most pleasurable and fruitful that I can remember in many years. What a surprise! The Sudanese people are truly some of the friendliest I have ever met, and I travel to many countries all over the world. It is sad that the politics between the United States and Sudan and the issue over the tremendous suffering in the Darfur has complicated our view of this wonderful people. I tend to let the governments fight over their issues while I only want to concentrate on helping young people learn more about AIDS prevention. Mission accomplished!

We did many AIDS attacks in Khartoum. This was an unusual event for most Sudanese, who are not used to foreigners comeing up to them on the streets, especially someone who looks like me. However, due to their natural friendliness, this made every encounter a good one, and this direct street approach has captured the imagination of the Sudanese. For example, we were driving by the University of Khartoum Graduate School of Engineering and Architecture and we saw 45 male students milling around outside. Just as soon as I started to say to Dr. Samah from SNAP to stop, she also said stop, as she was excited about doing another AIDS attack. Immediately we were surrounded by the young men, most of whom speak English. They were full of questions about AIDS and sex. It turned out they were waiting on going to a fishing trip to the Nile and as we left their bus pulled up.

Another time we stopped to pick up sandwiches for our volunteers on our way to an all day training conference and I met a young 16 year old who was very much interested in AIDS and who was intrigued by the fact that I was doing this work and that we had so many volunteers working with me. Whether the groups are large or small, I believe AIDS attacks will be part of the Sudanese tradition in the future. I also introduced our stop action theater at two major training conferences, one with representatives of student organizations throughout Khartoum and another at UMST University. Stop Action Theater is my version of improvisational role playing where the audience is encouraged to yell “STOP” and take the place of somebody in the play. I explained to them the scenarios that young Americans had developed, but most of them were not appropriate because of their open discussion of sexuality with their use, so they were encouraged to come up with their own scenarios that would be more appropriate for Sudanese youth. Here are 2 of the scenarios that they came up with:

Tea sellers, who often go for sex with customers on the streets and this one involved University boys buying tea, walking off with the tea seller, while their friends debated whether that was a smart thing to do – both from the viewpoint of the holy Koran, which prohibits sex before marriage, and from the danger of possible AIDS.

The second scenario involved a father who had misplaced his glasses. He comes into the sitting room and finds a packet on the table. Because he can’t see, he mistakes the small package of ketchup with a condom package. He was furious that his son would have brought this home to the house. As he yells at his son on why it’s in the house, his son doesn’t understand his father’s confusion and says, “Dad, we always have them on the table. It makes the food taste better.” The father becomes angrier when he hears his son talk about condoms in this way. This was a very funny scenario and introduced the idea of how young Sudanese are becoming more comfortable with having condoms.

I think that Stop Action Theater will also be a continuing part of the AIDS efforts in Sudan. Theater is always a wonderful way to engage people.

We ended up our visit to Sudan with a dinner with Ministry of Youth people and the different organizations that helped sponsor my walk in their country. I talked about what I had observed in their country. Based on another large meeting at the medical school of UMST I gave them my opinion that it was clear that Sudanese youth were very respectful of Islam and wanted to follow the teachings of the Koran. However, it was also clear that globalization was changing young ideas of their country and it was doing so rapidly. At first contact, almost every young person said that they didn’t have sex before marriage and wouldn’t consider it, but in follow up conversations it was apparent that even the most religious of youth acknowledged that either they or their friends were experimenting with sex. From some of the young women, we discovered that those that wore the traditional Muslim clothes that covered everything but just their eyes were sometimes more liberated in their thinking and behaviors than their counterparts that dressed more in Western styles. The young women who dressed American style (but everyone covers their hair) complained that some of these more pious looking women, were wearing this more conservative looking garb to fool their parents. I had observed this same phenomenon in Jordan. I have been invited back to Sudan in February for a major international conference on youth and AIDS, with the opportunity to travel throughout the country, but I will not be able to do it.

We have left behind so many wonderful people that whenever somebody mentions Sudan to me in a negative light due to the politics of their government, I will explain that my firsthand impression of the people themselves is radically different.

Darfur Refugees

Yesterday we visited a large refugee camp an hour outside of Khartoum. Up until a few years ago, it was nothing but tents filled with people who were escaping the violence in the Southern area of Darfur. However, today there are simple mud houses for 24,000 people. It is a monochromatic scene. There are no green trees; there is no blue water; there is only dust, sand, and brown squat buildings.

We were told that we were going to meet with youth at a local mosque, but this isn’t a mosque with a large dome and a minaret tower. It was a one room meeting hall with half of the roof open to the sky. When we got there two old men greeted us. Sitting inside were about 10 women with babies. Outside children were playing soccer. I was very surprised that there were no teenagers or young adults to be seen, but I was told that this village lacked any kind of AIDS education. Even the few people there would benefit from my information.

I started off with the introductions and why we were there in their camp. I also asked them to tell me where they came from. Most often I heard the word Darfur. I also asked them if they missed their homeland. I was surprised when many of them said, “No – we don’t think about it at all”. I turned to one of my young translators, Amira, and asked her how much I should talk about sex as a transmission route for HIV in a mixed audience in a Mosque. It wasn’t that I was shy, rather I didn’t want to cause problems in a mixed audience. She told me that it was okay to talk, and that people needed to hear the truth about HIV.

A discussion followed, including comments and questions from the group. I was pleasantly surprised that more and more people were arriving. Soon the inside of the mosque was full and people were leaning in through the open windows to hear what was being said. I estimate that there must have been 60 people hearing the AIDS prevention message. I stressed the fact that they needed to personally reach out to the thousands of other people in their refugee community, that lives could be saved if the conversation was started in every hut that AIDS was coming and would kill many innocent people. I specifically told the women that they must talk to their female friends, because otherwise they might see many burials of their children and teens in the future.

In the course of an hour, there was a lot of dialogue going on about this AIDS disease and questions were asked about what could be done. I told them to get a hold of the doctor, who was training 20 peer educators at a nearby clinic. I asked the doctor if he would be willing to train some of the young people from the camp, so they could go back to their families and neighbors to spread the word. He readily agreed. By this time, there was a convivial sense of real camaraderie. I asked if they would sing some songs. Two teenage boys were singled out as singers, but one boy looked absolutely embarrassed and quickly moved to the back of the room. Two other boys joined the one singer and sang a song about love. Then a religious teacher stood up and lead the group in a couple religious songs. So I decided that I could sing too. I explained that the song I would sing was a negro spiritual called “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and explained that slaves sang this song requesting that God send his angels and chariot down to pick them up when it was time to go to heaven.

The group broke up into animated conversation, but there was a loud incessant beeping of a car horn. It was Artif, our driver, who had other appointments to keep. Filled overflowing with 10 of us, in a UN donated car, we took off at harrowing speed back to Khartoum. I was actually very nervous and worried. I made it clear to the driver that I was not happy with the driving.

I thought this was the highlight of my day. However, when we got back to the international hostel where we were staying, Jimmy went off with the men in our group for a tour of Khartoum at night. The highlight of his night was stopping by a Sudanese wedding. He found it a very interesting cultural experience and much different than an American wedding. However, I made plans with Jaile to do AIDS attacks on the streets populated by young people. I had some most interesting conversation.

We walked through a darkened garden at the side of the road, filled with a mixed population relaxing in the balmy evening air. We met many young teenage boys who did not know much about AIDS but listened to the message while reading the business cards that we passed out. As we walked over to some tennis courts, Jaile saw a friend he knew from university. I introduced myself to the young man and for the next 35 minutes I learned a lot about the pressures of being a young Muslim man in a conservative culture. One of the boys went to school at UMST where I will be speaking tomorrow. As we walked over to get some Coca-Colas, one of the young men came up to me and asked me, “Dr. John I want to ask you something privately”.

Frankly, I was surprised by his question although, I am asked this question in many other countries and communities. This is the question he asked, “What about oral sex? Can you get HIV/AIDS from that?” I explained that it was not as high risk as vaginal or anal sex and there are few cases reported of people getting HIV orally. I said, “Are some of your friends having oral sex?” He said yes, but it was not common. He still kept asking more questions about HIV and oral sex. Soon I realized he was concerned about his own behaviors (earlier in the conversation with his group of friends that he didn’t have sex because of the Koran). I asked him to explain why he was worried. He said that he went to the women on the streets and paid money for this. He said that it had happened 5 times, but by the end of the conversation 10 minutes later it was clear that he was doing it 3-4 times a week over many months. He said to me, “What can I do to stop this?” and I told him that it was something for him to decide. I said to him that if he felt guilty about it, he should probably stop.

So even in the most conservative muslim culture, sex is present. We stayed talking to other groups of young men until midnight and many of their questions were on specific sexual acts that they had seen on the internet and rented DVDs. The adults that I had been meeting with this week in Sudan, would usually say that their young people are not having sex before marriage but like young people anywhere, they keep their sexual behaviors private. For whatever reason, young people feel more open to talk to me about their issues, perhaps because they see me as non-judgmental and willing to tell them the medical facts without censorship.