Herman Goza was born in Kampala, Uganda, to parents who
both had AIDS. His parents died when
Herman was young, and he went to live with his uncle. His uncle worked hard. He was torn between caring for his nephew and
the family’s immediate needs. Herman’s
aunt was torn too. But she didn’t want
to raise Herman. She was torn, but she
couldn’t raise Herman.
So Herman left. Herman was asked to leave. At seven, Herman was asked to leave.
Herman lived on the streets, and he was seven. So he stole.
He would steal from food vendors and restaurants. But somehow, Herman knew that it was wrong to
steal and that he could get caught. He
was afraid.
Herman was seven and he was afraid.
Herman was living on the streets, stealing, fearing. Patrick found Herman and invited him to come
and live at the orphanage with the rest of the kids.
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I remember this-I am sitting on the blue area rug leaning back against the jean-covered couch, playing video games. James steps into the kitchen doorway. He says that he has a question about the sponsorship. I press start and Mario freezes mid-kick. I look up at James, “yea sure, what’s up?”
James is torn. “So
the sponsorship is $115? Is that due soon?”
I see the squint in James’ eyes, hear the unsure
hesitance in his voice. “Yea, I mean,
we’re hoping to send the money in a week or two. But ummm…if you don’t have the
money this term, that’s probably fine.
We would probably be able to make the money up somewhere.”
James mumbles something I can’t hear, and steps back into
the kitchen.
A week later, a check is tacked to our house bulletin
board- To: Beautiful Response Amount:
$115
Memo: Herman’s Sponsorship. James
was torn. But he wrote that check for
Herman.
Herman has AIDS. It is his death sentence. He will die from AIDS. Most orphans with AIDS don’t make it long. Most orphans with AIDS die quickly. A while ago, Herman took a turn for the
worse. He was not able to go to
school. I told James that Herman wasn’t
doing well and he was torn and helpless.
Because in some strange way, James loves Herman. And Herman suffering from and dying from AIDS
is not so far from us. It is close to
us.
And we don’t like using
possessive language. It is not our orphanage, and Herman is not his child.
But we are Herman’s family,
his people, and he is our brother, our son.
In a very odd yet real way, Herman is ours, and we are his. So when Herman is dying from AIDS it hurts,
it really hurts.
This morning, Patrick called Sonja and me on Skype. He gave us updates on the children. He told us that Herman, Herman that we love, was
doing much better. They were able to
bring Herman to a good medical center where he received more treatment. Herman is doing really well. Patrick also
told us that Herman got his school exam grades back. Herman is ranked second in his class of 60
despite missing class often due to his illness.
Recently, I looked back at Herman’s profile, to remember
his story better. He wants to be a
doctor. Herman wants to be a doctor.
Herman has AIDS, he is an orphan. What are the odds that Herman will get to be
a doctor?
I texted James and told him that Herman was doing better,
that he was 2nd in his class.
Awesome. That is great news. When can I write him a letter?
