In Obert's Office (Mtshabezi, Zimbabwe)
Morning
"…we don't see light; we see what it touches."
There is the boy Shelton who in a way has come to represent Zimbabwe
to me. When I think of this place, back at home, I think of his face.
I've tried to get updates on how he was fairing from Obert and Richard
– the Mtshabezi hospital administrator. But email is the butt of a
joke here, and I never heard from them on Shelton's condition.
Obert formally greets us, talking to Dad about Mtshabezi and how it
operates. I've heard this before, and Shelton weighs on my mind and
I'm unfocused.
There is a customary code here that I don't want to disengage. I want
to know about the boy, I don't want to know about the office
hierarchy. In a way, I'm here, on my first full day in country,
because of the boy Shelton. And I want to know how he is. I want to
know if he is alive.
As a quiet moment approaches in Obert's introduction, I want to
interject. But in truth, I'm scared of the response.
I finally ask. He says, "Yes, I remember seeing your emails."
"Okay," I said, pushing the point.
"The boy is okay." A relief.
"Does he have HIV?"
"We don't think so."
"Does he still live on his own?" I question, as Shelton is not yet
walked ten years on this earth.
"Very recently he is living in a different place with his extended
family. We are trying that out for now."
We plan to see Shelton tomorrow.
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