Today I headed into the HAPCO office around 9:30am as usual. I wrote a letter and read a magazine while I waited for my supervisor, Tilahun, to come back from an appointment of some sort. When he returned we chatted about the town and he informed he that once again, there is no work to do, because they are waiting on funding. As I was walking out of the office a couple hours after I arrived I confirmed once more that there were no meetings today before heading out into the community for the afternoon. Tilahun called after me, “Wait! There is one. There is an HIV testing going on at the preparatory school that started yesterday and is finishing today. I am going to visit this afternoon if you would like to come.”
After lunch, I came back to the office and three of us hopped into a bajaj, the three-wheeled taxis, and rode the five minutes to the school. I had been to one VCT (Voluntary Counseling and Testing) out in the rural areas a few weeks before, so I knew what to expect—a large group of people each given a number as an identification waiting to be called. Each person is first called upon by the counselor, who privately gathers basic personal information such as age, and gender. Next, the medical worker will call each person up to have his or her blood drawn. Finally, after about 30 minutes, the same counselor will call each person back to give then a brief counseling session as they read the HIV results. Because this is a “mobile VCT,” is it not held in a health center, but simply outside in a small area, in which the counselor secludes himself/herself in a wooded area for privacy.
As we walked into the compound of the preparatory school and I followed Tilahun we approached a group of three men sitting around chatting. I waited for a moment, looking around for a cluster of high school-aged students nearby to find the testing site, when I saw a rack holding vials of blood beside one of the men. “This is where they are doing the testing? Where are the students?” It was about 2pm on Tuesday, the second day of this two-day VCT. They had sat outside for almost two full days and only had 40 students tested yesterday and just 28 today! The school has over 3,000 students!
I could not believe it. Tilahun was very disappointed, saying that he was expecting over 300 students to be tested in these two days. We sat around for a little while and I zoned out of the Amharic conversation going on around me and started looking around the schoolyard for students dressed in blue uniforms. As a few students walked in relatively close proximity to us, Tilahun noticed them too, called to them in Amharic asking them to come to the VCT. I watched them wave and keep on walking, but Tilahun’s eagerness sparked motivation inside of me. “Come on!” I said standing up from the bench I was seated on and motioning for Tilahun to follow me. “Let’s not just sit around, let’s go talk to these students that seem to just be lingering around the campus.” Tilahun was more than willing to humor me but I could tell the tone of his response that he did not think it would do any good.
During training in Ambo, we split up into four groups of ten people and spend one day a week for four weeks in smaller towns surrounding Ambo. We visited schools and anti-AIDS clubs, learning a lot about how to start getting involved with HIV activities. If I learned nothing else from those visit (which is not the case), one statement made by a student there stuck in my mind: “Just your ferengi presence is power.” I knew it was true because it is hard not to notice the heads turning everywhere I go. Tilahun always talks about “incentives” for meetings, claiming we must supply people with per diem, or at least tea and coffee to get them to come. I know that if I advertise that I am going to be pretty much anywhere, people show up, no free tea or coffee necessary.
We walked around the school’s campus and noticed several groups of students merely hanging out by the doors of their classrooms. Tilahun took the initiative and told the students to get back in their seats, and they obeyed as we strolled in behind them, standing in front of the classroom. He began speaking in Amharic about the VCT going on today, which they had all been informed about last week. As he spoke, I looked out to a sea of eyes, all staring at me. I heard him introduce me in his impromptu speech and a few students spoke out, wanting me to say something in English. I am pretty sure I was already beaming at this point, realizing how much this was going to help promote the testing; I then greeted them in Amharic and spoke very briefly in English about the VCT going on, unsure of how much they were really comprehending. I am still uncertain if they could detect a tone of begging across language and cultural barriers, but at the time, I did not care, knowing that this operation was already shamelessly using my presence as power. We repeated this about five more times to classrooms of about thirty students, all of which happen to be missing a teacher today. That problem I will address another day.
By the time we finished talking to the last classroom and returned to the testing area there, gathered around the site, was a group of blue-uniform wearing students all waiting to be tested. It was the exact site I expected when arriving an hour or so before. Tilahun smiled back at me, happy in our accomplishment of recruiting so many students. I think today he finally realized how much we can accomplish together. We did not reach the original goal, but in the last two hours of the VCT we nearly doubled the amount of students tested. I told Tilahun to please exploit the ferengi any time you want to help people learn about HIV. I had one of the best days today at an event that was almost overlooked. For the first time I did not get frustrated by the stares, instead I smiled and allowed myself to be the circus show, smiling and waving as students took pictures of me with their cell phones, knowing that being exploited for the betterment of Dangila is something I can endure any day.
After lunch, I came back to the office and three of us hopped into a bajaj, the three-wheeled taxis, and rode the five minutes to the school. I had been to one VCT (Voluntary Counseling and Testing) out in the rural areas a few weeks before, so I knew what to expect—a large group of people each given a number as an identification waiting to be called. Each person is first called upon by the counselor, who privately gathers basic personal information such as age, and gender. Next, the medical worker will call each person up to have his or her blood drawn. Finally, after about 30 minutes, the same counselor will call each person back to give then a brief counseling session as they read the HIV results. Because this is a “mobile VCT,” is it not held in a health center, but simply outside in a small area, in which the counselor secludes himself/herself in a wooded area for privacy.
As we walked into the compound of the preparatory school and I followed Tilahun we approached a group of three men sitting around chatting. I waited for a moment, looking around for a cluster of high school-aged students nearby to find the testing site, when I saw a rack holding vials of blood beside one of the men. “This is where they are doing the testing? Where are the students?” It was about 2pm on Tuesday, the second day of this two-day VCT. They had sat outside for almost two full days and only had 40 students tested yesterday and just 28 today! The school has over 3,000 students!
 |
| A group of high school students in their blue uniforms. |
I could not believe it. Tilahun was very disappointed, saying that he was expecting over 300 students to be tested in these two days. We sat around for a little while and I zoned out of the Amharic conversation going on around me and started looking around the schoolyard for students dressed in blue uniforms. As a few students walked in relatively close proximity to us, Tilahun noticed them too, called to them in Amharic asking them to come to the VCT. I watched them wave and keep on walking, but Tilahun’s eagerness sparked motivation inside of me. “Come on!” I said standing up from the bench I was seated on and motioning for Tilahun to follow me. “Let’s not just sit around, let’s go talk to these students that seem to just be lingering around the campus.” Tilahun was more than willing to humor me but I could tell the tone of his response that he did not think it would do any good.
During training in Ambo, we split up into four groups of ten people and spend one day a week for four weeks in smaller towns surrounding Ambo. We visited schools and anti-AIDS clubs, learning a lot about how to start getting involved with HIV activities. If I learned nothing else from those visit (which is not the case), one statement made by a student there stuck in my mind: “Just your ferengi presence is power.” I knew it was true because it is hard not to notice the heads turning everywhere I go. Tilahun always talks about “incentives” for meetings, claiming we must supply people with per diem, or at least tea and coffee to get them to come. I know that if I advertise that I am going to be pretty much anywhere, people show up, no free tea or coffee necessary.
We walked around the school’s campus and noticed several groups of students merely hanging out by the doors of their classrooms. Tilahun took the initiative and told the students to get back in their seats, and they obeyed as we strolled in behind them, standing in front of the classroom. He began speaking in Amharic about the VCT going on today, which they had all been informed about last week. As he spoke, I looked out to a sea of eyes, all staring at me. I heard him introduce me in his impromptu speech and a few students spoke out, wanting me to say something in English. I am pretty sure I was already beaming at this point, realizing how much this was going to help promote the testing; I then greeted them in Amharic and spoke very briefly in English about the VCT going on, unsure of how much they were really comprehending. I am still uncertain if they could detect a tone of begging across language and cultural barriers, but at the time, I did not care, knowing that this operation was already shamelessly using my presence as power. We repeated this about five more times to classrooms of about thirty students, all of which happen to be missing a teacher today. That problem I will address another day.
 |
| Students lining up to get tested for HIV. |
By the time we finished talking to the last classroom and returned to the testing area there, gathered around the site, was a group of blue-uniform wearing students all waiting to be tested. It was the exact site I expected when arriving an hour or so before. Tilahun smiled back at me, happy in our accomplishment of recruiting so many students. I think today he finally realized how much we can accomplish together. We did not reach the original goal, but in the last two hours of the VCT we nearly doubled the amount of students tested. I told Tilahun to please exploit the ferengi any time you want to help people learn about HIV. I had one of the best days today at an event that was almost overlooked. For the first time I did not get frustrated by the stares, instead I smiled and allowed myself to be the circus show, smiling and waving as students took pictures of me with their cell phones, knowing that being exploited for the betterment of Dangila is something I can endure any day.
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