The doctor described in simple, straightforward terms – and what he said was translated into the local language by an interpreter – what happened in the body once HIV had entered the blood. He said that promiscuity was the principal culprit in the spread of the disease, and there was a rising hum, like a swarm of bees, from the women present. It was a pregnant moment. When the doctor had finished, one of the chieftains, a very old man, rose to his feet. He said: "We must all protect ourselves. For the sake of our children. There must be a stop to all unnecessary travelling. Families must stick together. Men must remain faithful to their women, women to their men. If not, we shall all die."
That was in 1988, during the rainy season. I often wonder how many of those who were there listening to the Dutch doctor were already infected. And how many of them are still alive today.
18
The mist is dispersing. I stare out to sea and I think about Aida and her mango plant. As she showed me it, I felt no doubt that it was one of the moments I shall remember for as long as I live.
19
Just how it came about, I don't know. Nor do I know when Aida made up her mind to take me into her confidence and share her secret with me. But I saw it the second time I visited her and her family.
The first time I met her, it was a very hot day. We left Kampala early so as to avoid being stuck in the chaotic traffic that envelops the city's roads every morning. Beatrice, who was the person helping me to make contact with people carrying the disease and writing memory books, had told Christine that I would be coming. At that time I didn't know Christine had a daughter called Aida. In fact, I knew only two things about Christine: that she had Aids, and that she was prepared to talk to me about it.