Fighting the good fight – Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

The pressure was evidently taking its toll. Revd Ayano Chule had reached breaking point. For an Ethiopian man to weep openly in front of near strangers is very rare. But meeting a man like Revd Ayano is a rare occurrence. He is one of the very first religious leaders in Ethiopia to be openly living with HIV. Not only that - he is pioneering a movement to challenge religious leaders to overcome the stigma, denial and discrimination on HIV in their communities.

But he is paying a high price. In the last 9 months, Revd Ayano has been thrown out of his home on four separate occasions. When landlords have discovered his status, they have packed his bags and simply left them on the doorstep. He told us that he could deal with the abuse, harassment, rejection and even physical assaults but he could not successfully continue his work without a safe place to live.

It was clear we were in the presence of a leader. But you have to protect leaders. Thankfully, the philanthropist with whom I was travelling recognised this immediately and agreed to pay for accommodation that would be secure from arbitrary eviction.

‘It is not HIV that kills’, Revd Ayano reminded us. ‘‘It is ignorance, fear and prejudice which kills. If people don’t know their status, they are a danger to themselves and to society. Accurate information is our greatest weapon. No amount of money will solve the problem without education.’’ Although 1 in 11 people in Ethiopia are HIV+, false information is still rife. Up to 80% believe that HIV is caused by sin or judgement while others believe it can be ‘healed’ through repentance and the administering of holy water.

With 99% of people in Ethiopia affiliated to a religious grouping, Revd Ayano knows that religious leaders hold the keys to changing attitudes towards HIV. His wants to see priests and immans be empowered to be ‘heralds of hope’ in calling their communities to be sanctuaries of compassion.

The need for this work was illustrated to me while visiting the home of Abeba Naiza. Abeba is a grandmother who lives in one of the slums in Addis Ababa. She looks after her children’s children because 3 of her 7 daughters have died from HIV related diseases.

One of the children in the home is Herione (which means fruit of the vine). Aged 5, she was just 14 days old when her mother died. Although she will not remember her mother, she did contract HIV from her and lives each day secretly taking the ante retroviral treatment that she needs. Her grandmother asked me to keep my voice down when discussing Heriones’ health for fear the neighbours would find out about her status.

The work Christian Aid is funding in Ethiopia is aiming to create a society where girls like Herione can live free from shame. Revd Ayano reluctantly conceded that most people suspect some moral malpractice is the cause of his status. In fact, he contracted HIV through his wife – who was his only sexual partner. Agonisingly, he endured watching her and their young son die from the virus before deciding to continue the battle against HIV on the front-line.

When asked how he finds the strength to continue, he answered, ‘God has given me a vision. I have the opportunity to save lives because I am HIV+. That is why I carry on.’

ENDS

Leffe village, Ethiopia, July 12th 2007

It is a scene reminiscent of England. Rolling hills, green fields, muddy tracks.

But this isn't England. A line of us are walking single file approaching the Muslim village of Leffe in the Siltie region of central Ethiopia. It is the rainy season and on the surface at least, all seems lush and fertile.

But the green vegetation flatters to deceive. The water table remains dangerously low and access to clean water is the single greatest challenge facing the villagers we are about to meet.

As I climb up a bank, what confronts me needs to be seen to be believed. Half a dozen women are wading knee deep in turgid, brown coloured water. They are helping each other fill brightly coloured jerry cans as part of a daily routine to collect the 20 litres of water they need. Buzzing mosquitoes surround them – this is their natural breeding ground and malaria is a real and ever present threat.

I speak with one of the women, Fatima Ahmed, who is carrying her three year old daughter on her back as she collects water. She tells me that she sometimes she sees worms swimming in her water but she has limited choice. The only alternative is a one and half hour walk to the nearest stream.

In a neighbouring village, I saw women digging sand wells in the riverbed. The women dig up to three metres deep and wait for water to infiltrate through the sand. They spend seven hours every day digging, waiting, collecting and walking. Day in, day out - collecting water has become their life.

This situation is typical in rural communities where access to drinking water is as low as 3%. Despite claims by the Ethiopian Government to provide water for all through a universal access program, communities across Ethiopia, aren’t holding their breath. The only way Leffe village will gain access to water in the forseeable future is a planned Christian Aid project which aims to provide 53,000 people with accessible water within 1km of their homes. Leffe is one of the 18 target villages and understandably Fatima said that this project would transform her life. It would give her the time to earn a living, to look after her children and to plan for the future.

That prospect is only threatened by £440,000 needed to leverage a further £1.2million from the European Commission to fund this project . It seems a small price to pay for the social return it will generate.

There is an Ethiopian saying that water and mothers are the same – both are considered good. But the sight of women collecting dirty water reminds me that not all water is good. It certainly isn't reminiscent of England.