The SIDA Monologues

We had a SIDA awareness commpetition at the beginning of December. The competition consisted of two parts: a poster making contest and a skit competition. The students in my group won the poster making contest, but we came up just short of winning both. The judges really liked how my group had characters that you could fully get into, rather than simply people stating facts about HIV/SIDA. My group wanted it to be in English, so they told me to write it. This is what I came up with for them. A series of five monologues that focused on the lives of the people infected as normal human beings. They wanted to portray that SIDA isn't a judgment, and that anybody can get it. I put the English level at above average because most of the students were in an English club, and I was also able to use this experience to give them a broader vocabulary. I wrote these in a day, and they were given four days to work on the lines. They made me incredibly proud.



The SIDA Monologues

The User

I just wanted to feel... alive. To feel something inside of me. I wanted it to run through my veins like a wild dog in the desert, like a cat through the city streets. Don’t judge me. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know what it’s like to have a dad who beats you without mercy... to have a mother who doesn’t have the courage to stand up and protect her own children. I had to escape.

One of my friends introduced me to heroin. I remember the needle piercing my skin like ice, the drug running through my veins. I wasn’t just a dog running through the desert... I was Cerberus at the Gates of Hell. I wasn’t just a cat running through the city streets... I was a lion in the Serengeti.

A few months later, I felt sick and went to the doctor. I told him I shared a needle. The doctor tested me for VIH. It came back positive. I thought it was just a sex disease. The doctor told me that it passed to me through my friend, through the needle.

Yeah, VIH passes through semen and sex fluids, but I didn’t know it passed through blood, too.

All I wanted was to feel alive. To have a life inside of me that I could want. But this was the only life I could have, and I didn’t want it. Who would?

I didn’t tell my friend. I told him that I wanted more heroin, and he gave me enough so that I could have more animals running through my veins than were on Noah’s Ark.

I still remember the feeling I had as I injected needle after needle into my veins. Everything running through me. I pretended the animals were like my own army, fighting the VIH in me as I fell asleep.

The Razor

My dad said becoming a man meant learning responsibility. Allah tells us that being responsible is required to be a good man. In order to learn responsibility, I had to get a job.

My family was never rich. My brothers all got jobs when they were my age to help support the family. My dad always traveled to other cities for work. And now it was my turn. In order to get a respectable job, I had to shave the beard that was beginning to grow on my face. I remember him taking me into the bathroom. I remember looking at the razor blade that I would share with him and my brothers. I watched as the blades moved against his face. And then it was my turn.

I thought I was learning responsibility. I thought I was a man. I thought I was a good man. I went to school. I went to mosque. I fasted for Ramadan. I didn’t deserve this. Did I?

The doctor said that I got it from the razor. That was the only explanation. But that couldn’t be possible. We’re a good family... we’re a good family. The doctor said I had a responsibility to tell my family. But it couldn’t have come from my dad. I had to have done something to anger Allah. My dad is a good man. He taught me how to be responsible. So it was my job to be responsible, too.

I didn’t tell anyone. I got sicker, but I kept going to my new job. I couldn’t tell them. They would fire me. Good Muslim men don’t get SIDA. I was a good man. Just like my dad.

He was traveling when I died. My mom was praying to Allah as I was laying on the ground, too weak to walk to the hospital. But I couldn’t tell her what the doctor told me. I had to be responsible.

The Mother

Muhammad, peace be upon him, said that a thankful tongue, a soft-hearted wife is a friend of yours in religion.

I had faith that Allah would bless me with a child after my first night with my husband. I had faith that Allah would bless me with a loving husband, and a wonderful child. I thought about this when I was in school, and when I went home. Allah blesses those who bless others.

I was a virgin on my wedding day. I knew that being a good Muslim woman meant doing anything that I could to make sure my baby would be healthy. The doctor suggested, as a precaution, to get tested for any diseases, including VIH. I said yes.

I didn’t understand how I could have gotten a positive test. But that didn’t matter to me. I knew that what mattered was my child. No matter what was inside of me, I knew I had to do what I could to not allow this to get into my child. Even if that meant losing the one man that I loved. I knew what I was in the eyes of Allah.

So I told him. I waited for his response.

He got tested, and when the test came back positive, he told me about how he had sex one time before me. He said it had to have been from that woman. But he knew what Allah needed of men, so he stayed. We went to the doctor together, and he gave us medication to keep the baby safe.

After the baby was born, I couldn’t get access to the medication. I know it was painful for my husband and child to watch me die. But even though I’m not with them on the Earth, I know that my husband and child will be all right. Allah knows what I am. Allah blesses those who bless others. And Allah has blessed me with the ability to continue to watch over my husband and child as they continue with their lives.

The Rich Man

Everything has a price. Everything.

I got into this business because I wanted to see the world. I wanted to own the world. Going to the doctor was required for my job. I explained to the doctor that I was going to be a very rich man and I would be traveling everywhere. The doctor asked if I was planning on having sex. I said what good is having this money if you can’t buy the finest women? He explained to be that in order to be healthy, I needed to think about the ABC’s: Abstinence, Being Faithful, and Condoms, but I didn’t need anyone’s help; not friends, not family, and not this doctor.

I had sex with women in France and Spain, even Portugal. I kept getting more and more money. But the women never seemed to fill a gap that I couldn’t name. I kept trying to find more women to fill that gap, but none of them could do it.

When I went to the doctor for a checkup, he tested me for VIH. When the result came back as positive, I shrugged and asked him how much the cure cost. He said that there is no cure. There were medications, called antiretrovirals, that could slow the spread of the disease, but VIH was not going to go away.

I got angry. I wanted to find the woman who did this to me and kill her. But then I realized that I couldn’t even count the number of women I had sex with, much less remember their names. I tried to find a detective to help me find them. I could buy it. Everything has a price. Everything.

I lost my job. I watched as my bank account slowly dwindled to nothing. I lost my house. I couldn’t understand why Allah did this to me. I couldn’t go on living this life. I killed myself, thinking that the pain would end with my life. But now I am here.

Everything has a price. Everything.

The Child

I like to think that together, we can solve any problem.

I had VIH my entire life. My mother told me that I was infected one night while breastfeeding. She said it was an accident.

When I was a child, I remember watching a wedding. I remember it because the thought that went through my head was that I would never have that. I would never find anyone who would love me like this. I would never get married or have children. I would never be normal.

But that wasn’t true. My doctor told me that people living with VIH and SIDA can live long, meaningful lives. I’ve used antiretrovirals my entire life. My viral load is undetectable. The doctor said that as long as I was honest with people, I would find someone who would love me for who I am. He gave me hope.

No matter what I am on the outside, I know that the light of Allah is something that is inside all of us. It connects us to one another. It makes us all one. I decided that I would tell people my status. People needed to know that VIH is not a judgment, it is not a punishment for a sinful lifestyle. It is a disease. It doesn’t discriminate. But it is a disease that, if we work together, we can fight and defeat.

I remember the night I died. A group of boys started it. They told me that only prostitutes get VIH. I tried to explain my story, but they kept calling me names and then they kicked me to the ground.

But even as I died, I still thought of Allah. I saw the light of Allah in each of them, even though they let prejudice blind them to the light of Allah in me.

One day, I know everyone will see it. Everyone will see that shining light. And we will see that we are all in this together. That is what we need. Because together, we can solve any problem.

The User

I wanted to feel alive. But being alive means having hope and faith that no matter how life appears, things will get better.

The Razor

I needed to learn responsibility. But responsibility means knowing your status, and getting friends and family tested.

The Mother

What matters is our children. Though we were not long for this world, our children will go on through our actions.

The Rich Man

Everything has a price. Everything. Be abstinent. Be faithful. Use protection. All human beings have worth.

The Child

Together, we can solve any problem. In order to work together, we have to know that we all have worth in the eyes of Allah.

All

Together, we will fight. Together, we will win.

Open Minds Result in Open Hearts

I try not to focus too much on American news anymore, for a few reasons. I have access to international news organizations, (I apparently had no idea what objectivity meant until I looked outside of America for my news needs; niether do American news outlets.) American "news" is lacking in substantive reporting as compared to other news organizations around the world, (but if I want to learn any insipid and vacuous information on Sarah Palin or any other pop princess, I know where to turn.) And according to American news organizations, Muslims are categorically incapable of doing anything good at any time ever, unless it is to convert to Christianity and condemn Islam on a whole.

Living here with Muslims in Morocco is what made me really notice the third issue. I do not miss American news outlets, so I feel no need to ever turn to them to reconfirm my observations.

I was sitting in the bus station in Casablanca, waiting to go home, when a young Moroccan teenager sat next to me. He was learning English so that he could study engineering in America. He was applying for scholarships from both countries so that he could go to school, learn, and then return so that he could help his country become a better place for all of its citizens. I asked where he wanted to study. He told me that he didn't want to go to a small place because he was scared of Americans.

"They burn Korans over there. I do't know why. I didn't do anything to them." he said.
"Some Americans burned Korans, or tried to." I replied, "But a lot of people that are in our generation understand that we are all connected and that we all have a shared responsibility to each other."
"I see that," the young man said, "The generation before us... is very scared of something. But I don't undrstand it."
"Me neither."
"So," he asked, "Are you Christian?"
"No, I'm a Buddhist."
"Really? I've never met a Buddhist."

I explained some of the concepts of Budhism to him, and he explained the concepts of the five pillars of Islam. I told him about the four noble truths, and he told me about Mohammad's divine revelation. Throughout the entire exchange, we both felt a muntual respect for one another. We both knew that we weren't there to convert the other person, but to share a piece of ourselves with each other. It was a beautiful experience. But I have noticed that Muslims here are genuinely curious and interested in other religions. They seem to thirst for knowledge of things outside of their own world. At least, the ones I have met. Then again, it could be that I have an unthreatening demeanor to myself, and so they feel more open to discuss these things with me. Either way, I find that when I go into a conversation with an open mind, then the other person in the dialogue will respond with an open heart.