After the story of Weldegerima Fekadu and his family aired on Me'munay, Ethiopians across the globe were touched and responded with generous donations. Tamerat Yemane and the other producers at Betengna were, in turn, touched by the generosity of their listeners. Through it all, there is visible distance that Ethiopians have come in developing their understanding of and support to individuals infected and affected by HIV, but one that is still hard to accurately talk about for those of us working in the field of HIV and AIDS. Quite frankly, people can be as cruel as they can be generous when it comes to HIV. What was so peculiar about Woldegerima’s story?

Weldegerima is a native of rural Tigray who left home at an early age. Forced to fend for himself doing odd jobs, Wolde moved all around the country until he finally settled in Addis Ababa, where he met and married a waitress at a local tejbet (honey wine brewery). Between their marriage and her death a few years later, his wife had given birth to three boys.  Neighbors alternated between gossiping and openly suggesting to him that his wife had died from AIDS. His children’s constant illness was the determining factor that led him and his children to get tested for HIV, the results of which were devastating for Wolde. Like many of us years ago, Woldeh couldn’t understand how his children and (obviously his wife) could be HIV+ while he tested negative. Wolde is currently trying to reconciliate being HIV- with fathering 3 HIV+ children. He and his children now live in a little shack where he works as a guard for the idir (funeral committee) in his neighborhood for a meager wage that barely supports his family.

Wolde’s story is very distressing, enough to motivate scores of Ethiopians to reach deep into their pockets and send him some of what they find in there. But in all honesty, stories from a decade ago, when HIV was being misdiagnosed for a bad cold are equally distressing, if not more. The difference is that Wolde spoke out at a time when his story was ‘acceptable’ as opposed to the late 80s or early 90s when there were those who were shunned from society because they were losing weight, coughed a lot or were bedridden, never mind what their sero-status was. Even when HIV and AIDS awareness and education programs began there was still a huge lack of comprehensive knowledge about the virus; infection rates continued to climb and the lives of many were lost.

Today, we’ve gone beyond all that to the point where a radio program like Betengna can exist and be popular. And the donations made by listeners across the world to help Wolde and his family gives great hope for other individuals living with HIV and organizations fighting its spread. This specific situation however does not accurately depict the mentality of our society towards HIV and those infected or affected by it. At Betengna and the NARC, we still witness untold tales of discriminations and stigma faced by PLWH every day. Its one thing to reach into our pockets when we hear of stories like Wolde’s (or Uma Shoa’s, another diarist on Aantee), but how many of us would devote more than our money when asked? How much do we realize that it’s not enough to learn about how HIV is transmitted but also that we need to eventually decide whether we are going to be part of the problem or part of the solution? And how much do we truly understand that negligence, mistreatment or exclusion of individuals infected and affected by HIV can only translate to resentment and bitterness on their behalf; the very same people who expose themselves on programs like Betengna so that others can learn from their trials. . HIV is not a bodily state that some of us have to live with, it’s a public health realm that we all are a part of, whether we care to admit it or not. So while it’s fair to say that some of us are doing our part, is it fair to ask what the rest of us are doing?