Day Eleven (July 13, 2006)

The most recent Lesotho census was just completed. Five years ago there were 2.3 million people in this country. Now there are 1.6 million. Six hundred and fifty thousand Besothos are gone. This country is the epicenter of the AIDS pandemic. I had a long conversation with Jamie tonight. He said that as yet another Bestotho’s eyes glaze over with death, North America is still unaware. Will they wake up and begin to understand when half a country has died? The people are dropping like flies. Outside of the clinic is a lovely courtyard. Patients wait all day to be seen. They show up at 8am and patiently wait in the hall of the clinic. When the clinic staff leave for lunch at 1 pm, the patients all get up collectively and quietly and funnel out into the courtyard to warm themselves. Not a single word of complaint, everyone holding their charts, sitting in the sun, waiting silently. As soon as the staff return, they all herd back in and take their places once again in the hall. I have joined them on this noon hour ritual. The courtyard sits a short distance away from the morgue and no one flinches as a trolley moves past to carry yet another victim to the mortuary. If they don’t die in the clinic, they die on the hospital ward. Very few are ever discharged. Hospital admission is a last resort. The hospital staff is so scarce that nurses will walk into a room and find several new deceased patients just passed in the last few hours, often alone and with little notice. They write RIP in the chart and it is done.