Duncan

Duncan introduced me to the pain of aids. I feel so ignorant and foolish and ashamed to type this, but for some reason I didn’t know aids killed people painfully. Before my six weeks in South Africa I thought aids killed people quietly, at worst in a tough bout of pneumonia. I didn’t know viruses and bacteria would eat away leg muscles and eye sight. I didn’t know tuberculosis was waiting in the eves to hurt lungs. I didn’t know eating was almost impossible in the final months because of stomach pains and vomiting. I didn’t know infections attacked the entire body unchecked, hurting internal organs and skin and bones and the mind. I didn’t know these things, or if I did I hadn’t seen it first hand.

Before we walked in Duncan’s room we could hear him moaning and struggling to breath. As I entered his room I saw him shaking on the bed curled up in a ball. He looked about the size of a 6th grader curled up on his twin size bed. He smelled terrible. His roommates wouldn’t look at him. One was trying to read and the other lay on his side looking at the other wall. I can honestly say I didn’t know what to do. When I tried to touch him he flinched and contorted. When we spoke to him he just groaned and shook.

He started to cry and mumbled something in zulu. We asked his roommates what he was saying, but they couldn’t even understand him until he had repeated it for 2 minutes louder and louder. One of his roommates said without looking up from his book, “he needs to vomit right away.” “Where is a bucket?” I asked and starting looking around his room. “Where is the bucket he needs?” I looked in the cabinets and under the small sink and under his bed. “Its under his bed.” The man said over the cover of his book. “I don’t see it… all that’s under his bed is his bedpan.” The man put his book down and said matter of factly, “that’s what we use. It is our bucket. We always vomit in those.”

So I picked up his bedpan and watched him throw up in his bloody urine stained bucket. It was terrible. We had to put the Duncan's bedpan against his cheek so he didn’t have to raise his body. He didn’t have much to throw up because he couldn’t eat. When he was done he lay in a ball crying.

We prayed for him and his pain and sat next to him on his bed. The only visitors Duncan had 2 days before he died were 3 white Americans holding a bedpan for him to vomit. I was overwhelmed with sadness while my friends prayed. I had nothing to say. I didn’t know how to articulate my fear and frustration and… I don’t know. Even thinking about him on my yellow couch here in Guam makes me confused and shocked and sad. He looked alone. Because I love, like, and believe on Jesus I hope and believe Jesus was near. But in all honestly I had a hard time seeing him and his kingdom while Duncan threw up in a bedpan. it was a hard day.