Name: Jermaine Myers
Year: Class of 2009
Previous Guest Blog Entries:
April 19, 2007: Journal Excerpt: A Day in the Life, click here.
December 12, 2006: You Think You Know, But You Have No Idea, click here.
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July 14: Today, at Sinikithemba (“We Bring Hope”) HIV Clinic, I saw a girl. She looked not much older than me. She had HIV. It seemed as if the disease had progressed into AIDS, for some of the mostly Xhosa and Zulu patients of Sinikithemba can only afford to take the trek from their homes once the virus has run it course. As I prepared to leave the Clinic, after a morning of shadowing Dr. H, one of the many great doctors at the antiretroviral clinic, she shuffled past me. Emaciated, back bent, for a transitory moment, she looked me directly in the eyes, and I thought I was looking at an older woman. Like all of the people visiting Sinikithemba today, she must have come for her antiretroviral medications. If her experience is at all like the patients seen by Dr. H, she would have been asked about her general health, about any concerns she had, about her adherence to her drug regimen. Then, after a brief cervical exam, her doctor would have prescribed another batch of ARVs. South African doctors (the ones I’ve met so far at least) are so kind, and you can tell they have a genuine interests in their patients’ well-being. Surprisingly, the nurses are given so much more respect than I’ve seen in any American hospital. Maybe this is something Americans can learn from S.A. I am continually learning about South African culture, and the people from McCord Hospital are wonderful.
My journey to Durban, South Africa and to the courtyard of Sinikithemba Clinic began almost a year ago. As the semester waned before my eyes, with Thanksgiving looming ahead, I was hard at work on my application for the Minority Global Health Disparities Research Training (MHIRT) Program. And with only minutes to spare before the application I had worked so diligently on would mean nothing, I ran to the office of the MHIRT liaison, turned my application in, and began to wait.
Flash-forward to Intersession. While visiting my aunts, uncles, cousins and
friends in Jamaica, my mother called and told me the great news. I had received a letter. From Hopkins. The School of Nursing. (Open it! Open it!). I had been chosen to go to Durban? South Africa? After doing a lot of explaining (I hadn’t yet told my mother that I had applied for the MHIRT Program), it really dawned on me that I was finally going to Africa. There were two places in the world I wanted to go (on my “check-list-of-things-to-do-before-you-die-type-list”), and Africa was one of them.
Aimed at stemming global health disparities—from HIV/AIDS in South Africa to cardiovascular health in Seoul, Korea—the MHIRT Program is funded by the National Institutes of Health, National Center on Minority Health and Health Disparities, and the Fogarty International Center. The most amazing part of this already amazing program, however, is that it is a collaborative effort between seven institutions–the Johns Hopkins University School of Nursing, JHU School of Medicine, Krieger School of Arts and Sciences, the Bloomberg School of Public Health, Winston-Salem University, North
Carolina A&T State University and the Leadership Alliance at Brown University. Thus, during the MHIRT program’s week-long orientation at the end of May, I was able to meet individuals, all of whom were older than me, and who had diverse backgrounds in health disparities work. Some were medical students, others were PhD candidates, and still others were soon-to-be graduates of nursing school. And then, then there was me: an undergraduate who really had no clue what he was getting himself into. In fact, although I thought I knew what “health disparities” entailed, before going to South Africa and seeing the healthcare system of that country in action, before standing in that courtyard at Sinikithemba Clinic, and before visiting the various Centres for AIDS Programme of Research in South Africa (CAPRISA), my myopic view of the world and of healthcare delivery had not quite prepared me for my experiences abroad.
After the blur of Spring semester–and after being vaccinated for Polio,
Typhoid, Hepatitis A, Hepatitis B, and given way too much anti-malaria medications—I said goodbye to my family, and headed off to the Land of the Zulu, and former homeland of South Africa’s largest native populations, KwaZulu-Natal. Although all of the MHIRT participants were briefed on what to expect once we arrived in our host countries, I truly had no idea what lay ahead. From Ft. Lauderdale to Atlanta, I met up with the other MHIRT participants going to South Africa for our late-night flight to Johannesburg. The journey to our stop-over in Dakar, Senegal seemed like an eternity (I had never flown for sixteen hours before!).
After arriving in Johannesburg, the two groups separated—the two older nursing students went off to (gorgeous) Cape Town and I, and another undergraduate student (from Brown University) took a flight to Durban, the sea-side resort in the shadows
of what was once the Zulu Empire. It didn’t really dawn on me that I was in South Africa, that I was in Africa(!), until I heard the first words of IsiZulu and isiXhosa being spoken around me, the clicks of Xhosans catching my attention. Sawubona? Uphila njani? Ngikhona. Wena unjani? And while many of the people I met during those first days knew I was “the visiting American student,” I was kind of proud that a few mistook me for a Zulu Warrior.
As I peeped through the window of my sixth floor apartment my first full
morning in South Africa, I knew what my friends meant when they say the country is breath-taking. As I prepared for my first trek up the hill to the University of KwaZulu-Natal (where I worked), South Africa did not seem all that different (not outwardly at least) from Baltimore. Instead of the scenes one often sees on television, Durban (eThekwini) was quite affluent; there were high-rises, sky-scrapers in the city centre, and this former Zulu stomping-ground definitely lived up to its name of being a hub for tourists during the summer months. (That reminds me—since S.A. is located in the Southern Hemisphere, it was actually winter when we arrived in June. Sometimes, it surprisingly got pretty cold. But I was prepared).
I felt at home. I was enaba. My research mentor, Dr. Busisiwe Ncama of the UKZN School of Nursing, was preparing to start her study on the benefits of
integrating HIV-testing services into STI clinic protocols, using the Prince Cyril Zulu Clinic in Durban’s teeming City Centre. And, with her generosity and assistance, I was able to complete preliminary work on the barriers to HIV-testing among people our age (adolescents and those in their early twenties). With one of the world’s highest prevalence rates for HIV-infection, and with countless men, women and children dying each day from AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa, I was initially flabbergasted by the numbers I began to find. 33.2 million living with HIV in 2007. 420,000 children under the age of 15 newly-infected. 5% of the sub-Saharan adult population (vs. a still whopping .6% in North America) living with HIV.
Why are people in the developing world dying at a disproportionate rate from these infectious diseases? Why is the rate of tuberculosis resistance so high in countries like these? What factors are contributing to the demise of the Zulu Nation, in South Africa, and innumerable other peoples around the
globe? Even after spending 10 weeks in the heart of Africa, even after visiting research centers at the frontlines of the war on AIDS and TB, even after listening to those most afflicted (those infected themselves, and the family members who take care of them) I still do not have a complete answer to these questions. I could posit that stigma and discrimination are a major factor. But, if I have not learned anything else during my stay in S.A, it is that to make assumptions is unwise. America, however, could go a long way with South Africa’s expression of ubuntu (compassion/humanity) and their belief in dignity and respect, ideas that are easily translated across borders.
August 28: Participating in MHIRT has most definitely been a turning point. Where else but Hopkins could I have gotten an opportunity (especially as an undergraduate) to participate in such ground-breaking work. Now, as I pack to go back to JHU, as I think about the past summer, I can’t help buy be excited for what’s to come.