Nehara’s
tears and triumphs
By Dilrukshi Handunnetti
I never thought my tears would stop. I have cried for years and
months and days, unable to understand why there were so many trials in
my young life. My tears cease only when I work. I have suffered so much
that for me, suffering symbolises life. Yet, as the darkest night
discovers its own light, I too have discovered mine.
I am a poor woman, and you cannot imagine how poor I am. I come from
the Trincomalee District; to be precise, from Muttur. I came from a
humble home where poverty was a way of life. Fate was truly unkind,
piling up misfortunes one after the other on my young life.
The two things that underlined our miserable existence were poverty
and the war. Constantly hungry and in fearing for our safety, I still
dreamed that someday life might give me a change. Just once.
We were so poor that we hardly could afford two meals a day. Then,
fate struck an unfortunate blow and both my parents were killed in the
2004 tsunami. I was so devastated. The tsunami also brought my schooling
to an end. I had just sat the GCE O/L examination. But now, I was
required to pick up after my dead mother.
After the tsunami, we fell from the frying pan to the fire. We had no
bread winner. I had two brothers and I was determined somehow to toil
and educate them. I wanted to be their substitute mother. We did not
have money to eat. Still, I wanted my brothers to go to school and
study. I still wanted them to have a better life than I was going to
have. I had big dreams.
To earn a living, I took up small job at a nearby place. It also
helped me to keep an eye on my brothers and to be available for them if
they ever needed me. I simply lived for them and my only wish was to see
them through their education and make them stand on their feet.
One day, my aunt –my mother’s elder sister – came to see me. She kept
saying that I should consider getting married and have a life of my own.
She said that it was imprudent to focus on my siblings alone but that I
should make a life of my own. I refused. I kept telling her that I
wanted no marriage and my brothers were my life. The only future I
wanted was with them.
But she insisted and soon, other family members joined in. Finally, I
agreed to get married. My cousin, who has worked in the Middle East for
nearly 15 years, was introduced to me as my future husband. He was in
Sri Lanka at the time and was due to return to the Middle East in six
months.
I was not overjoyed but I thought I should follow their advice. It
seemed like a practical thing to do, especially as my relatives kept
saying that I could help my family better with the support of a husband.
About three months later, we were legally married. Three days in to
the marriage, my new husband had a severe headache. He was bathed in
sweat and was in pain. He had his own medicine and swallowed some pills,
assuring me that it was nothing serious. In the next few days, his
headaches increased and no matter how much I begged, he would not agree
to see a doctor. He kept saying that it was due to the intense work he
did.
Pregnant
I was three months pregnant when my husband returned to the host
country to resume work. He was in touch with me for a couple of months
and suddenly there was deafening silence. I could not reach him. I kept
calling but his number was always switched off. I felt desperate to
reach him so I informed his mother, who kept pacifying me that he must
be busy at work. He never called.
When my child was born, I tried to contact him again. I just wanted
to him to know that we were parents to this lovely son. I kept trying to
reach him though my heart said that he no longer wanted me.
Once again, I was alone with nobody to help. I used to weep for hours
and ask myself as to why fate was so unkind to me. Once again, I was
forced to pick up the threads of my life.
This time, with a kid.
I
didn’t wish to bother my brothers who were already having a life of
their own. I equally divided the one asset I had – a small plot of land
in Muttur – my parting gifts to my brothers. I was still 16 years of age
– still underage to do a lot of things in life. My misery knew no end.
“I travelled with my infant son to Kandy and sought help to go
overseas. I wanted a passport and I was determined to trace my husband.
I wanted him to see our innocent son and to become a family, at last.
But my story is stranger than fiction and more tragic than many you
may know of. I was determined to locate my husband and if not, to find
work overseas to support my child. My relatives were not forthcoming, so
I selected someone else who took pity on my ruined young life and
offered to take care of my son. Due to my youth, I knew I was not
eligible for a work permit. Fortunately, I had a cousin, also named
Nehara. She was much older to me. I took her certificates and made a set
of documents, to be handed over to my recruitment agency.
By then, I was beginning to feel giddy and sweat more than usual.
Anyway, I was required to get some medical tests and the reports were to
reach the agency. I was eagerly waiting for their call. This was to be
my last chance to resume life.
Finally, I had a call from Colombo. I was overjoyed about the
prospect of finally being able to fly. But when I reached them, what
they had to tell me broke my heart.
Nothing could reverse the pain that I suffered that day.
I swore upon my son, wept and wailed that I was no woman who changed
partners. I wept as if my heart would break. How can one woman bear so
much of pain?
So many trials and no peace?
Does misfortune only trail me?
I was told that I was HIV positive.
HIV positive?
Me?
No, never, I said.
I said that I have never had casual relationships and the only man I
knew and that too briefly, was my husband. Even in my misery, I could
see the innocent eyes of my son. I had to be there for him; take care of
him. So I asked them what the next steps were. How I could protect my
son.
The next day, I repeated my blood test. Yes, I was HIV positive.
For a woman like me, what does that mean? It meant the end of the
world. But my little son needed at least his mother.
I met my doctors and showed the medication my husband had with him. I
don’t know whether he knew he was infected or not. Perhaps he was simply
given the medication without an explanation.
Another six months later, a friend of my husband sent a letter saying
that my husband had died. There was no explanation as to the cause of
his death. When we checked with the authorities, we were told that his
body was sealed and was not being sent back home.
By this time, I had nowhere to go; nobody to turn to. I was sleeping
on the road and could not even give a bit of water to my son. I stopped
lactating, fearing for his health.
My mother- in- law did not make it easy. She repeatedly accused me of
being responsible for bringing misfortune upon her son and called me a
cursed woman. She even accused me of giving birth to another man’s
child. All my protests and pleas fell on deaf ears.
To her, I was wrong; I was unfortunate; I was immoral.
Mother’s duty
How can I stay in such a hostile environment with not even a kind
word? I suffered the kind of humiliation many women never experience.
Whenever my courage failed, I would tell myself that I had a son and a
duty to perform.
While travelling to Kandy in search of work, (because looking for
work in my own village was not helping the situation), the police picked
me and kept me in the police custody for three days. I kept trying to
convince them that I was not a sex worker but a distraught mother
struggling to bring up my child somehow. It was also the fasting period
and I fainted when I was produced in court. Finally, I was set free as
police had no evidence.
It was thereafter that the organisation named Sri Lanka Plus came to
my rescue. With their help and encouragement, I was determined to go
back to Kandy and resume life with a small job. Whatever that worked.
Nehara, narrating her story at the SLPI |
The organisation had some unique people. They consistently encouraged
me to undergo counselling and strengthen myself to prepare for the
future challenges.
In Nainamadu, at a special clinic, I underwent training on living
with HIV. All participants were eager to know how we could face this new
challenge. I had the most wonderful doctors helping me understand how to
cope with my HIV status.
The first few days’ medication proved difficult. I used to sweat, get
cramps and feel faintish. I was still trying to accept the fact that I
should be on medication for the rest of my life. The local Mosque
thought I should remarry, now that I was back in Kandy, had a small job
and began renting out a small place. I was told I needed to be taken
care of.
But I knew my truth. I also wanted no other man in my life. My only
goal in life was to raise my son – without HIV.
Today, thanks to the support I have received, my child is a Year II
student at an international school. I continue to work and volunteer my
time for the organisation that gave me a new lease in life.
When I started, I had nothing. But now I feel I have something.
When I share my story – though a sad unfortunate one – I feel a
weight being lifted off me. And I know there is a message for others. I
often tell women not to marry unknown men, especially when they come
from elsewhere and you have no way of checking their past. I tell them
that medical screening is must before taking the plunge. I invite them
to take precautions and not to ruin their lives because they failed to
ask some critical questions. I tell them to be courageous.
My child is now in school. That’s what matters the most to me. I get
free medicine from the government hospital and I have some of the nicest
doctors treating me. Eight years after discovering that I was HIV
positive, I have a future. We as a family have a future. I feel
fortunate.
Of course, I still cry. Often I feel I have been tested too many
times. But I also smile. I smile the most when people empathize. I smile
when they show me they care. I smile when I feel that my message might
change their lives forever. At such times, I even feel blessed.
Nehara, who is also a peer educator, was a speaker at a workshop
titled ‘HIV and the Migrants of Sri Lanka’ held on 13 January 2016. It
was organised by the Sri Lanka Press Institute (SLPI) in collaboration
with the Ministry of Health and UNAIDS.
The program was designed to encourage journalists to understand facts
about HIV and to discuss ways of combating stigma. |