Actor and humanitarian Ashley Judd, board member of Population Services International (PSI) and Global Ambassador for YouthAIDS, will be writing posts for the ONE Blog during her March 2007 travels through India. During the trip, Ashley will address women’s issues, and have the opportunity to discover how families can be empowered to protect themselves against HIV/AIDS and unintended pregnancies.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Nothing I’ve done or seen could have prepared me for what happened next. I emerged from the car to face a tiny, dark tunnel that began between two shanties which were actually exposed entirely at the front. The tunnel, about 18″ wide and less than 6′ tall, was entirely black – no light at all. The uneven cement was wet from an unseen water source. I hunched down, let my eyes adjust, and held that hand of 16 year old, Nasreen, who escorted me into the reality of this “housing” compound that accommodates 10,000 people. It twisted and turned unexpectedly, I never got my bearings. Noise was all around, the sounds of people living…conversations, a t.v. (there is more jerry rigged electric around here, it’s amazing none of it goes on fire), and children squealing. The children, who had been at the car when I arrived, would crazily appear in cracks along our way that were so small I hadn’t thought they were passageways. Yet, from floor to ceiling the slim, dark space would impossibly fill with faces.

Eventually, Nasreen and I arrived at a wooden ladder, which we climbed up into the 2 tiny rooms she shares with her HIV+ mother, Kausar, and her brother. Incredibly, this is a double decker affair, one stacked on top of the other. I was pretty much speechless…there are no words. One truly has to see it to grasp what I am vaguely intimating.

When Kausar found out she was HIV+ in the 1999, the doctor said, “There are drugs, you cannot afford, them, and you’ll be dead in 5 minutes anyway.” Indignant, she ripped her test result paper in half and slapped him across the face. He pressed charges. In court, she spoke on her own behalf. The judge saw things her way, and demanded the doctor pay her a small fee in damages. Hence, a spit fire of an HIV activist was born. Kausur works for PSI and escorts other HIV+ patients as they go to doctors, receive care, etc. She has a fierce innate sense of justice.

During hard times, Nasreen scrounged for her family to stay alive. She begged. She worked. Eventually, she herself went so hungry, a teacher finally reached out to her, learned her story, and personally gave her money for food. Nasreen wants to be a doctor. Although quiet and respectful, she is a teen, and became a little bored with her mother’s story telling. The impatient sighs gave her away. (It was really cute.)

Remarkably, when I asked Kausar if she has discussed sex education with Nasreen, the answer was no. I boldly initiated the dialogue right then and there and challenged Kausar: You know she’s going to learn somewhere. Do you prefer she learn from her friends or you? Can you control or influence what her friends say, if what they tell her is even accurate? Do you want to shape her values and decision making? Do you know if men approach her? Nasreen, are boys flirting with you? (Yes.) Would you rather learn from your Mummy? Do you want to ask her first, or would you feel better if she brought it up? (The latter.)

It was a good visit. Kausar is a pistol. She has so very, very little and gives entirely of herself. She has a very charismatic faith in God and credits God for her strength. Where we sat, surrounded by corrugated tin walls covered with newspaper for a spiffed up look (flour and water is the paste that holds it together, a chore of Nasreen’s), which is also where they sleep, live, everything. The other room, even tinier, is where they use hauled in water (up that ladder??) for bathing, and they have a tiny kerosene lamp for cooking. We went over their diet; it is very modest (bread and chai for breakfast, vegetables the rest of day, very little protein), but they get by and they don’t go too hungry much of the time.

I came to India for Nasreen.