Please read it - Any comments (No matter how abusive) are very very welcome!
I was 12 years old when my single most influential figure entered my life. He was not a politician or a leader, he was not lawyer or a doctor, he was not a scientist or a clergyman, he was a gardener. To be more specific he was my gardener – seemingly the ordinary kind that one may find in Botswana; nothing unusual or unique was apparent when I first met Wilfred Chiyabane.
At first I was hesitant. Previous gardeners had been impatient and tiresome often getting agitated with me when I would try to start conversation. This time, though, I had a feeling. So I took the risk and began trying to get to know our newest member of staff. The catalyst for Wilfred’s influence in my life was a sickly tree that we had to replant on a Saturday. Working together, digging the hole, we soon got into conversation about current affairs and put down the shovels to talk more in the shade. This brief stint of dialogue was quickly ended by my mother but it served as the barrier breaker from which the foundation of our relationship would flood out and through odd jobs that I assisted Wilfred with during my school holidays our relationship grew and I saw a new side to this man. He was very eloquent, in his own right, and possessed an almost miraculous ability to nurture and grow, proving all that his resume had boasted. Our garden had never witnessed such talent and care at the hands of previous gardeners, amateurs and ‘professionals’ alike, and it was soon blossoming in a way that my family had never thought possible. Wilfred quickly became a part of the family and a man whom my parents acknowledged with utmost respect and held in high regards. Some of my fondest memories are of gardening with Wilfred, where I would spend countless afternoons by his side assisting him and infatuated with the conversation we would have. Such talk was not only horticultural and he found in himself an educator as he sought to teach me African politics and culture.
Our bond became very strong over the next three years, almost brotherly, as we shared our hobbies and interests. I was therefore inconceivably devastated upon hearing the news that he had passed away during the last school term. It was the third term of my grade 10 year and, coupled with a declining academic standard, my life was now at a serious low.
My mother informed me that Wilfred was HIV positive and had died of an AIDS related disease. My mind struggled with this, how could it be possible?
I couldn’t get used to life at home without Wilfred and I mourned the loss of a great friend. I was shocked and even horrified to see such a fleeting life and it saddened me to acknowledge that so much talent, potential and goodness had been destroyed so soon and so suddenly. I quickly realized what this epidemic was doing to my country. There was so much wasted ability and talent everywhere as this godforsaken virus took the lives of the great minds and people of this country. It was through this misfortune that I became aware of what a problem this virus really is and how it is killing my country. I now understand that without urgent assistance and action the place that I call home could die and most foreigners who never met Wilfred Chiyabane will never shed a tear.