Always listen to yourself, Peekay. It is better to be wrong than simply to follow convention. If you are wrong, no matter, you have learned something and you grow stronger. If you are right, you have taken another step toward a fulfilling life.
?ÔÇô Bryce Courtenay, The Power of One
“We hear of horrifying stories….. Sometimes it’s hard to detach yourself from the issues. Some of the stories are traumatic.”
Uyapo Ndadi is talking about his work at the helm of Botswana Network on Ethics, Law and HIV/AIDS (BONELA), the NGO that advocates for mainstreaming of ethics, the law and human rights into the national HIV/AIDS response.
Just over two years after joining the organisation as its legal officer, Ndadi was made BONELA’s Executive Director earlier this year, making him one of the young and bright stars in Botswana’s civil society movement.
It’s not an idle boast when Ndadi asserts that BONELA is the difference between misery and joy for many people. You just have to go through some of the cases that have gone through his desk. There was a woman who was given a wrong diagnosis, and for three years went about her life knowing that she was HIV positive. When she found out the truth, she sued for emotional distress, and the court awarded an unprecedented P150, 000 for damages. Yet another woman, fired from her job for carrying the HIV virus, had the Industrial Court order her employers to pay her an equivalent of a 13-month salary. There was a matter involving a woman whose status was maliciously disclosed by her husband’s mistress. Even there being no local precedence, Ndadi managed to persuade the High Court that this was invasion of privacy ÔÇô and damages were awarded.
He is working on a case involving suspects in police custody who were denied access to their ARV treatment. He observes that very often law enforcers behave as if they have the right to strip suspects of all rights, yet the only right they are lawfully allowed to take away is the right to movement. In one instance, police officers allegedly told a detainee that they could not fetch his drugs at Old Naledi because the place was too dangerous. Apparently, no regard was paid to the likely dire result of missing treatment ÔÇô such as developing resistance to drugs, or the suspect’s immune system being compromised.
“You wonder what they would do if they had to effect an arrest at Old Naledi if the place is that dangerous,” he quips. “Or does it mean that justice is only for people from Phakalane?”
It’s when one hears stories such as this particular incident that they wonder if the nation really has a well-coordinated HIV/AIDS intervention strategy. Look at it this way. On one hand, a government agency hands out ARV drugs and warns recipients to strictly adhere to treatment. On the other, yet another government agency ÔÇô the police ÔÇô finds nothing wrong in denying people on treatment access to prescribed drugs. For Ndadi, this is proof that the battle plan is so loose and haphazard.
“People on the ground need to know what it means (to withhold someone’s treatment),” he says. “Are we sensitizing our police officers on these issues? If we are to claim that our interventions are good, we have to have good systems in place that allow no gaps. In prison, inmates are presumed not to be having sex, while all available evidence is that they are having sex, and it’s unprotected. We are reversing gains that we had achieved. Prisoners are not confined to prison forever. Sometimes you wonder what the wisdom of this denialism is. But I must say I was heartened to hear the minister of health speaking against that denialism.”
He is, of course, referring to Minister John Seakgosing’s remarks that government should review the practice of withholding condoms from prisoners, which was read to signal a change of heart within government thinking.
While pronouncements such as Seakgosing’s promise some glimmer of hope for those who have long called for change in the nation’s HIV/AIDS response, the reality is that the ground to be covered remains far too wide. A case in point is the national HIV/AIDS lexicon. How do you fight stigma when those charged with communicating the national response still bombard the battlefield with messages such, “HIV/AIDS ke segajaja” or that, “AIDS e a bolaya”?
Ndadi points out that his organisation has long spoken to the national leadership about the need to change the wording in some of the public education messages because most only serve to invoke fear.
“Some of the messages make HIV look deadly. But we know that you can live for so long with HIV. We create this monster that people are afraid of; a monster that is out to ravage you. We don’t educate people on the dynamics of HIV, which is highly manageable than cancer and diabetes if you eat healthy, exercise and adhere to treatment. It shouldn’t be stigmatized the way it is. This type of language is reversing the gains we have made as a nation, and is driving people underground,” Ndadi says.
It is equally frustrating for him that insurance companies would not grant HIV positive applicants life cover, which is a requirement for a home loan.
“You wonder what the wisdom of that is because HIV doesn’t mean you are dying tomorrow. In any case, the house serves as the security. What it means is that people with HIV are condemned to life without shelter,” he points out.
He talks of the inconsistency in the application of the treatment programme that prevents HIV infection from mother to child. This is because children born between Batswana men and non-citizen women are excluded from the programme, while those born between Batswana women and non-citizen women are enrolled at government’s expense. He holds that the practice departs from the precedence set by the Unity Dow judgment.
“If you’re a Motswana at least they should save your baby. These are disturbing practices. Prisoners are wasting away [without treatment] because they are foreigners. They eventually become a public health hazard, and it’s tortuous to the other inmates. A government has the duty of care and protection for people in its custody. Otherwise release them to their countries,” he says. “I don’t know why government would exclude prisoners who are not citizens from ARV treatment yet there are many donors willing to fund treatment. If there is political will, then it should be possible to provide treatment. It’s not a question of resources; it’s just xenophobia. Imagine it’s you in a foreign country and you know that the country has resources.”
It took UNHCR to provide treatment outside the government programme at a private clinic in Francistown for refugees in the country. Ndadi finds the government’s attitude a contradiction in terms because, “if you offer people refuge, you’re saying you will take care of them”.
If you ask Ndadi what he makes of President Ian Khama’s pronouncement about the high cost of ARV treatment, he unhesitatingly labels it a chilling statement that should raise alarm because government is not bound to provide such medication. This is because there is no constitutional right to health.
“You can’t go to court to challenge government if it stops free provision of ARVs. That is why government and some companies used to test candidates for studies abroad for HIV before enrollment. The same thing applies to education. If government tomorrow stops free education, you can’t go to court for recourse because we have no socio-economic rights in our constitution. We only have civil and political rights. But the ones that matter most to people’s daily lives, such as the right to education, health and work are not entrenched,” he points out.
Ndadi, who has done a lot of advocacy work on the area of gay and lesbian rights, recalls that someone once confronted him, and demanded to know if he was gay.
“My response was that sometimes it’s better to be outside something to be able to articulate it. I believe in a cause,” he says.
It says a lot about some of the deep-seated prejudices that still exist, such as those based on sexuality. In 2003, the High Court and Court of Appeal ruled that Batswana are not ready for homosexuality.
“It was a far-reaching conclusion,” he acknowledges. “I don’t know how a court of appeal that entirely comprised foreigners managed to gauge the heartbeat of the nation. There was never any debate on these issues.”
He finds it baffling that if a man decides to have sex with another man, an unaffected third party should be concerned, and the law should criminalise what two consenting adults do in their privacy.
“It’s interesting how the law doesn’t criminalise adultery, but criminalises same sex that, if practised by people who are faithful to each other, is not hurtful. Inter-generational sex doesn’t look morally ok, but the law says it’s fine,” he observes. “Our marital law says there’s no rape in marriage. It is painful when a woman is raped by a husband who is HIV positive, and she is denied PEP (post exposure prophylaxis) treatment which reduces chances of HIV infection because she can’t prove that she was raped. Initially it may have been possible that there was no rape in marriage, but the reality is that now it happens. Things are different. It’s not the same as back then. There is no perpetual consent for sex.”
Even with the emotional distress that comes with this office, Ndadi maintains that he holds a dream job, not in monetary terms ÔÇô but fulfillment. It’s a far cry from the wood-paneled offices of one of the country’s top corporate law firms which he joined after law school. When he announced his decision to leave the firm, one of the partners told Ndadi that he was stupid to leave a firm of that stature.
“I felt that being in a corporate world I was detached from issues that are bread and butter to a majority of Batswana. I was not fulfilled,” he explains the decision to ditch a top firm for a small NGO. “Working here gives me great exposure on global issues that affect a majority of citizens. What also drives me is that I dispel the notion that lawyers are hell-bent on impoverishing people by making money out of people’s misery. I try to bring justice to those without means to afford lawyers. I am showing that lawyering is about making impactful changes in people’s lives to lead lives that are dignified. If there was no BONELA, where would the people we have helped gone for assistance? They have no financial means to afford legal fees that are exorbitant, and there is no legal aid in Botswana.”
