Amanda Esterhuizen
The thought of HIV/AIDS brings with it feelings of fear and images of sickness and isolation. It’s a disease that always belongs to someone else. Or so I thought, until that life-changing phone call, one cold winter’s morning in July 2000. I was alone at work and the voice on the other end of the line was the ex-wife of a former boyfriend of mine. She was solemn, her question urgent: “Have yourself tested for HIV” My world was thrown into disarray. I could only listen as she told me that her ex had died of an AIDS related illness, and that she wanted me to know, because she thought I needed to go for the test. I was distraught and disillusioned: “How could he have done this to me?” Then I clearly remembered that she had warned me once before, but I had ignored her words because I thought that she ...
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