When my family lived in South Africa, we became friends with Cliff. He's the long-time gardener of our good friends for whom we house-sat for several weeks.
Cliff is a man who is in his 50s or 60. (Reaching this age is a feat in South Africa, because the average life expectancy is 54.) He's Xhosa, which is the same proud tribe to which Nelson Mandela belongs.
I was playing with my kid in the courtyard one sunny morning. Cliff was gathering his tools and he was admiring my son, who was nine months at the time. Cliff had the same gentle look any proud father or grandfather would have gazing upon their children.
"Cliff, do you have any children?" I asked.
"I had three, but two have died."
In South Africa there's a strong likelihood that you know somebody who's affected by HIV/AIDS. According the UNAIDS 2007 AIDS Epidemic Update released this week, it's the country with the most HIV infections in the world. The country's government estimates that 1 out of 10 South Africans is infected.
In all of my Canadian earnestness, I couldn't bring myself to ask how Cliff lost his two children. In the light of the morning sun, it was a subject too private to broach. Too personal, too sad, too filled with stigma and taboo.
We connected on some level as fathers, and his silence spoke volumes of his sadness, the same sadness suffered by many in the world.
