Live,Love,Forgive and Forget—Chronicles in the Life of a Man Joseph

By Dr. Indres Lingoomiah

The book looks at the trials and tribulations of a family whose lives have been altered by crime, drugs, infidelity, rape, and HIV but eventually cope with their challenges. HIV is here to stay, and we as people need to cope and deal with this problem. Treatment is effective when taken, so testing is vital for a healthy brighter future. People with HIV can live normal lives, study, become anything they wish, and even have children under the right conditions.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Africa
• Release date: Nov 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781482804515

Dr. Indres Lingoomiah

I am a medical doctor and am faced with the challenges of HIV and its effects on its victims and families. This is a highly manageable disease, allowing people to live healthy and comfortable lives.

Book preview

Live,Love,Forgive and Forget

—Chronicles in the Life of a Man Joseph

Dr. Indres Lingoomiah

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Copyright © 2014 by Dr. Indres Lingoomiah.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/africa

Contents

Dedication

Preface

Please Note

Birth Of A Son

Hanging On A Thread

Justice Served

Disclosure

Broken Promises

Strength Within A Child

Joseph’s Evasion

Shiridza’s Revelation

Winter Of Discontent

Hidden Secrets

Unveiling Moses And Shiridza

Thabo’s Confession

Loss Of Innocence

Body Of Agony

The Promise

Crime Scene

Consulting With Gugu

Palesa – Champion For The Weak

Joseph’s Confession

Joseph’s Courage

The Test

The Necklace

Bushy’s Fate

Breaking The Chains Of Silence

Bushy’s Incarceration

Confirmation

Finding Shiridza

Joseph’s Promotion

Initiation Of Medicine

Confessions Of Love

Appreciation

Meeting Shiridza

Palesa’s Envenomation

Glossary/Acronyms

Dedication

A ll incidents and characters portrayed in this work are of a fictitious nature. The names of characters are fictitious and do not represent anyone in reality. My experience and association with people living and fighting HIV and AIDS reflect much of the book. HIV is not a life sentence and can be effectively treated. The key to this is honesty, monogamy, and regular testing. Rape and child abuse are heinous crimes and must be exposed. God created many people, some to suffer and some to prosper, but all in all, he loves everyone. This book is dedicated to people suffering and living with HIV and to all those men, women, and children that have been affected by HIV directly or indirectly.

Preface

T he novel, ‘Love, live, forgive and forget – Chronicles in the life of a man Joseph’, is a completely fictional novel but has been inspired by the day–to-day events in my life as I treat HIV victims, their families and friends. I am a medical doctor practicing general medicine and have the fortunate task of treating and dealing with many people from a multitude of spheres. People in general are a unique species, and in my experience, I have realised that no disease or malignancy chooses a person and neither can it control a being, but every disease process no matter how fatal, can be managed in the best way possible. The novel is based on a man’s struggle to cope with his affliction, but who at the same time is plagued by adversities that challenge his family and friends.

HIV has always been seen as a dreaded disease, with fatal consequences, but this is a misnomer, because with vigilant testing, monitoring, and the taking of treatment, each and every infected individual can lead a healthy and very productive life. Each and every person has the right to live, the right to be respected and not be judged by one’s past, but at the same time one must be responsible for one’s actions.

This book includes factual evidence about HIV, its mode of spread, stages of disease, its management, and the complications arising from its treatment. HIV is a disease which is here to stay, and doctors and scientists are arduously working to find a cure and possibly a vaccine, but we need to be patient and have faith, taking special precautions to reduce its spread.

The novel touches on the heinous crime of rape and the disastrous effect it has on its victims and families. This type of assault is absolutely unnecessary and warrants much stiffer forms of punishment to the perpetrators.

I dedicate this novel to my loving wife, son, and daughter, for their unwavering support during the time I wrote this novel. It was time-consuming but an absolute delight to write this book.

A final dedication goes out to all people whose lives have been affected by HIV, directly and indirectly. Every person who is affected by this disease is still a human, one who has dignity and one who certainly deserves respect …

Please Note

T he names used in the book are completely fictional and does not reflect on anyone I know, and if any inconvenience was created by the use of these names, then I as the writer apologise as this was entirely unintentional.

BIRTH OF A SON

J acob was his name. He was born on 11 August 1999. He was born into a free and democratic South Africa. Jacob was to symbolise everything that was free and pure. His birth was premature, ill-timed, but was to change the lives of everyone around him directly and indirectly.

He was born to Sophie and Joseph Vadha in a township called Wattville, a little settlement in Benoni on the East Rand. Jacob was one of three other siblings living in a tiny little makeshift shack in an area of Wattville called Silver town. He was the only male born to Sophie among three other girls; his sister Palesa was already twelve, Winnie was four, and Tess had been born the previous year. Joseph was a descendant of the great Venda tribe in the Limpopo Province in the township of Apiesboom. Limpopo is a province with great scenic landscape, fascinating cultural heritage, abundance of natural resources, and wealth of natural animal and plant life, but sadly there was and still is a drought in the open job market. Joseph took his heavily gravid wife carrying their fourth and only male heir to Gauteng in search of a brighter and better future. Joseph loved his family home and felt that he was pushed away from his home to create a better future for his new family.

Joseph was a strong man, protective, amorous at best but boisterous when inebriated. His love for the precious liquid in the green bottle often led him into trouble. This seldom happened in the week but it was the weekend that led Joseph astray. As he was away from home there was not much family control as could be asserted by his elders in Limpopo. It was often after receiving his weekly wages from Mr. Naidoo at the local steel factory that he would disappear on a Friday evening only to return in the early hours of Monday morning. He would reek of alcohol, nauseating sweat, and most of all, the pungent smell of sweet perfume that contaminated his body as he consumed his manly lust with the wretched ladies of the night. He was in general a good man, with a towering soul and a genuine love towards his family but his downfall was his consumption of poisonous alcohol and his infatuation with women. These malignant habits were to erode the very being of his soul. His cancerous ways were malicious and callous undermining his culture, children, place of employment but most of all his ever-supporting wife, Sophie.

I am Jabulane Msimango, uncle to Sophie. I was forced to become involved with this tragic, bitter, sad family due to my blood ties to Sophie. Sophie had always been a beautiful and respectable young lady. She left her home with Joseph in search for employment and a better place to live. This decision proved to be a bittersweet end for Sophie and a life-altering experience for her tiny offspring.

It was on 1 August 1999 when Sophie approached me one evening. ‘Tata, Joseph is gone again. He has not been home since Friday. We have no food and I am so far pregnant that I cannot look for work. I am due in the next week and I think that I must go home (Limpopo) or we shall die here.’

‘This is impossible, my child. You cannot travel, and Mama Mokete (my wife) will not allow this. Don’t worry. We will take care of you. I will look for Joseph and tia sak Boelale hene (I will kill him) if I get my hands on him. He is a lazy, irresponsible scoundrel, enjoying himself without a care in the world.’

I knew that attempts to find Joseph would be futile as he would be in some dump, drunk as a lord, stuck to some bloodsucking tramp. Shocking news of Joseph’s escapades had arrived on 3 August.

The devil did not arrive home nor did he pitch in at work. This behaviour was not that of Joseph’s; he was a villain poisoned with lust and alcohol but he was afraid of Mr Naidoo. Mr Naidoo, for whom he had worked for three years, came past our shack built with steel and wood; his eyes were full of tears as he saw Sophie heavily pregnant and abandoned. Sophie looked as though she was about to pop and on seeing the boss, she was apprehensive, afraid; what was she to do? She had no clue as to why he was there, but Joseph must have got himself into trouble, serious trouble, she thought.

‘Sophie, Joseph was arrested last night. I’m sorry. He is in Actonville prison and has been charged for murder,’ uttered Mr Naidoo.

‘What? Why, sir, what did Joseph do?’ begged Sophie, with tears in her eyes.

‘He had allegedly in a drunken fight stabbed Mr Pinto Khumalo over a certain lady. I’m not exactly sure,’ answered Mr Naidoo.

‘Stabbed someone you say, drunk, and over a lady. Who are these people? What was he doing there?’ begged Sophie.

‘I do not know, my dear. I received a call from Joseph this morning when I was called to the police station,’ answered Mr Naidoo.

Sophie was obviously traumatised at this news and broke down into tears. Sophie fell back with a tantrum of anger and within a split second she had ruptured her membranes and entered active-phase labour. The profound stress had brought upon the preterm premature rupture of membranes. An ambulance was summoned and she was taken to hospital after three hours of gruelling, painful, obstructed labour. She was informed that her unborn child was in severe distress, necessitating an urgent caesarian section. Sophie had slowly drifted into a hypotensive coma after losing more than 50 per cent of her blood volume. Tears rolled painfully from her eyes as she clutched for her survival and that of her unborn child. Her breathing became shallower and shallower, her eyes began to roll, and her skin turned as pale as a sheet, then suddenly her body jerked with an uncontrollable fit. Blood oozed from her mouth as she clenched her jaw. Sophie was now totally unconscious, bleeding and almost dead. It was her eyes that drew my attention, bulging as if they were in pain, glazed with dilated pupils and non-responsive. The pain appeared unrelenting, a woman betrayed by a husband who was to protect and defend her. Where was Joseph? He should be here holding her hand and lending the support that she desperately needed. Like a flash of lightning, a gleaming scalpel blade appeared in the hands of the attending obstetrician and like the hands of God, appeared the infant from the limp and lifeless body, later to be called Jacob.

Cardiopulmonary resuscitation was applied to both mother and child. Everyone was busy trying to save an apparently helpless situation. Jacob and his mom, Sophie, were both rushed to the intensive care unit while I waited helplessly in anticipation of a miracle. What was to happen to Sophie? What was to happen to her almost lifeless newborn who had had no love or chance at life? What was to happen to Joseph in jail and his three destitute daughters all alone at home? What type of punishment was this?

Maybe this was the will from a force from high above. I honestly felt that there was an evil spirit destined to derail this family looking for hope in a hopeless world. I prayed and prayed. ‘Oh Lord, please help this destroyed family. They certainly can take no more!’ I cried. I begged and prayed that Joseph would at least make his appearance, if only to say goodbye to his dying wife and helpless infant.

HANGING ON A THREAD

I stood in the waiting area of the recovery room hoping for some good news, but nothing came. Minutes turned to hours and then I was told to go home and return the next day as visiting hours were over and no one except hospital personnel and patients were allowed on the premises.

‘Nurse, please tell me how is the Mama (mother) and Ngani (baby)? Are they okay? Are they alive? Are they getting better?’ I begged the nurse for an answer.

She looked at me without any feeling or concern. ‘I don’t know sir. I only came on duty now. You must come back tomorrow. You are not allowed here. Please go home and don’t disturb me. We are very busy.’

I turned around and with a solemn tear in my eye I turned to the exit. As I was about to open the door, it flung open and, like a rabid dog, in appeared Joseph. With the help of his employer he had been released on bail. His eyes were full of tears, angry, bright, constricted pupils agitated and yet appeared disappointed with himself. He looked at me as if he were asking for forgiveness. There was no forgiveness for an inconsiderate animal like Joseph from me.

‘Malume (uncle), I’m sorry. Where is my Sophie? Where is my son? I’m sorry that I was not here. Please tell me that they are safe and well,’ cried Joseph.

‘My son, all is not well. Both are desperately fighting for their dear lives, hanging on a thread. It does not look good and we are not allowed to be here as it is late. We will return tomorrow,’ I advised Joseph.

‘No!’ Joseph retorted. ‘I must see my blood. I must see what pain I have entrusted onto my loving Sophie. She is innocent. She must not suffer,’ cried Joseph in desperation.

Joseph clutched his hands over his face; his wrists were cut open were deep gashes probably from the handcuffs of the police, his fingers were torn open as if he was defending himself from a wolf (probably during a fight), and his fingers were burnt to the bone probably from cigarettes burns during the police investigation. Within minutes, a group of heavily armed security guards escorted us out of the hospital. We were reassured that if the condition of our loved ones were to deteriorate, we would be informed promptly at night.

We caught a taxi from the hospital back to my home. It was already 10 p.m. and Joseph’s three daughters had already been fed and were in bed under the supervision of my wife. Joseph entered the room like a man beaten to the core and cried with his kids until every ounce of sorrow was out of him, but this could not alleviate his pain. He was confused, lost, and he had betrayed his loving Sophie. He refused to eat, he could not relax, and finally like the rabid dog he was, he left to roam the streets for his lifeline, alcohol.

He returned early that morning reeking of Umqomboti (Sorghum beer) and insisted that we return to the hospital. He was not in a condition to do so but he was the father to his child and so had his rights. He was due to be in court at 2 p.m. that afternoon for the murder of a man. He was probably guilty too, as in his drunken stupor he could even take out the devil.

We returned to the hospital. Jacob was on a ventilator but stable; Sophie was unconscious and in a precarious state of health. We were allowed to visit both mother and infant but only for a few minutes. As we entered the neonatal intensive care unit, I could spot Jacob immediately; there was a frenzy of doctors and nurses about him. They were working incessantly without a pause; the child was obviously very ill. As I looked at Jacob, it was his eyes and tiny fingers that caught my attention. His hands were drizzled with intravenous lines, and his fingers were stringy and blue with cyanosis. His fingers appeared lifeless with no motion or even sensation to pain. His eyes were open, glazed, and as yellow as gold with jaundice. He had a doll’s eye appearance, lifeless and unresponsive. Was this a child or glorified corpse on his passage forward? Under the supervision of helpless doctors, Joseph stood with tears in his eyes and like a blow of death he was called aside by one of the senior doctors.

‘Your son is very ill. His lungs are not working well and due to the poor oxygenation he most likely may be blind and brain-damaged. We will give him another twenty-four hours before we decide to switch off the ventilator. I’m sorry, sir,’ advised the doctor.

‘What is the cause