Stories from the field represent a series of remembrances from over a million miles on the road.

Hyderabad, India 2007.

I was in Hyderabad to accompany HIV outreach workers as they performed their rounds. As the sun went down and the smell of the cooking fires came up, we had one more visit to make.  Driti (name changed), the outreach worker for this area, led me down a dirt alley between two broken down houses.  She explained that we were going to a safe house for women with HIV.  We stopped before a huge black metal door with a small peep hole in the middle.  Driti knocked and we entered to a dirt courtyard with a small three room house in the back.  The compound was surrounded by ten foot walls.  Here we met Akshaya (name changed) and her two children ages 3 and 5.  I was unprepared for her story.

Akshaya sat me down on a rickety bench and began to talk.  She told me that when she was 16 she was forced into an arranged marriage to a man who was 57 years old.  As tradition dictates she went to live with her husband’s family, where she answered to her mother in law.  Her husband was a truck driver and often left for weeks at a time.  She was not allowed to leave the house except during the day for errands.  Sometime after the birth of her second child, Akshaya began to feel tired and sick. The hospital tested her for HIV.  She was positive.  Akshaya was confused. She had been faithful to her husband. Yet when he heard the news, he got angry, accusing her of bringing shame upon his household. He beat her.  Others in the household felt obligated to believe her husband story, that it was her fault.  When he tested positive for HIV he blamed his infection on Akshaya.

One night Akshaya woke up just as her husband throw a bucket full of kerosene on her and lighted the match.  Miraculously, Akshaya survived the ‘kitchen accident’ attack. She was able to enter a program that helps women in her situation.  She now gets free ARV medications and is in training to be an HIV outreach worker.  She said she planned to relocate with her children, once her training was complete.

Listening to Akshaya’s story was draining. But it was also inspiring that she now is working to support others. As we left, I asked Driti: “What happened to her husband?” Driti told me somberly, “Oh he shows up drunk at the safe house sometimes and beats on the door. He has not been prosecuted. But in two weeks Akshaya will move on.”