The following diary entries were created by the members of our group: Carly, Lindsay, Alex, Jessica, and Bailey. They are fictional stories that we created based on the information that we have gathered on how AIDS affects children from the stories that we have read and from a non-fictional movie we watched. This movie was called Living with slim and it was directed by Sam Kauffman.

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Dear Diary,

This morning, I woke up to another day. The same day. Over, and over. Nothing has changed since Mother died. She died of AIDS probably around 2 years ago. I was really sad when that happened, considering I was 10 years old, but it hit my big sissy a lot harder than it hit me. My sissy was 13 when it happened and Mother was trying to teach Sissy how to take over the role as the mother. Sissy had just started to get the feel of being the cleaner, chef, role model, protector, etc. When Mother died an unexpected death, Father was so broken up and sad that his life just became splat. He thought that without his beloved wife, that there was no reason to lead a happy life with the rest of the family. Now that sissy has moved on from the death, she has taken a little more responsibility and became the new 'mother'. Sissy used to be the happiest person I know, but now, she can't even find the happiness in anything.

Today, I went to see the doctor. His office was really far away, so we had to walk for 5 or 6 hours. He tested me for a lot of diseases, one of which was HIV. When he came back from looking at the test results, he said that he had some good news, and some bad news. Sissy was HIV negative, which means that she doesn't have AIDS, but I, the little 12 year old sister, was HIV positive. I stood there for at least 10 minutes after he told me. I couldn't believe it. He said that it's not as if it's rare where we are for kids to have AIDS, but it's still a really bad thing. I think I'll be okay. I'm not sure if I should be worried, or sad, or scared, but I'm not any of those. I have to go now, Father is calling me to go fix a rip in his shirt.

Poni Tumpe, 12

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Dear Diary,

Today is was day that I didn't want to wake up . But, then again, that's how every morning is to me. Yesterday my abusive uncle kept calling me to clean the dishes, make iron his cloths, make dinner, fetch water, and on and on and on. I forgot to do the dishes and then he got his whip out, which is located in his pocket for whenever he needs it. The things that bug me about him is that he doesn't care if I die, live, or get tortured for the rest of my life. I wake up every morning feeling like I did this morning; hopeless, like there is no reason for living. After my mom died a week ago and my dad died a month or two ago, my uncle decided to take care of me. Then, right away he pulled me some twenty miles or so to the doctors office to make sure I was safe from HIV. He didn't really care if I was infected. He would probably rather me be infected, but he thinks that he can get infected just by touching someone that is HIV positive. Well, we just took our 20-mile-long-or-so trip, and as I speak, I'm waiting to see if I am HIV positive just like all of my siblings and both of my parents were. Here comes the doctor, I have to go. The expression on the doctors face doesn't look so happy. Uh-oh, it looks like the same expression he had when he came down that same hall to tell my mom bad her news. If I turn out to be HIV positive, I might never write in this diary again.....

Abeba Kagiso, 9

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Dear Diary,

This morning I had to ditch another day of school because the kids at school were still laughing at me.They don't even want to sit by me at lunch. My mom will kill me if she found out that I ditched again. I hate the fact that I have to live with AIDS and I might not have a chance to live my life how I want to, but I guess it is a part of life. Yesterday when I got home I cried a lot because mom told me that dad fell over on a sharp metal pole at his job and died. It is so hard thinking about my father dyeing so sudden and thinking about when it's going to be my turn to pass on. Now mom has to be both mother and father to my little brother and I. He is the lucky one of the family. He is the only one that is not infected with AIDS but we didn't know for sure. We will go to the doctor tomorrow and check if he has AIDS or not.

Today we went to the doctor and he tested my little brother and we were right he was HIV/AIDS negative and of course both my mother and him were jumping up and down screaming with joy, but I was just sitting there looking like I didn't care and wishing that that was me.
Today I think that I will go to school today and face my fears of walking down that hallway of laughter. I was thinking of telling everyone that I lied and I didn't have AIDS. I don't think they would believe me because my skin is itching like I have chicken pocks and the bumps are whiteish/red. I guess that I have to go the rest of my life knowing that I will die soon because of AIDS.

Saudia Cutume, 15

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Dear Diary,

I just wish that I could go to school. I used to but now my bones just ache so much. I want to learn and be a doctor I just want to help people that have the illness that I have. I wish to treat every one in Africa no matter if they have the money or not. I was diagnosed with HIV last year and that is what changed my life. The doctor said that I had , at the most, 5 years to live but I know that I will live longer than that; god will help me through this. I hate that I am so sick, I itch all over and I always pass out. When I first got diagnosed, I told my best friend, I trusted her with my life. We got in a fight and stopped speaking to each other and she told the whole school. No one would even sit by me they thought that I was some type of freak or monster they thought that if they sat by me they would catch the disease. I don't blame them though; before I got diagnosed I didn't want to be around kids with AIDS either. Now that I have it, I feel for all of those kids that I used to treat bad because they had AIDS I wish that I could just say sorry to them and beg for their forgiveness.

My mom also had the sickness and she died three years after she was diagnosed. I wasn't really that sad because I was so young I was about 1 year old when she died. Now that I'm older I wish that I can see her again in person. I hardly remember what she looks like but I can't forget that beautiful dark brown hair that she kept in tight braids. I wish that she were still alive; she would definitely understand how I feel. She wouldn't let my aunt make fun of me and say that she wishes that I would die. If I was old enough, I would have taken care of her myself, I would walk every day to get her medicine and make sure that she stayed as healthy as she could. Well I'm beginning to feel a little sick so I'm going to go lie down now.

Zahara Tituba

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