Reach Out Mbuya fights HIV/AIDS, alcoholism and unemployment

Until October 31, New Vision will devote space to highlighting the plight of slum dwellers as well as profiling those offering selfless service to improve conditions in these areas. Today, CAROLINE ARIBA brings you the story of hope and empowerment from Giza Giza slum in Mbuya

DO not be fooled by the gigantic houses and calming breeze of fresh air that coats the journey to Mbuya slums. Just go in a little further, behold! Brew. 

Local brew, more and more local brew awaits you in the slum. The air is steaming with a piercing, nauseating smell of what seems to be a mixture of urine, alcohol and fermentation. Structures built with a few pieces of timber and covered with all sorts of materials ranging from rusty iron sheets to sacks or even bedsheets are the area’s favourite bars. 

Semi-permanent structures are where the people retire to, amidst water shortages. A jerrycan of water costs sh300. The compounds are crowded; children have been forced into trenches where they play.

A woman struggles to take a quick shower in a bathroom that exposes her knees below and shoulders above. 

A customers in the neighbouring bar shouts for her to hurry up because his counterparts are immersed in a Congolese tune he seems to love, “kite kite kite kite kite kite…talanzole,” they all chorus at one point the women have jackets tied around their waists. Again together they go, “mata mata mata mata mata mata…talanzole.” It was business, their faces seemed to say. 

“They drink because they do not have jobs,” exclaims the Local Council 1 chairperson, Godfrey Obore. Okonya Byanko, a bar owner, came into the slum in hope of making some money as he waits for his National Social Security Fund benefits to materialise. 

Sadly, 10 years down the road, he is still stuck in the routine of the slum making about sh80,000 a month. Out of frustration, he started drinking. 

“You think I want this miserable life? Do you think I want to share toilets with people I do not know?” he yells while pointing at a dilapidated structure. 

A drunken Rita cheers him on and says, “We drink because we have problems. They will defend the vice to the end. “Abantu banywa lwa kuba bagala kwelabira silimu!” Agnes says in luganda heavily influenced by on Acholi accent; to mean that people drink to forget HIV/AIDS. 

Outside the bar is Helen. She cooks cow hooves that the drunkards love so much. At the end of a good day she makes about sh4,000, but has to pay sh60,000 rent per month and sh15,000 to the bar owner and saves a little for her daily needs.

Reach Out Mbuya born 

The organisation was initiated 10 years ago by Fr. Joseph Archetti, the Mbuya parish priest then. He had been making pastoral visits to the sick and noticed many people were bed-ridden with HIV/AIDS. 

He shared this with Dr Magarethe Juncker, a medical doctor who was then in the country. She was touched and they started with 14 patients. Slowly, the news spread through the slum and there was need for expansion.

Dr Stella Alamo, a medical doctor came in as the executive director to replace Magarethe, who had to leave, and this marked the birth of the organisation.

They started lobbying through the church, then later from friends of the church, and when the impact of their service was felt, local organisations and the Government came in to provide some drugs. 

“Reach Out Mbuya washed away all my tears!” narrates Milly Asiimwe, one of the beneficiaries of the organisation and a resident of Mbuya slum. 

She was bed-ridden when the Reach Out Mbuya found her. Her children could barely eat and they had dropped out of school. They are now in school, she is on the life-prolonging drugs and for this, she will forever be grateful to them. 

The organisation, though Catholic- funded, welcomes everyone. They have a team of social workers who reside within the slums and identify the people in dire need of help. 

“The fight against HIV/AIDS is a journey,” explains Harriet Adong , the organisation’s public relations officer. “We have a programme to counsel alcoholics since many of our clients are alcoholics!” 

People help each other

Interwoven with the privacy project is the “moonlight voluntary testing and counselling” done during the night to help shy people know their status.

“I did not think I would ever own a house,” says Rose one of the beneficiaries from the training.  She was taught how to make crafts. Her skills improved and her output grew. From the sale of her crafts, she saved and managed to build a house. Forty-five percent of the employees in the organisations are residents of the slum.

“We do not encourage dependency; we empower our clients with self- help skills,” explains Alamo, an official of the organisation in one of the documentaries.

A project called the Roses of Mbuya was started to equip women like Rose with skills. The organisation prioritises women. “We are the only programme in Uganda that has reduced mother-to-child transmission of HIV to zero,” Barbara Kalume, the assistant public relations, boasts.

Challenges 

“We have to go to the bars to find many of these people!” says Adong. I have seen men who get medicine at Reach Out Mbuya going home with many innocent girls!” says Sarah who also sells local brew. 

“A person on anti-retroviral treatment cannot afford to be intoxicating their systems with alcohol, let alone engage in risky behaviour because they could get re-infected,” says Alume. Because of the congestion in the slums, they have many cases of diarrhoea and tuberculosis. 

As a result of the global economic recession, the funding has been cut down.  This is a big challenge because Reach Out are having an influx of people on the life-prolonging treatment, who cannot afford to feed themselves. They have to lobby churches and the friends of the organisation, to provide for some of these.