According to the editors of this poetry and short story collection, these are stories that have remained untold for too long. Southern African writers, faced with a culture of denial and hushed whisperings, have been reluctant to write creatively about the impact and reality of a subject that’s often seen as taboo.

Human side of Aids crisis

It’s this situation that 'Nobody ever said Aids' hopes to alleviate. Collecting the works of 42 new and established writers and poets, the book shows the human side of the Aids crisis. These are emotional stories and poems of love, mourning, hate, anger, sexuality and that culture of denial.

The piece titled ‘Nobody ever said Aids’, which opens the collection, tackles that culture head on, describing the change from a carefree society to one where everyone from strong men to shebeen queens die — of TB: “That was us / Whispering it at funerals / Because nobody ever said Aids”.

Denial

This attitude of denial also forms a vital part of 'Leave-Taking'. Sindiwe Magona’s story focuses on a Gugulethu woman trying to break through the stigma surrounding Aids in the community, while losing her children to the disease. She’s faced with a church reluctant to support her cause, an angry husband (“I don’t want to hear that dirty word in my house”) and a dying daughter livid at having her illness exposed.

But it’s also a story that vividly shows the intense emotions a mother experiences when losing a child too young.

It’s a theme also addressed by the poem ‘She became the mother again’, which describes a grandmother caring for her daughter and then grandson, both of whom are dying of Aids.

‘Flakes of the light falling’ turns the tables, revealing the impact that losing a parent has on children: “how many little pallbearers for one coffin? / to wrap your father in sheets takes days and days,” writes Karen Press.

Death

The figure of death looms over several other poems including ‘Just a child’, which tenderly deals with Aids babies, the absolute hopelessness of ‘N.O. C.U.R.E’ and the simple ‘Our Diseased World’. In the latter, Felix Mnthali’s stark honesty (“we are dying like flies”) highlights the brutal reality of the Aids situation.

Equally real is ‘Everybody’s got it, don’t they?’, a short story by Tonye Stuurman. The piece describes the life of a prostitute living with HIV, trying to protect herself as best as she can. But, instead of looking for sympathy, its matter of fact tone simply adds to its sense of reality and the narrator’s air of resignation.

The similarly themed ‘Girls in the rear-view mirror’ also adds a human face to the life of sex-workers and the truck drivers who have relationships with them. Leila Hall’s writing ensures that the lead characters (representative of each group) are much more than faceless statistics or risk-group members.

Bringing Aids to national, political level

Apart from giving a voice to such silent individuals, ‘Nobody ever said Aids’ succeeds in bringing the disease to a national and, occasionally, political level.

Antjie Krog’s ‘Visit to the Eastern Cape’ looks at the dedicated few working in rural hospitals with limited resources to care for Aids sufferers, but her canvas is larger than this. She laments the poor state of healthcare but, ultimately, questions what happened to the bright dreams of the newly democratic South Africa. Her conclusion: “How could we ever become what we would be, if so many parts of what we are die daily into silently stacked-away brooms of bone?”

More direct is ‘Douse the flames’, a vitriolic poem by Kaizer Mabhilidi Nyatsumba. Critical of the government’s long-standing denial of a link between HIV and Aids, it asks how the very people who led the country to democracy can now “with schadenfreude combined with hubris, / chant nonchalantly: / a virus / cannot cause a syndrome”.

“This is … also a book of hope”

It’s a desperate poem, but as the editors write: “This is a book of mourning, a book of despair. But… it is also a book of hope.”

Just read the call to arms of Nape 'a Motana’s ‘Arise Afrika, Arise!’ which rallies for African unity and action in facing the crisis which should be faced head-on like the tribal enemies of old.

Even ‘Douse the flames’ is a battle cry of sorts: “Oh, / how we yearn for true leaders / to douse these flames / consuming the nation / to end the wailing / afflicting our ears.”

But no work in this collection is as hopeful as the concluding ‘When I rise’. “I shall defeat HIV / I shall defeat Aids / I shall defeat anger / When I rise” writes Mthuthulezi Isaac Skosana to end ‘Nobody ever said Aids’ with a glimmer of hope.

It doesn’t lessen the brutality and reality of the collection though. A truly direct and honest book, it might fluctuate between crude simplicity and poetic eloquence but doesn’t sugar-coat the issues at hand. With no cloying sentimentality, just the raw emotions, ‘Nobody ever said Aids’ is an essential read for all South Africans. This is real.