A boy’s plight puts global threat in focus

For all of the tragedies that have befallen Africa over the past century, none has had ramifications more serious than the scourge of HIV and AIDS. As a senior correspondent for ABC News “Nightline,” Jim Wooten has long known the plagues, the civil wars, the genocides and the famines that (sometimes) grab the headlines. Yet the vastness of the AIDS story in Africa essentially debases its digestibility for nightly news -- about 25 million people currently live with HIV/AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa; more than 2 million have died in the last year as a result of the disease.

Part of the frustration for any foreign correspondent is trying to relay the severity of a tragedy when a few minutes of footage fails to convey the breadth of an issue. Despite this, and likely because of it, Wooten has been able to craft a remarkable tale of the disease by chronicling the story of one little black South African boy named Nkosi Johnson in “We Are All the Same,” a book that comes across as painful and tragic on one hand and hopeful and joyous on the other.

Born into poverty in a post-apartheid shantytown to an HIV-infected mother, Nkosi lived much longer than he probably should have due to his own daily strivings as well as those of his adoptive mother, a white South African named Gail Johnson.

Nkosi and Johnson came to national and international prominence quite reluctantly, yet they made the perfect pair in raising the issue of how the disease was viewed in South Africa and worldwide. Because of their odd relationship -- a middle-class woman from Johannesburg and a poor, AIDS-infected Zulu boy from the slums -- they became a source of inspiration for the disease’s victims as well as a source of derision in the South African tabloids during their few years together.

Because of her manic love for this boy, Johnson worked tirelessly to make AIDS a talked-about issue and help its victims in South Africa when it was largely being ignored. Her love helped keep the boy alive for 12 years and Nkosi’s stubbornness to give in to the disease gave hope to anyone who came into contact with him. The story Wooten describes, if written as fiction, would probably come off as trite and sentimental. As reality, it remains a striking reminder of how disastrous this disease has been for southern Africa, especially considering the progress that could have been made post-apartheid.

Though the story of Johnson and Nkosi acts as a foil to grand pessimism, the actions of authorities lend a simmering bitterness to the book. Wooten draws stark similarities between how black South Africans were segregated during apartheid and how AIDS victims have been discriminated against. Wooten appropriately weaves the historic issues of South African apartheid, a topic he’d covered for years, into the story early on.

Eventually, Wooten describes how paranoia and misinformation coming directly from South African President Thabo Mbeki about the causes of AIDS and HIV led to a deepening of the crisis. Mbeki’s years-long distrust of what he called “untested” and “dangerous” anti-retroviral drugs such as AZT and Nevirapine, largely fueled by bizarre notions he had about Western companies using the drugs to infect the populace, aided further tragedy as countless people failed to receive help.

These factors, as well as the deluded South African government position on condoms that hindered their distribution, and superstitions that having sex with virgins cured or protected those rapists from the disease, serve as reminders of how difficult the fight against AIDS in South Africa remains. The story of love between Gail Johnson and Nkosi reminds us of how easy it could really be.

Michael Standaert has written for the Boston Review, the San Francisco Chronicle and Far Eastern Economic Review.