Reportages
A FAMILY LIVING WITH AIDS draws from photographs taken at the home of Lee Woods in the San Francisco Mission District between 1991 and 1993.
Lee and his wife were both diagnosed with AIDS in 1987. She died in 1991 before I started photographing. While I was working with the family, Lee was being treated with AZT and a cocktail of other drugs. There were four children at home, three girls and a boy: Naomi (12), Tora (9) and Dialo and Anna , 7-year-old twins.
I spent many days at the Woods' home photographing the family. They went about their daily lives as if the camera wasn't there. The strong bonds and the love that flowed between them was at times overwhelming.
When a family has to deal with AIDS, values change-AIDS becomes a shared burden. Everyone in Lee's family reacted differently to his illness. Lee didn't want to impose his condition on the children and tried to administer his medicine when they were not there. Since their mother had died, the children took care of each other and Naomi and Tora took turns looking after the twins. At times it seemed as if the father had become their child too. The kids learned to take responsibility early knowing that they would soon be left on their own.
Lee died in 1993 while I was still working with the family. He was buried at his birthplace, a small town in Mississippi. The children remained there to be raised by their grandparents.
Nothing really prepares you for the way Kabul has both shrunk and grown. Before 1980 this was a cosmopolitan city with streetlights, boulevards, and a river; twenty-three years of war and five years of drought have created a city of ruins. Add to that the two million returned refugees who remain in Kabul because landmines make their villages uninhabitable, and the result is a teeming metropolis where thousands squat in bombed out structures without electricity, water, or even windows. Physically the city is closer to the ground, yet it also sprawls beyond its traditional boundaries even as destroyed neighborhoods teem with squatters and the dry riverbed overflows with homeless shacks.

Most of the destruction in Kabul predates the American bombing. 80% of Afghanistan’s landmines – they have more than anyone in the world – were left by the Russians. Once they fled, the Mujahedeen turned on each other, placing themselves on opposing hills and letting their weapons fall on the houses, schools, and hospitals that separated them. Out of the chaos of civil war, the Taliban emerged, reducing all choices to one, offering order at the price of freedom and human dignity. Everyone we met was grateful for their departure. Whatever desperate hope the Taliban may have offered in their first year had long been betrayed by the repression of women, the looting of national treasures, and the destruction of the most basic institutions of public service.

Yet with freedom have come rampant chaos and overcrowding. Some people already look wistfully to the simplicity of life under the Taliban. They stare resentfully at the clean, white Land Cruisers emblazoned with the blue UN logo, cruising visibly above the rubble of daily life. They wince with the pang of betrayal as they wait for the $4.8 billion of aid that the world promised in January. Drought and the refugees are but the tip of the iceberg -- Afghanistan needs an infrastructure of roads, communication, and electricity, a national army, a banking system, and a federal government.

These aren’t just luxuries – starvation, disease, crime, drugs, and civil war threaten the nation’s feeble hopes. But for the moment hope is alive, kindled by Karzai’s coalition government, international aid, and faith in the children. Everyone looks to education as the magic formula. After five years, girls are back in the classroom, even attending school with boys. When the school year began in March, 3 million students showed up – twice as many as were expected. Half of those students, ranging from 6 to 16 years of age, were in first grade. More arrive every day, jammed into already crowded rooms in buildings that host two sessions a day to cope with the overflow. UNICEF and the Ministry of Education try to keep up with the need for books and teachers, but there are no supplies, no furniture, no libraries – no windows. Vacation comes in the winter because there is no heating and little plumbing. Students sit on dirt and concrete, they all drink water from one tap, there are no breaks for snacks or nutrition. They need lights, labs, and computers.

At other places, the system is working. The HALO trust and OMAR are among the programs in which Afghans are employed demining their country meter-by-meter. They recently celebrated the explosion of their millionth mine, but it will take eight years to get the country completely cleared. We saw women engineers at the university refreshing their computer skills after five years of Taliban-enforced unemployment. An OXFAM program provided the hardware as well as a list of job interviews upon graduation. The International Red Cross runs an orthopedic hospital that not only provides new legs for the victims of landmines, but hires doctors and staff who have endured similar injuries.

The clientele at restaurants and the audience at concerts and galleries are so diverse that one can easily imagine that this is a bazaar on the Silk Road. One possible scenario for Afghanistan is rebirth as a global crossroads, hosting tourists, traders, and citizens from each nation that has ever tried to conquer them. Or the country could plunge into factionalism and civil war, once again bearing the world’s bad karma on its broken back.