We have followed the struggle of the young South African Nkosi Johnson for some time. At the tender age of twelve, he became a powerful symbol and a spokesman in the African struggle against AIDS. And we were all very sad today to hear that he had died.
(I love you~. You love me.) He was a joyous child with a zest for life that seemed incongruous, given the circumstances of his birth. Nkosy was born to a dying mother, but he was a fortunate child as well.
This woman, Gail Johnson, adopted him, arranged for medicine too expensive for most African AIDS patients, provided a family structure, a room of his own, house, pets, birthday parties. "I feel normal. Don't think I've got HIV. I feel like a normal boy." And he was a normal little boy until he was denied a place in school because of his AIDS. The public controversy made him and his combative mother public figures. Their eventual victory paved the way for other children like him to be enrolled. In South Africa, his smiling face was instantly famous. Nelson Mandela befriended him.
Last summer, his appearance at the World AIDS Conference here in South Africa was electrifying. The frail, fragile figure with the soft tiny voice castigating the government's indifference, appealing for an end to the stigma of AIDS. "We are normal, we are human beings. We can walk. We can talk. We are all the same. Thank you."
In the autumn, he visited America, more speeches, lunch with the actor Robin Williams, but his condition was clearly deteriorating. His little body wasting away. "Does that frighten you?" "Yeah, a lot. I'm not gonna give up. I've got a lot of work to do for the others - mothers and children out there." Soon after New Year's, his disease struck hard, and millions in South Africa watched and waited and prayed. 'We are all the same", he often said. He was wrong. Nkosi was different, an amazing kid.