Without a doubt, one of the worst times in my life. The friend in question was my classmate and also the daughter of my late older sister's friend. The day my late sister sat me down to talk to me about my illness, her friend was there, and her daughter, who is now my classmate, was also there. And when my brother and I were looking for a room to rent, it was her mother who offered us a spare room in their housing project. I was happy because I knew I would be next to my friend. The move was made, I was even closer to her, and her mother already considered me her daughter. It's worth noting that we had known each other since 6th grade; we got along very well and supported each other. But you know, back-to-school means new class and new classmates. 10th grade marked the beginning of my ordeal until my final year of high school.
Yes, because as the days and months went by, the closeness we had before was no longer there. Even though we were still friends and neighbors in the neighborhood, she became friends with new classmates and chatted about everything and nothing. Little did I know that I was often the topic of their conversation. One day, I found my friend chatting with some classmates, and I decided to join them. When I arrived, all I saw was my classmates getting up in a panic to go sit in the Chaba (last bench). I didn't understand what was going on, and when I went to ask them what was wrong, they avoided me again as if I had the plague (no disparagement to those who suffer from this illness). I asked myself a thousand and one questions. Since I wasn't very close to them, I let it go and focused on my classes. As the days went by, they continued to avoid me, and it was some time later that a girl from the group came to tell me that "if we're avoiding you, it's because Mireille (fictitious name just for illustration) told us that you have AIDS and we don't want you to infect us." Can you imagine my reaction at that moment? No, I was so frozen after this announcement that I was lost for words. I didn't know how to respond to this information.
And that day, all I wanted to do was go home. I did everything I could to avoid running into Mireille or going home with her like usual because I hated her. I wondered why she would go and tell them that, even though I knew they were people I didn't talk to much. What was the reason behind it?
I wondered what pleasure she got from revealing my illness to people.
As soon as I got home, I put down my bag and started crying. It was the only thing I could do, because, unable to face Mireille and ask for an explanation, I accepted the rejection of my classmates all year. In 11th grade, it was the same; she told some of our classmates again that I was sick. I'd always been rejected, but being used to it, I moved on. But in my head, I wondered what pleasure she got from revealing my illness to people. If she doesn't respect me, let her at least have that respect for my late sister, who had told her about my illness. Questions plagued my mind, and I considered going to tell her mother, but I said it wouldn't help, and I didn't want this situation to impact my relationship with her mother, who considered me her daughter. As we say back home, "If only I knew..."
I roll with the punches and try to live a normal life. Even though there was one time when the last straw broke the camel's back, I spoke to her mother about it, and she immediately took her daughter's side. It was a way of saying that I was the one lying and that her daughter couldn't do things like that. So I understood that no matter how much she thought of me, her daughter would never be the one to blame in our disagreements. I couldn't stand her presence anymore, or even the fact that we were in the same neighborhood. The more I saw her, the more I thought about it all. I wrote to my sister to explain the problem and she asked me to go and spend some time with her friend Auntie Melanie (again a fictitious name) to be away from her and concentrate on my studies.
I spent time peacefully away from her, even though we were still in the same class; we didn't share the same desk, so it wasn't too bad. The rejection among my classmates was starting to lessen a bit, and I made it through the rest of my school year, passing my probationary exams.
I can say that I no longer have the hatred I used to have for my friend, but I still have that trauma from before, and when I think back to that time, I cry. And because of that incident, it's difficult for me to trust anyone, especially a girl. Because I considered my friend like a sister, I told her everything and nothing about my life, but the reward was bittersweet.
