London, England
HIV Negative

My name is Sheila. I’m a 24-year-old journalist living in London. I have been living with HIV for almost 16 years but I am HIV negative.



HIV has impacted my existence since I lost my father in 1998 and my 12-year-old brother a few years later.

In 1998, I was old enough to understand when my mother took out a huge loan (a loan she knew she couldn’t afford to pay back) and packed me and my two older sisters on a British Airways flight from London to Zambia to see our father, that she knew he wasn’t going to make it. Not this time.



My father was one of the early HIV cases in Zambia—back when they were still calling it GRID in the West. HIV was tearing through sub-Saharan Africa like a disease-loaded bullet and nobody knew it.



Before his body betrayed him and he started showing signs of the disease, my father was a healthy man who enjoyed squash, golf and nights out at the boat club. He was a rather suave gentleman, which further enforces the fact that AIDS is a faceless disease. It can look like you or me.



The last time I saw my father, my heart broke into about 10 million pieces. He was frail and sick but no matter how hard it was for him, I could still see the soul in his eyes. The morning we left him was like no other. I suspect something inside told me this was the end. My sister and I cried like babies as we looked through the back window of the cab and stared at our father. We waved goodbye to the solider—our hero. I would have given anything to stay with him. He died six months after our visit.



I didn’t go to the funeral. My mother couldn’t afford it. She left for Zambia the same night we found out he died. My father was the love of her life, even though he left her for another woman who gave him HIV. There was so much love between my parents. Years after he had left her, he wept and apologized for his mistake. She still says, “Despite what your father did, he was a tremendously good man.” 



The army paid for his funeral. He had been a lieutenant colonel and was highly respected. I was so proud that he was honored.


Losing my little brother years later was just as hard. He cried out to my sister for comfort as she tried to nurse him. She told us how while he was coughing up blood he began to sing that he was going to die. He died one week later.

I remember how much he loved video games. He was such a sweet kid and that’s how I will always remember him. He was a smiling, 12-year-old boy who used to cry when we licked his lollipop. I used to take him to the sweet shack and then we’d go play on the swings with the neighbor kids. He was much more than just another AIDS casualty.


As sad and rather morbid as my story is, most people’s lives aren’t like that anymore. I know it’s said all the time but we really have come a long way. I’m thankful that far less people are losing those closest to them today. And even though I wish a cure were available while my father and brother were still here, I know they are with God now. I’m at peace. We will find a cure.

What three adjectives best describe you?
Sweet, loud and sincere

What is your greatest achievement?
Overcoming the pain of what AIDS took from me. I may still feel pain from time to time but I have healed.

What is your greatest regret?
Not showering my little brother with kisses the last time I saw him

What keeps you up at night?
My demons

If you could change one thing about living with HIV, what would it be?
That the advances in HIV medicine would have been available earlier so my father and brother would still be alive

What is the best advice you ever received?
Everything happens for a reason

What person in the HIV/AIDS community do you most admire?
Rae Lewis Thornton

What drives you to do what you do?
I don’t do enough

What is your motto?
Let God’s will be done

If you had to evacuate your house immediately, what is the one thing you would grab on the way out?
My father’s picture on my bedside

If you could be any animal, what would you be? And why?
A white-tailed deer—because they are so regal and majestic