Once I entered a small chapel. It had two wooden benches, an altar and a large wooden cross. The cross consisted of three parts that were held together on top. On each part one could read names. Hundred of names. Maybe a thousand. I lit a candle in silence. This chapel was situated in a Catholic hospice run by volunteers. Its residents were AIDS victims having reached terminal stage. I was introduced to one of the residents. He used to be a big, handsome, black man. When I met him, he looked like a skeleton, and his beautiful colour black had turned to grey. Sadly I have to presume that his name will be on that wooden cross now.
Today, on the world AIDS day, my thoughts go to the man I met three years ago in the hospice and to all who are affected by this disease.
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