When it rains, brothers Joseph, Gift, and Alumbwe—who are 17, 15, and 12—scurry to move their clothes to a dry spot in their home located in Zambia’s Copperbelt Province. Water leaks through holes in their roof.
“This house isn’t okay. We live here because we don’t have anywhere else,” Joseph says in Bemba. “When it rains, our sleeping area gets soaked.”
They don’t have mattresses anymore; they sold them for some cash. Instead, the boys sleep on a bamboo mat on the ground and share a blanket.
After losing their mother in January and their father in February, the brothers are learning how to navigate life without adult guidance.
To protect their privacy, NPR is not using their last name since they are minors.
Both parents had been HIV positive but managed well with daily medicines. However, when the U.S. made significant cuts to foreign aid during President Trump’s second term, the systems supporting HIV treatments were disrupted, particularly through the U.S. President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR).
The brothers reported that, because of these changes, their parents could no longer obtain their medications, leading to health deterioration.
The trend of child-headed households emerged during the early years of the AIDS crisis in the 1980s and ’90s, but had reduced due to the inflow of support and accessible HIV treatments. The current situation, however, hints at a potential return to those darker times.
A reverend named Billiance Chondwe has noted a rise in orphaned children within his community as families lose parents to the virus again, although there isn’t concrete data to confirm this trend just yet.
NPR covered Chondwe’s work last year as he advocated for his community amidst the disruptions. He observed that many in his community were losing access to crucial medication due to the abrupt closure of nearby clinics, which were crucial to HIV management. Now, more children are experiencing the fallout from these health crises.
With 25 newly orphaned children now under his care, up from just 11 a few months ago, Pastor Billy is feeling immense pressure, stating, “It’s overwhelming. They lack sufficient food and suitable living conditions. There’s barely any support.”
These brothers—Joseph, Alumbwe, and Gift—face the daily challenge of survival after heartbreakingly losing both parents to AIDS in a short span.
As Pastor Billy stated, the past system of care that had uplifted millions now feels like a faded memory. Cuts have sent the community spiraling toward despair once more. A statement from the State Department emphasized that the U.S. remains the highest contributor to humanitarian efforts, suggesting that the global community also needs to step up.
Joseph had to leave school to take on a job as a part-time security guard, partially to keep his brothers in a safe place. While education is free, associated costs like books still burden them. Yet, the boys continue to attend school with varied hopes for the future—Gift aiming to become an engineer and Alumbwe aspiring to be a soldier.
Joseph also finds himself in a routine of trying to ensure his brothers receive their needed medication. With their nearest clinic far away, he often faces long waits and the constant anxiety of potentially running out of medication.
Reflecting on happier times spent playing soccer, Joseph’s mood shifts as he admits, “Right now, I can’t play. My shoes are torn. If my parents were still here, they would’ve bought me new ones.” He finds comfort in observing other children play, even as it reminds him of what he is missing.
Life has taken a different direction for these boys, who are now navigating a world filled with responsibilities that no child should face alone. Yet, they seem to find small joys amidst the chaos, perhaps strengthened by their shared experiences and the hope that tomorrow might bring brighter skies.
