It's 12 o'clock in the afternoon when Nay Myo Thant's 19-year-old heart stops beating. He dies in a government hospital from the effects of HIV. His parents suffered the same faith long before him and his uncle who took care of him leaves him on his deathbed, so does his aunt and so does his sister: He dies alone.
As part of my HIV story I've contacted the "Free Funeral Service" which provides free funerals for those who can't afford it. In a red pickup truck that serves as a hearse I drive along with them to photograph Nay Myo Thant's last journey. I've been at this hospital before but they told me I had to get official permission from the government to photograph. And if any pictures would leak without their permission the main doctor would get fired. I hope that joining the funeral service will increase my chances but the after some discussion the message is very clear: No pictures and even my presence is just barely allowed.
The hospital staff opens the door of a small brick shed. I peak inside and see three corpses wrapped in some old blankets lying on the floor. They take one out, put it on a stretcher and remove the blanket that cover's its face. It's Nay Myo Thant. His eyes are still open and his skin seems warm. They tell me he'd inherited HIV from his parents, got addicted to drugs because he could not cope with that fact and regularly forgot to take his HIV medicines with this lonely end as a result.
The hospital staff and funeral service people discuss something extensively while flies gather on Nay Myo Thant's lifeless body. I wave a few of, but it makes no difference.
After 15 minutes the blanket is pulled back over his face, they put him in the makeshift hearse and we are ready to leave. Before we go I have to give my name and passport number while I'm being stared down by the man in charge.
The funeral service personal tell me they are disappointed with their country since they expected me to get permission to photograph. But they explain that most doctors still fear the old regime that kept NGO's out and aggressively manipulated HIV figures.
Two chimneys spew pitch black smoke into the sky; They belong to the crematorium that we approach over a bumpy road. My arrival is preceded by a phone call from the hospital and it is clear that once more I am not allowed to photograph. We park the car. Two men working at the crematorium take the stretcher, tell us not to follow and enter the crematorium through a big wooden door. Through a crack in the door I see a red glow. It's from the incinerator that has been opened. The glow disappears, the door opens and out comes the stretcher. Empty. We leave the crematorium within five minutes of our arrival.
No ashes are collected, nor will there be a place to commemorate Nay Myo Than. He has been cremated the same way he died; alone. Burned as a piece of thrash and the only thing that is left of him is a big black plume.
This must be the loneliest thing I have seen in my entire life and my body starts shaking with sadness. Even more so because I know Nay Myo Than's case is not an incident, every day between two and three people leave the hospital the way Nay Myo Than did.
In Burma / Myanmar an estimated 200.000 people are infected with HIV / Aids. Since the quasi democratic government is in place NGO’s are allowed to help, improving the situation of those infected. Before that less than half seeking help got access to medical treatment.
In the year 2000 HIV activist Phyu Phyu Tin opened up a HIV shelter in Yangon, providing, now about 220 people, with medical care, food and a place to live.
Even though medical treatment is improving their is still a huge social stigma around the disease. Those infected often deny the fact that they are sick waiting to seek help until their situation is very severe.
Although suffering and sometimes even death are not much further away than a glance of they eye the shelter is a place where there’s love, laughter and people trying to get better and make the best out of their lives.
