In an elementary school in Pitseng, in the mountains of Lesotho, youngsters are taught not to ostracize those with HIV by a Canadian aid group with big ambitions. (David Gutnick/CBC)

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Go to Google and type in: "It takes a village to raise a child."

Within a microsecond you will be given millions of references to songs, speeches, paintings, quilts, T-shirts, films, UN conferences and Hillary Clinton's best-selling children's book.

"It takes a village," is a feel-good phrase, worthy of Hallmark's top writers, even if no one seems to know where it actually originates. Most of the time it is just referred to as "a famous African proverb."

In the tiny, AIDS-ravaged nation of Lesotho in southern Africa, the idea is being stood on it its head.

There, it is taking children to raise up a village.

In fact, it may take many children to save a country where one person in four is HIV positive.

It will take their will, their still good health and, most importantly, their ability to challenge traditional wisdom — their elders' wisdom — not just about HIV and AIDS, but about sex, power, gender and medicine.

It is a challenge a tiny Canadian NGO called Help Lesotho is taking on with almost child-like audacity.

Talking points

M'e Maseretse Ratia and 26 young people in their late teens and early twenties are standing in a circle on a patch of grass next to Help Lesotho's three-room office in Hlotse, a town tucked into the Maluti mountains.

"In our country you don't talk about sex," M'e Maseretse says. "Even genital parts are not mentioned. You cannot just go 'a penis,' 'a vagina.' We do not do that."

In her late 20s, with a head full of shiny hair, M'e Maseretse used to be a schoolteacher, but she grew tired of standing at blackboards while her students' lives were falling apart outside the classroom.

So now she is Help Lesotho's youth leadership officer, trying to get these young people to discuss their lives and what they see happening.

Her female students are wearing tight skirts; the guys are in jeans and running shoes, their toques pulled down at jaunty angles.

M'e Maseretse Ratia, in purple sweater, and her youth group discussing the facts of life. (David Gutnick/CBC)

Their pockets bulge with cellphones. Stylish, like adolescents anywhere:

What is different with this group, though, is how much pain each of them carries around.

Everyone here has lost a father, a mother, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, friends or neighbours to AIDS.

Some of the kids standing in this circle are HIV-positive themselves. And from the downcast eyes, shuffling feet and awkward body language it is clear that discussions like this do not come easily.

"You cannot talk about sex with your parents because they will take you as a silly child," says Malitaba Tasso, one of the young women here.

"You know for sure that they are going to freak out. 'Who taught you those things?'

"We are not allowed to say a word when coming to the point of sex. Only a boy will decide. But now I know I have a right to say No or Yes. The program has developed us so much, now you can tell a person if there is no condom we are not doing it."

Canada's gift

Peg Herbert, a former professor of educational psychology at the University of Ottawa, founded Help Lesotho in 2004 after she was invited to visit the country by Sister Alice, a nun from Lesotho who had been one of her students.

There, Herbert saw how desperately the orphans and vulnerable children needed help just to grow up. Just to be cared about. She resolved that Help Lesotho would be that family and that guidance.

Dr. Peg Herbert, founder of Help Lesotho. (Photo from Help Lesotho website)

As she saw it, young people would be trained to take responsibility for their own behaviour and then to become ambassadors to their own families and communities.

But here on the front lines, M'e Maseretse Ratia sees how difficult this can be.

"In our sessions we do things to the extent that some of these kids cry and cry," she says.

Many are ashamed of what they've done or how they have been taught. But we tell them "we are not concentrating on what the world outside says. We are saying 'What are you saying now? What change can you make?'"

A round-cheeked grandmother wearing a grey scarf and a blue winter coat to ward off the chill sits in a chair listening in.

Malifa Isaaka is 65 and for decades she has watched Basotho men head off to work in the nearby South African mines and then come back and infect their wives with HIV.

Isaaka is only too happy to see a new generation trained to know the risk and to speak up and act differently.

"Always the father says he should be the boss of the family and the kids should be away from decisions," she says. But "HIV has changed the world. We have to use teenagers to fight against this horrible sickness. Their brains are fresh. We as old have to listen to them."

A walk in the mountains

In his early 20s, Maphuroane Matthewus Boleh is one of the first graduates of the Help Lesotho youth training program.

He now spends his days walking over mountains to visit farmers.

Today, he is dropping by the small farm of Sehloho Letsoha, who has a few chickens, a few goats, a cow and a small plot of corn.

Maphuroane Matthewus Boleh and local farmer Sehloho Letsoha: Are you listening to your wife? (David Gutnick/CBC)

This morning the farmer's wife and kids are away at church and, Maphuroane gently asks about his corn crop and his health. Does the farmer still use his condoms? he asks.

The older man jokes that he's still got some from Maphuroane's last visit and that his wife insists that he now use them.

The banter is easy. As they lean against a couple of boulders, Maphuroane asks the farmer if he listens to his wife and daughters?

Women are just as smart as men, says Maphuroane. Help Lesotho has trained him well.

The farmer chases chickens that have hopped over the fence and, Maphuroane is on his way. He has more farms to visit, on foot. The next one is a few kilometres away, on the other side of a ridge.

Playing together

M'e Maseretse Ratia never seems to stop either. Help Lesotho may be just a tiny NGO but there is no end to the projects they are involved in.

This afternoon the youth leadership officer has driven up into the mountains to check out an anti-AIDS club that she helped set up in the elementary school in Pitseng.

There are hundreds of schools like this all over Lesotho, built along steep, rock-strewn paths pounded hard by centuries of feet and hooves.

The Grade 7 students share desks and scribblers.

"What have you talked about up to now?" asks M'e Maseretse. "How can we support the people who are HIV-positive?"

"By not shouting at them," says one girl.

"By letting them rest and by giving them healthy foods," says another.

"So are you saying the HIV people are still part of your group, you can play with them? asks M'e Maseretse.

"We should share things with people who are HIV-positive," says one of the boys.

And then they sing a song that the members of the anti-AIDS club have composed.

M'e Maseretse thanks them and then she leaves. She has to get back to her training course at the bottom of the mountain.