Early morning, I walked out of the house with a heavy head, laden with a mixture of feelings that was like milk with pepper. I was determined to find a single room somewhere near the ETU which would prevent the risk of transmitting the disease to my family in case I contracted. Simultaneously, I was guilty that I was continuously lying to my family which I had never done before.
‘My man, no rooms to rent in this community?’ I asked one of the scratch-card sellers at Elwa junction.
‘No strangers here, Ebola, Ebola!’ He focused on his clients expressing no interest in continuing the conversation.
‘What you want? Lonestar here,’ the scratch-card seller next to him, asked.
‘I am looking for a room to stay,’ I briefly responded.
‘If you give me small, I may find one for you,’ he was interested in helping me on one condition. He expected me to pay him a commission which was typical of Liberians as we said in Liberia,’Everyone needs to chop.’
‘Give me a Celcom five dollars,’ I wanted to buy a scratch card to reload my phone.
‘One room is there, 50 dollars per month,’ the seller said leaving a five dollars Celom card on the little glass top of his mobile shop which was nothing more than a wooden box.
‘Where you work?’ He asked me while I was caught between two minds. I was trying to pull out money to pay him while my mind was busy thinking if 50 dollars per month was worth enough for a room near Elwa.
‘In ETU Elwa’ I said giving him a note of 20 dollars.
Instantly, the man dropped my money on the ground. ‘Ebola. Go away my man no rooms no cards!’ He yelled with fear.
‘Take your money!’ I did not have time to realise what happened.
‘Take your 20 dollars; I do not need money!’ He ran to a boutique which was nearby and washed his hands over and over again with chlorine water.
‘Go, my man, go, I do not want your money!’ He yelled again while washing the hands.
‘He says… you go man!’ The other seller told me.
I rushed to the office to start my first day with a bit of disappointment and anger towards myself and also towards the others. It was the first day I felt how Ebola-related stigma had been induced by the unrealistic fear for the disease, but at the same time, I felt that it was better than denial and ignorance.
‘Good morning George! How are you doing today?’ Dr. Annabelle welcomed me at the office.
‘All set to start?’ She asked with a pleasant smile and a thumbs up which I felt like a gesture of encouragement.
‘Yes, doctor.’
‘You will be assigned to the ward reserved for suspected cases under observation for one week on morning shift then we will see what we can do next week. Dr. Micheal is waiting for you. Go and meet him!’
‘Ok doctor. Have a nice day!’ I headed to the changing room, put my PPE on and walked towards the observation ward where all suspected cases had been.
‘Morning George, welcome onboard!’ It was Dr. Michael`s cheerful voice.
‘Good morning doctor. How did you recognise me?’ I asked even before asking how he was doing because I was surprised how he recognised me when I was fully covered.
‘Look at me’ He showed his name on the outer layer of his PPE which I did not notice.
‘The number of suspected cases admitted to our ETU is rising day by day. We have got nine today.’ Dr. Michael added while he was getting ready for the morning ward round.
‘We have to do rounds often here as the conditions of the patients can quickly escalate, sometimes, it is easier to diagnose and do timely interventions till the lab report comes.’ Dr. Michael added.
‘George, join me for the rounds first, then you can go to your section of ward.’
‘Ok doctor,’ I joined him for rounds.
A frail looking woman was already clinically diagnosed for Ebola with her three children: the eldest was not more than six years, second one was around three and the youngest was less than one year, had already clinically been diagnosed with Ebola.
‘The father of these kids was here, and he could not make it.’ Dr. Michael said empathically.
The youngest child was playing with pieces of stones, and some papers left with him, just like any other healthy kid without knowing that his turn on this earth would be over sooner than later. His brothers looked weaker than him as the elder one, who was around six was looking at us as if he was pleading for life. The helpless mother, who had already witnessed the death of her husband remained completely withdrawn from communication with anyone around. She seemed to be awaiting the final call from God, Allah or the Creator for returning ahead of the kids as if she did not want to witness the mercilessness of whom she believed merciful to call her offspring before her. She was looking at the canvas roof as if she had lost faith in everything except the one who was believed to be in the skies or else she had already lost faith in him as well.
She reminded the time when I had been in Guinea with the clergy. When the refugee movements were heightened, the church used to be full. When desperateness reigned the lives of people, they either clang on to the faith or simply withdrew. But when everyone in a community encountered the same calamity, they sought the spiritual support to stabilise their fluctuating emotions that relayed between negative and positive poles throughout their battle for establishing the sense of place. However, those who had a tendency of giving up quickly, quietly withdrew from everything and chose to suffer in silence. The mother of the kids looked like she was merely waiting to leave them behind. One could come to a quick judgement that she was trying to escape from her responsibility as a mother, but it was not possible to see the real depth of a ditch till you fall in it. Even though I interacted with many other patients on my first day, I could not take the mother of the children out of my mind. She kept on invading my mind whenever there was a slight space to creep in just like a millipede.
And I could not resist the thoughts raided my mind that brought a vivid visualisation of Aminatta. I felt a sudden current of fright along my spine.
‘I got to find a room soon,’ I said.
‘Did you say anything?’ It was Dr. Michael.
‘No doctor. I did not,’ I said with shame.
In the evening, I went to several places to find a room where I could stay as I did not want my family to undergo the same risk that I took. I decided not to disclose where I was working. I stopped a Moto-boy and asked him whether he could take me to a place where I would find a room to rent.
‘What you do?’ His first question took me back to the encounter with the scratch-card sellers in the morning.
‘I do business; I came from Harper for a few months.’ I did not want to leave a single thought of doubt with the Moto-boy.
‘My man room expensive,’ it was not an unanticipated beginning as everyone wanted to ‘chop small small*.’
‘100 dollars, my man it’s Bao.’ Liberian expression Bao which means ‘so much’ hinted me that the Moto-boy was also from Harper.
‘What your name?’
‘George.’
I thanked the Reverend Maurice for renaming as George if not my true identity as a Kissi would be revealed.
‘50 dollars for me,’ he looked at me before I sat on the broken seat of his old TVS bike which had been decorated with almost everything one could find in a dump-site.
‘No problem my man. Let`s go!’
We reached a place where there was an abundant old house with a partially broken fence. The grills of the windows were like the teeth of a shark: corroded and broken, yet sharp enough to tear the flesh out of anyone who tried to get in. The entrance was barely visible because of the height of wild-grass. The door had no lock, but a piece of metal wire was wisely used to keep the door safely attached to the frame which was already about to fall apart.
‘Mr. Konnah!’
‘Mr. Konnah!’
‘Mr. Konnah!’ The boy yelled just like a dog that was barking at a stranger.
Making unnerving creaky sound the door opened.
‘What you want?’ The big bellied man showed up cleaning his eyes with the hands. He looked either sleepy or drunk.
‘I got a customer for two months,’
‘What you do?’ The most important question of the time was thrown at me again by Mr. Konnah.
‘I do business, I came from Harper for a few months,’ I made sure not to miss a single letter from what I said to the Moto-boy.
‘75 dollars without water and electricity, 90 dollars with water and electricity and 100 dollars with everything that I have…,’ He could not finish what he was trying to say. A young girl who was not more than 16 years old came out.
‘Including this Jigi-jigi,’ Mr. Konnah laughed sarcastically.
‘I am ok with 100 dollars which the boy told me first. May I see the room?’ I wanted to see whether it was liveable before I could give my word.
There was a door pretty similar to the front door almost broken, and there was no lock. Even before I opened the door properly, a well-grown rat ran between my legs like a Torpedo. Once the door was open after a battle with corroded hinges, the interior of the room unveiled. Partially broken ceiling with hanging hardboard sheet looked like a trap of a hunter. Even a very experienced archaeologist would surely fail to assume the last time the walls were touched with a paintbrush. They were green with fungus due to high moisture inside the room. The bed next to the window, which was covered by a piece of newspaper triggered my imagination of a real nightmare sleeping on that dusty bed with loads of water pouring into the room.
‘Mr. Konnah, Can get the window fixed and a mattress replaced?’ I asked politely as, according to my observation, the room could be used only if it was cleaned. But that was not good even for a dog to sleep. They should have been replaced, and the window glasses should be restored instead of the piece of newspapers.
‘Mattress good,’ he pulled it out to show me probably, with the idea of convincing me to clean and reuse it. As he pulled it out, dozens of baby rats jumped out which shrank the face of Mr. Konnah with shame.
‘Mr. Konnah, replace the thing. It can bring Ebola,’ Immediately as he heard Ebola, he dropped the mattress and turned back.
‘You, you, you… Give something to boy he will do it.’ He said rushing out of the room.
‘I need all money at once,’ he was still conscious about his deal.
‘Sure,’ I said delightfully as I did not want to share rooms with anyone and I had an old bathroom and a kitchen area even though the house would not survive till the end of the rainy season.
I gave Mr. Konnah an advance and asked the boy to clean.
‘Thanks God my family will be safe,’ I thought.
Next day morning, I brought a few more clothes to my room, and I had to buy some utensils and toiletries which were essential for my survival. Mr.Konnah used to live silently, and he came out of his room only to enjoy his rosewood pipe which was not a typical Liberian habit.
As there was no enough manpower and the number of cases was drastically increasing, I worked day and night in the ETU sometimes covering both morning and day shifts.
Every single day, I saw new suspected cases come in, and they were rarely sent back. After a few days, many of those who came in were transferred to the wards of confirmed cases, and less than one-third of them walked back home. The rest were carried by the burial teams packed in chlorinated body bags.
Most of the nights, I could not fall asleep as every single scene I witnessed in my workplace started roaming inside my mind just like a horror film. Many times, when I had nightmares, I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night and afterwards I found it difficult to fall asleep again. As the operation intensified with the climax of the epidemic which had already become an unprecedented humanitarian crisis threatening not only the affected countries in West Africa but also the entire world I barely had come to go back to my rented room. Irrespective of hierarchy and nationalities everyone in the ETU worked indefatigably, the day and night.
Dr. Patrick Swayer native Liberian, a neutralised US citizen, who had contracted Ebola from Liberia, was found very sick and admitted to a hospital in Nigeria causing several deaths to the health workers who attended him in Nigeria expanding the epidemic into Nigerian territory which they were able to contain quickly. But that resulted in movement restrictions to Nigeria from affected counties. In a few weeks, another Liberian was reported in Dulles Texas in the United States which made the world look at Liberians as careers of Ebola around the world. The stigma raised to the extent that Liberians were seen as viruses. As a result of the chain of activities occurred one after the other, many countries closed borders to those who were travelling from three affected countries—other countries imposed Liberia, Sierra-Leone and Guinea and strict monitoring procedures. Meanwhile, completely abundant dead bodies started piling up like cows in times of cattle-plague.
By the end of my third month in the ETU, I was transferred from the observation ward to the ward of confirmed cases where I nursed the Ebola patients who were critical and all that Aminatta knew was that her husband was going to the outlying counties with his new boss. Nonetheless, I went to see the kids and wife at weekends. But, whenever I had even a slight cold, I did not go to my family. I remained alone in my room hearing the echo of my own fears and guilt. They sounded like the anthem of the inferno.