“Bienvenu, Alexander! Welcome back!” Dr. Joel Jobbi said, detaching his eyes from the microscope as he heard firm steps crossing the laboratory and approaching him. He had been observing a blood sample collected from a patient infected with the spreading virus. Dr. Jobbi greeted Alexander with a pat on the back. The middle-aged Guinea doctor was Alexander’s direct contact provided by Eva Bosco. His face was still scrunched with concern as he directed his attention to the arriving scientist. “The virus continues to advance despite our efforts. It has been contained in the area where we administered the antidote, but it’s like trying to hold bubbles in place. I apologize for sounding simplistic here, but you hold one bubble in and another ten escape all around.” He shook his head in frustration. “Our villages with the highest scores of infected people are remote. And to complicate things, when we get there, they resist the treatment. That’s how the virus has managed to spread even beyond our borders. The neighboring countries are reporting infection cases. The poorest of the poor!” He led Alexander to the microscope and encouraged him to take a look with a nod in direction to the sample. Then he gathered a set of papers—printed data with the latest numbers of infected by region—and offered it to Alexander to read.
Dr. Jobbi, after finishing his doctorate studies in biochemistry at the École Polytechnique in Paris, had gone back to his country despite the professional challenges it presented. He had planned as a young man to receive the best education he could get in France to make a difference in his own land. He remained faithful to this desire when the majority of foreign students, upon graduating, got married to stay in the country and found jobs to support the comfortable lifestyle they’d become accustomed to. Joel was fortunate to also find work with foreign relief and health organizations in his own country, thus becoming their inland asset. “I’m sick of seeing the international news. Their focus is stuck in the eighteen-month-old boy from a remote village who got infected by touching a bat. But the evaded questions are where did the bat come from? Why did the bat carry a man-made virus?”
“I agree. These questions would reveal clandestine research, unethical experimentation and testing. It’s easier to guide the attention to population growth and encroachment into forested areas, the direct interaction with wildlife common in jungle villages, and their consumption of bushmeat. That’s why stealthy biochemical and pharmaceutical corporations set their labs in these areas—if testing goes wrong and the virus escapes, there is a ready answer: dirty animals carry disease. People eating infected animals get sick. Easy. Because it is bloody well possible,” Alexander said, furrowing his brow and peering at the pages with current data. Images of hundreds of patients crowding the hospitals around the country was heart breaking. “And how can common people question it? And as you know, Joel, there is so much money invested in the research, testing, and in paid-off leadership.” Alexander faced Joel, afflicted. The ever-growing boulder of guilt was crushing him. Although he didn’t design the virus, he was part of Pharma-NorTech.
Dr. Jobbi rubbed his neck and sighed. “Don’t take the blame, Alexander. There are many more involved, even if you were working in the lab or assisted in the process. You are a human being capable of doing what is evil or good, just as your employer. But you are here now, helping to save people’s lives.” Joel patted him on the back. “Look, the French Ministry of Health issued a public alert for the unidentified illness which, of course, ‘they knew nothing about’ until now. Although I’ve requested support for the research from the very beginning. It took months and some scientists from the Pasteur Institute to confirm the seriousness of the virus.”
“Because it’s crossing their border,” Alexander asserted, leaving the papers on Joel’s desk.
“There are a few cases in France, so yes, now it’s important. I’m sorry. It isn’t an ego quest. I don’t care who takes credit for the research work as long as they come and help. Besides, it isn’t just me, it is we. The honor and credit go to those in the field. Madame Bosco, you, and the team. Your prompt assistance with what my antidote formula was missing, made a huge difference,” said Dr. Jobbi, eyeing the door to the intensive care room where the extreme cases were. “Despite the obstacles, I’m a hopeful fool, Alexander!”
“Your hope is contagious, Joel, no pun intended.” Alexander gripped Joel’s shoulder and looked at him earnestly. “Just like you, none of us involved in aiding is doing so for the fame and glory, but to serve; and in my case, to rectify some wrongs,” Alexander said. Although he didn’t have a definite exit plan from Masae’s stronghold, he would use his position and access to Pharma-NorTech’s resources to aid those in need for as long as he could.
“You see, our country’s weak surveillance system and poor public health infrastructure is making the outbreak containment difficult.” Joel continued talking while retrieving from a closet a personal protective equipment boxset for Alexander. It was a white barrier suit complete with a surgical hood and a face shield plus goggles, a medical mask with respirator, a waterproof coverall, double gloves, an apron, and rubber boots. “Our people are dropping dead like flies. As you’ve experienced in your previous visits, we operate sometimes without electricity or water; add to this mess a man-made virus…” Joel spoke freely with Alexander even when he was venting. It wasn’t often that he could share his concerns with someone who understood. He shook his head, overwhelmed, but clinging to the thread of hope in his heart. He handed Alexander the box with a new PPE set. He collected his own suit and put it on as well. Although it was suffocatingly hot outside and inside the hospital, he seemed immune to the hellish temperature. A native in his environment, or simply, someone with more pressing issues on his mind.
Alexander accepted the PPE ensemble. He was already sweating profusely. He took off his jacket and shirt, leaving his white t-shirt and pants on. “I know the country is in great need, but for now, let’s take care of the virus. I came bearing gifts, a larger shipment this time. Ruben, Madame Bosco’s right hand, might have already informed you. We have tripled the amount of the antidote and supplies to reproduce the formula as you need,” Alexander said, looking like a hard-shelled ghost with the heavy-duty suit which covered him completely. “We can treat the infected immediately. Lead the way, my friend.” He followed Joel to the packed rooms where people in different degrees of infection were receiving the treatment.
The sight of rows and rows of diminishing bodies on beds was so heart-wrenching, just as it had been the first time. Alexander opened and closed his eyes, wishing he was in a frightening nightmare, but the misery was very real. The sick stared at the team with vacant eyes as bloody tears rolled down their cheeks. There was a stench of death overpowering the hospital’s disinfectants. Every time Alexander, Joel, and the team of physicians approached a patient, the person recoiled in their beds as if seeing their folktale demons. They let the scientist examine and probe them as if resigned to be taken to hell. They were simply too weak and sick to fight the spectral devils in white.
Some patients were asleep, lost in an agitated world of medication fighting the disease in their bodies. Alexander witnessed their dreams with his special ability and with great concern. He saw a series of scenes, showing everyday life in the country. One man was dreaming of his work on the farm when suddenly he became very sick. His son found him fallen on the muddy ground. Another was in his mosque during prayer time, as the majority of the population was Muslim. He was rushed to the hospital.
There was a young woman on her wedding day, a simple ceremony by the sea side, the presence of a large golden cross on a table. It was a Christian wedding, but the groom was missing. He had read that it was possible to get married this way when the groom was in another town and unable to attend his ceremony. After the pronouncement, the bride would be sent to meet her husband. Alexander wondered if that was the case or if the groom was also on one of those beds. He moved slowly from bed to bed, unable to turn off his ability. There were some dark minds as well. A couple of failed robberies and a car-jacking gone wrong because of the sudden manifestation of the virus. Extreme poverty and ignorance produced crime no matter where in the world one was, Alexander considered, shaking his head. Guinea suffered greatly.
The next sleeping patient was a young woman, the lack of food and dehydration had left her only skin and bones. She slept but moaned from time to time. Alexander looked into her dreams, she was a mother breastfeeding her baby most likely unaware she had been infected. Alexander broke, tears wetted his face covering, he knew she was passing the virus to her child. He made a point to visit the pediatric unit and treat every single child.
Dr. Jobbi, Alexander, and the medical team traveled through gorgeous tropical forests to the surrounding towns, taking the Chemin de Fer’s railroad route. The jeeps rolled past colorful, natural beauty competing with the equally multicolor, traditional round huts. They also past people dressed in bright clothing, some selling fruits and produce from dusty road stands while some villagers napped in the shade of palm trees. Mango trees hung heavy with fruit, inviting the medical crew to stop the jeeps and pluck a few, when suddenly, a couple of yellow American school buses passed them by. There were probably donations to a missionary ministry, they agreed.
The driving in the highlands was slow. Ruts and potholes were so deep that Alexander was sure the jeep’s shock absorbers weren’t working, but the deep red of the long, dirt roads against all hues of green made the thumps to the kidneys worthwhile. They had started in Fria, working in the town and in every settlement along the way to Kamsar, then to Sangeredi, circling back to the railroad path to Mamou, Dabola, and Kankan.
They worked side by side with the trained locals in the medical centers, so they could continue their labor when Dr. Jobbi, the medical team, and Alexander moved on to the next place. It was out in the villages where Alexander could see the reality of life on the most unfortunate side of the globe. He learned from Joel how to deal with the people humanely. Alexander spent long days and nights in laboratories. Although they were far from the high-tech spaces, he worked in, he judged the use of his expertise in those towns finally rewarding.
As the jeeps, transporting the medicine and equipment, stopped at a gas station, curious children of all ages swamped them.
“Bon arrivés, les blancs!” they yelled cheerfully, despite their precarious conditions and the spread of the virus that could soon get to their homes. Some stood eating mangoes, skin and all, with obviously dirty hands. Their smiles were precious.
Alexander controlled his impulse to sanitize the children’s hands, reminding himself that this was their normal environment, that they had developed their required antibodies. He thought of Masae and Pharma-NorTech, spreading the strange disease in their environment. With every smile offered to him, his heart tightened; he was a hypocrite. With every kind and friendly gesture from those curious kids and adults, he knew he couldn’t continue living that way, trying to serve two demanding masters: Masae and his own conscience. It was time to get out. His mother’s debt was already paid in full, as far as he was concerned. Besides, it was his efforts and interest in his studies that made him, not Masae’s charity. Dr. Yuliya Lyashenko would have never approved of such evil done to these people. He looked around at Joel and the medical team at ease, interacting with the locals, and understood the moment. With Eva Bosco’s support, he had a chance to do the right thing and start anew. He thought of Mila, how he wished to deliver her to her grandmother, to tell her the truth he knew. He couldn’t wait any longer.
“Bonjour, ça va?” greeted the gas-station owner, offering a wide grin.
“Salaam alaikum!” greeted those who had been resting from the heat, leaning against the wall, under the precarious shadow of the roof.
“Now fix that million-dollar smile, Alexander. You’ll be posing for photos like a movie star. Regarde, comme ça,” said one of the French nurses, winking at him and posing with the shop owner. And sure enough, Alexander was asked to join the picture. Kids and adults encircled them, curious and wanting to shake their hands and pose for yet another picture.
“You see? I told you!” the nurse said, accepting a mango from one of the children.
“That’s how it used to be everywhere,” said Joel, with a sigh that was full of memories.
August 18th 8:00 A.M. GMT
94 Miles later. From Conakry to the forests near Kindia, where the first contamination case was reported from.
Just what he had witnessed in the hospital in Conakry was also true in the villages; the more remote, the worse it got. When the team got to the homes of the infected, locals were weary of them and refused treatment. They closed their hut doors in their faces. For many, les blancs, white foreigners had brought strange diseases to their villages throughout the centuries, making the people suspicious of medicine and science.
“I ni tele!” Alexander greeted a boy at his door. He said ‘good day’ in Maninka, the language preferred by locals in the forest area. “Tana ma tele?” He asked as he had been taught, trying to sound less threatening from inside the PPE suit. Is there someone ill today? was becoming a common question. The child only peered hesitantly at the men in white suits standing in front of him.
“We were told your mother is sick; could we come in to see her?” asked Dr. Jobbi, smiling inside his protective mask, but the child couldn’t see.
“He is frightened, Joel. Look at him. Like most of the people we see. They are so scared of us,” Alexander said, forlorn.
“I know. It’s making the treatment process even longer,” Joel replied, examining the boy for swollen belly or external traces of blood or any signs of infection.
“I think the suit isn’t making it easy. When we were just visitors in their eyes, everyone was cheerful and genuinely happy to see us—until we put on the white suit,” said Alexander, taking off the upper body protection. “I ni tele!” he said in a calm and friendly tone, squatting to be at the child’s level. “You see we are people. We won’t hurt you.” He let the boy study him and approach him when he was ready. “I know your mother is very sick. We need to make her better; could you help us?”
A local doctor in training also took off his head shield and interpreted what Alexander was saying. The boy nodded, moving out of the way. They entered the dark place as if going into a grave. Death was present in the narrow house without many walls. They passed the kitchen and living area which was just one room. And in a few steps, they got to the bedroom where they found the mother and little sister lying on the bed. The team rushed to the aid, transporting them to the hospital in Kindia for immediate care.
In Africa, Alexander recognized, his work had a soul and a conscience. The desire to share his knowledge and training with the world in need grew with every child, woman, man or elder who accepted the treatment and with every barrier they were able to overcome. But the deeper they moved into the country, Alexander experienced another reality in the inhabitants’ daily lives: magic ruled.
Although the majority practiced a form of Islam, and a minority practiced Christianity, the magical world of their original culture was still predominant. He learned that the locals believed the virus was the incantation of a powerful witch, and only a much more powerful witch could bring healing. Although the western physicians and nurses in the medical team laughed about this belief, Alexander considered it seriously. They were right in a way, two powerful witches: Masae and Eva.
“If we show them that science is a form of religion or magic like the one they believe in, they might not be so afraid of the vaccine. We must convince them that what we offer could destroy the incantations into which they have fallen.” Alexander discussed the uncomfortable idea with Joel and the team. “If we want the people’s cooperation in the villages, we have to go along with their beliefs. We could make a ritual cure of their liking, if we must,” he explained with a serious face, he wasn’t joking, although some laughed. But Joel was the first to admit that there was truth in it, after the laughter from the team had subsided. They were running out of time, as were the infected. Seeing things from their perspective, that spiritual forces of life and magic were closely entwined, would make them prone to accept the treatment. And that would save their lives in the physical world.
And so they did. They learned to communicate in the spiritual ways the locals did. Each person providing the antidote elevated a prayer, according to their own beliefs in a way it could be understood by the affected, that spiritual forces were waging a battle—for perhaps they truly were.
As the sun was rising, the light was bright although it was only six in the morning. The team of travelling doctors and nurses stood outside the medical center’s door for a reluctant farewell. The streets were clear, there was not much noise coming for the homes along the streets. One of the doctors going to Conakry was ready at the wheel with the Jeep’s engine on, waiting for the scientist. Alexander’s weeks of freedom passed quickly. He worked from dusk till dawn and slept only long enough to think lucidly. But his last day on the field had arrived.
“Now, Joel, there is much more to do. I regret having to stay longer. The existing bureaucracy and corruption in the leadership is worrisome, but we must take one pressing issue at a time,” said Alexander, throwing his luggage into the jeep.
“Well, your efforts might not seem great to you, Alexander, but they are indeed. You’ll be missed by all of us!” the veteran doctor said, understanding his friend’s concerned gaze. He shook Alexander’s hand, patting his back in farewell. “Until when, my friend?”
“Until we can mass produce the antidote and make it accessible to everyone. And I’ll do my best to make it happen soon,” Alexander smiled, nodding with a renewed passion. He had to join forces with Eva and her people…and with Mila.