Behind the Eclipse

by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe

  For our housewarming party, I invited Dr. Harris as the chief guest. He completely agreed with my decision of moving out.

  ‘George, you are a man with foresight, and you have a tough and supportive woman,’ Dr. Harris said congratulating me on my achievement.

  ‘I want my children to be safe Sir,’ I expressed my fears.

  ‘I know, and my family is pressuring me to come back home,’ he added.

  ‘Situation might deteriorate faster than we assume,’ Dr. Harris said

  ‘It is already in Lofa now’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it is still in rural Liberia where the population density is lesser than the urban Monrovia where more than a half of the country`s population lives attached to one another. In case it starts spreading here, it will be like a wildfire,’ he sighed.

  ‘I still try to keep hope even though I feel the heat of the fire, Sir,’ I said.

  ‘It looks like people do not want to believe it,’ Dr. Harris looked frustrated.

  ‘They are in a constant denial of its existence,’ he said with frustration.

  ‘Sir you know, when I was small, I met with a situation which was pretty similar to this. In the neighbouring village, where my grandfather`s brother was the chief, almost everyone died with a very highly contagious disease that we used to call Bush-curse. Then my father, who had gone to support the traditional healer had contracted the disease, and my village was seriously affected. I do still remember my father leaving with the healer to Guinea. Then he had returned to Liberia as the disease spread across the border. For me, it is just the history that repeats,’

  ‘George. Probably you are right,’ his reply that validated my explanation made me feel recognised.

  ‘You know, we have scientific evidence from a limited number of countries only since 1976, but it does not mean that it had not occurred anywhere else, since all favourable conditions for such virus to spread are here in the West Africa; therefore I can`t disregard your childhood testimony,’ Dr. Harris said making a point that we both could agree upon.

  After a couple of hours of pleasant conversation, he wished us again for our future and stood to leave promising me that he would visit again. I followed him up to the fence.

  ‘See you in the office, George,’ he said aloud getting into his white colour land cruiser.

  When I turned back, the children and Aminatta were at the portico looking at me while I was walking inside. I was proud of being a man who was able to provide his family with a house of their own. But it looked like that our shelter had been built on an epicentre of a catastrophe that the metal roof, high fence, and the iron grills could not supplement the protection of the father and the love of the mother in protecting my children because all stories of Ebola mixed with my childhood experience in Kissi village had induced a severe anxiety within me.

  ‘George`s life is in the hands of God, so are the lives of these children,’ I thought.

  30

  Just like the mushrooms sprouting from the earth one after the other, new cases started being reported in Lofa County amid the denial by most of the Liberians of the fact that the octopus called Ebola had already stretched its killer arms full of suckers within the Liberian territory reminding me of my childhood experience with the Bush-curse. While the death toll and new cases started multiplying just like Feeder-Guppies, fear began raising among the conscious Liberians who were the minority and affluent people, but the majority ignorant population kept on denying it was Ebola.

  ‘Who says Ebola here?’ Mr.Kenneh, who was a lawyer living next door, asked me one day. He had studied in Ireland, but education did not seem to have done anything about his blindness imposed by his cultural beliefs. He firmly believed that it was not Ebola.

  ‘Ebola in Congo and Uganda, do you think it will travel all the way across the bush and the desert? You are joking my man,’ he laughed sarcastically.

  ‘George you work for NGO, You grew up with the white man. All of them want to kill the black man,’ he said looking at me with his round goggle-like eyes full of wrath.

  At the offices, shops, clubs, pubs and in the taxis, everyone talked about the new disease that non-governmental organisations and The United Nations were talking about.

  Discussions and arguments that swung between ‘Ebola here’ and ‘It is a lie,’ had already become a part of every single conversation. It looked like the country had already been divided into two groups: those who believed in its existence and those who did not. While people were busy with their arguments and discussions, Ebola had conquered entire Lofa which was an alarming situation that the government of Liberia or any Non-governmental actor could not take control over. Most of the people in Monrovia were convinced that Lofa was far away enough to keep them safe from Ebola. And others were confident that it was not Ebola but Lassa fever or a type of Malaria that the traditional healer could manage.

  While many people remained ignorant and blind to the situation with the lack of proper and reliable information, rumours started spreading just like ripples in a paddy-field. They were ephemeral and changed as they travelled, but they indicated where the wind was blowing. As fast as rumours passed around, the virus had been on its murderous odyssey across the county taking a few more hundreds of lives into the lap of death.

  I got enough fair reasons to believe that Ebola and what we called the Bush-curse were the same as the detailed information about the disease started to be disseminated on the radio. But the newspapers were in a competition to have better sales records using the epidemic by publishing horrific and terrific news about the outbreak contributing to births of new rumours panicking the people. But the health authorities still seemed to be in a deep slumber while the people were dying in the bush.

  ‘A suspected case in Monrovia,’ Dr. Harris partially opened the glass door of his cubical and said in a panicked tone.

  ‘This is not going to be easy this time,’ I added.

  ‘It must be a lie,’ Camara, our office assistant, said while enjoying his breakfast with unspecified bush meat.

  ‘Camara, this is not a joke. Your people are dying one after the other.’ Dr. Harris shut the door loud.

  Liberia being a country where there was a significantly higher expatriate population compared to its neighbours, the gap between the foreigners and the locals started widening because many Liberians continued their life without seeking for proper medical support and opted witchcraft and traditional medicine as if there was no Ebola. That boosted the spread of the disease drastically.

  ‘Do not eat bush meat!

  Do not handle dead animals!

  Do not hug or shake hands!

  Do not touch dead bodies!’

  People did not want to hear the ‘Don’t’ list to prevent the spread of Ebola because all the things appeared in the ‘Don’t’ list were things that were inseparably embedded in our culture which people considered important in their lives. Besides that, people started questioning how came all those things that they had been doing for generations caused a new disease abruptly.

  ‘We used to eat bush meat ever since, we did not get Ebola,’ Camara said several times to Dr. Harris whenever he tried to convince him that eating and handling bush meat was believed to be a cause of Ebola transmission to human. On the one hand, Dr. Harris was right, but on the contrary, Camara had his own reasons because he had been eating bush meat ever since he was weaned, but he got no sickness. It was natural that people, who did not have the scientific knowledge to understand complex process such as transmission of zoonotic diseases to human, argued and believed that those stories were pure lies concocted by the white people to change the African way of life. Eating bushmeat was continued in the bush as well as in Monrovia despite many dissemination efforts of the best preventive methods taken by non-governmental sector.

  Besides the funeral rituals which were vital to follow to ensure that the
process of the loved ones of the deceased joining the ancestors looked threatened by the new code of preventing Ebola. I knew as a Kissi how important the rituals had been for those who were left by the dead relative. We washed the body, paid last respect by touch and many other close contact rituals followed to make sure that the deceased relative would be happy in his afterlife. At the same time, social pressure to do the rituals according to the tribal traditions played a significant role that the community members couldn’t do otherwise. In any case, if the most important organs of the deceased were not taken out for the secret society activities, the dead relative could neither join the ancestors nor be buried underneath the ground. Taking out organs of every single person who died in Liberia was a must since almost everyone had an affiliation to some secret society that determined what part would be taken for the witchcrafts. Therefore, every healer and the close relatives had close contacts with their deceased relative and they were not ready to stop their activities which had been practised for generations as it determined the kind of afterlife the dead relative would be gifted with. Also, the fear of not being able to keep promises to secret societies too played a big role. As a consequence, faster than the message ‘Do not touch dead bodies!’ traditional healers and the close relatives of the deceased started contracting Ebola.

  The Liberian snap handshake remained as an identical feature of the Liberian culture which was nourished by the culture of Americo-Liberians known as Congo-people. We shook hands just like any other, but at the end of the handshake, the mutual press of the fingers produced a ‘snap’ sound. Apocryphally, the custom was attributed to the Americo-Liberian population of freed slaves who created the gesture to contrast with the slave owners’ practice of breaking slaves’ fingers, but it had gone across the country and become a symbolic Liberian gesture that we considered as ours. Whenever the radio announcements broadcast ‘Do not shake hands,’ people laughed aloud.

  ‘They destroy our culture,’ was often the response.

  ‘You can’t eat bush meat, you can’t do burial rituals, you can’t handshake, non-governmental organisations are conspiring to destroy our culture,’ the driver of Dr. Harris, Moiffie said while driving us home.

  ‘Moiffie! You know it is hard to accept that you have to change your whole life to avoid Ebola, but if you do not do so, it will sooner or later take not only your life but also the lives of everyone around you, including your family and me, probably your whole village.’ Dr. Harris was very patient and empathetic, but Moiffie looked unconvinced.

  ‘Allah!’ He said taking his both hands off the steering wheel of the Jeep that was moving quite fast along Tubman Boulevard which was full of vehicles. Praying, while taking risks in something that could easily be prevented by being conscious and proactive, would not be answered either by God, Allah or the Creator.

  ‘I do pray every day and plead God to protect my family and me. At the same time, I stay conscious and take preventive steps as there are things that we have to do by ourselves to prevent from being infected,’ I was quite pissed off which Dr. Harris too noticed.

  ‘You are an exemplary father and a citizen,’ Dr. Harris appreciated my words.

  ‘Shall I ask you a question George?’

  ‘Sure Sir,’ I replied to Dr. Harris without knowing what he might ask.

  ‘You are a nurse; it’s your profession that you take pride in doing,’

  ‘Yes Sir,’

  ‘You love your family, and you take preventive steps all the time to protect your loved ones,’

  ‘Yes Sir,’

  ‘But sooner or later we all have to respond to Ebola epidemic which is approaching us.

  What will be your position?’ He looked right in my eyes and waited till words came out of my mouth.

  ‘Sir, I would be honoured to serve people in need, but I will make sure that I will be safe in all possible ways.’ I think I replied heroically, but fears palpitated my heart which probably Dr. Harris heard.

  ‘It would not be easy like the words you said George,’ his reply was the voice of underlaying thought of mine.

  31

  ‘George you have got a letter,’ Camara stopped me at the entrance to my office.

  ‘Looks like from outside’ while I was opening the letter, he tried to peep into it which was one of his bad habits that Dr. Harris always screamed at him for.

  ‘Dear George,

  Be the grace of God with you!

  It has already been a long time since you left Conakry. Hope you are happy and successful in the home country. How is your job? Do you still work with the Non-Governmental organisation which you were attached to when you were in Conakry?

  Our lives have become more complicated than it used to be. Ebola has stolen many lives in Guinea. It has stolen Mothers from infants who were not even weaned, Breadwinners from poor families, husbands from wives, sisters from brothers, and left nothing but hopelessness and horror at the horizon.

  Many selfless health workers have already sacrificed their lives. It had created a huge vacuum in the health system in the country, leading to a far more deteriorating situation as far as the epidemic is concerned.

  Besides all of that, the people in rural villages do not accept the existence of the disease and they think that it was a western conspiracy to eradicate African population from the world. No white person can go to the most prevalent remote villages where the people believe that the white man mixed some poison to polio-vaccination campaign in rural Guinea. Unfortunately, that outbreak coincided with the vaccination campaign, and it has become nearly impossible to convince those illiterate people of the fact that there was no co-relation between Ebola and Polio vaccination campaign.

  We have something called ETU−Ebola treatment unit where the patients are kept isolated and treated to minimise further spread of the disease, but a couple of times the villagers attacked ETUs assuming that white men take body parts of their relatives while they are alive and then announce their loved ones are dead. Rumour-driven nature of these societies has hampered the impact of the international efforts in controlling the transmission. The myths about the disease, cultural practices, especially, burial practices and the reluctance in accepting the existence of Ebola have become challenges in containing the epidemic.

  Besides all the negatives, there are youth volunteers and some tribal leaders who are trying their best to spread the message on how to prevent, but, to be honest, it is scary that the disease spreads faster than the little progress that everyone who fight the epidemic has made.

  Lack of experts, skilled workers and the health infrastructure to address such a virulently spreading epidemic have resulted in cascading effects in Guinea. For example, many companies and organisations have left increasing the unemployment and poverty levels to sky high, more than a half of health workers have died leaving less and fewer people to take care of the sick increasing the death toll. Shops and markets are closed and communal activities such as gathering including our mass, are banned. The whole country is in a death-trap.

  We pray every single hour, but nothing seems to be heard. Ebola looks like a real curse coming from the bush.

  And I heard that there were cases in Liberia too, and the day it would penetrate the territory of Sierra-Leone will not be far. Trust me. It`s a curse of the demon that forced us to question our faith sometimes. But it is important to believe in God. Be safe and keep praying!

  However, I would love to hear news about you. And I hope it is high time for people like you had come to the forefront of the battle against this demonic force that has just entered your motherland.

  May God bless you for every single initiative you take in serving the people in need!

  May God bless you!

  Pastor Jean-Paul.’

  A sudden thought of guilt hit the deepest place in my heart when I saw it was the Pastor Jean-Paul. It looked like I had forgotten my
roots of success while I was busy succeeding. Then my thoughts shifted to the content of the letter which gave me an exact picture of what Liberia would be like in coming few months’ time. It was a picture of horror and woe that one would never want to imagine of. I tore a piece of paper from a notebook and wrote a reply to the Pastor Jean-Paul apologising for not having been able to write to him for a long time and in which I did not forget to explain the deteriorating situation in Liberia as well.

  ‘And I hope that it is high time for people like you had come to the forefront of the battle against this demonic force that has just entered your motherland.’ It was the response to what Dr. Harris asked me a few days ago. ‘But sooner or later, we all have to respond the Ebola epidemic which seems to be approaching us. What will be your position?’ But my childhood trauma, witnessing the Bush-curse in Kissi village, pulled my heroic and humanitarian thoughts miles back. And my children and Aminatta added more weight to the strength of the traumatic memories. I found myself on a horn of dilemma when Dr. Harris asked me to go with him to Lofa on a field visit with him. That evening I went home not knowing how to tell Aminatta that I was supposed to go to Lofa with Dr. Harris to visit a place where the patients were being treated.

  ‘Tomorrow I will go in the field with Dr. Harris,’ I said. But Aminatta had noticed the fictitiousness in my voice and asked whether it was an area affected by Ebola.

  I said, ‘No.’ It was the first lie I uttered consciously but not with an idea of cheating her but just to avoid her panicking after hearing that I was going to Lofa.

  The Following day, Dr. Harris and I visited a local hospital where a temporary ward for Ebola had been opened. Before entering the ward, we were given special gears to wear. A multi-layered dress that covered the full body to avoid contacts with anything that was contagious. After putting on the first layer, I already started sweating. After dressing up, I looked at myself. I was just like an astronaut.