Behind the Eclipse

by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe

  ‘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.

  38

  Working in the ward reserved for confirmed Ebola cases was just like neutralising explosives. The slightest mistake may send you a death warrant that you would not appeal for. Every single worker was constantly reminded of the prevention especially, removing the PPE which was considered as the most important thing. Following the recommended standard operational protocols in putting on the PPE and removing was the first rule which was not negotiable. As it was not possible to stay a long time wearing the PPE, we had to change them often and every single time. Layer by layer chlorination process had to be done very carefully by the experts who got trained specially for removing PPE in the ETU. Every ETU worker was extremely vigilant as we witnessed the unimaginable suffering and avoidable death of most of the patients every single day in the ETU. There was no single day that we did not have to experience death.

  Some cases reached death fast with less suffering, but many people suffered extremely. Especially, when they were passing the time of haemorrhagic stage where ble
eding started from every single opening of the body, and at that stage, the patient`s infectiousness was only second to the corpse of an Ebola patient.

  By November 2015, already over 3,500 lives from Liberia had been pulled into the trench of death by Ebola; over 8,000 were infected and more than 20,000 were affected as people who lost their loved ones. Over 1500 children had lost their parents creating a new category of orphans on top of the orphans left behind by the brutal civil conflicts. In the entire region around 30,000 individuals had already contracted the virus and two third of them were somewhat lucky enough to stay alive but unfortunate to live without their loved ones because many survivors had lost their relatives.

  It was the 15 November; the rainy season had already come to an end adding hopes to everyone as many people believed that spread of Ebola was higher in rainy seasons even though there was nothing anyone could prove it. I had to continue my work in the morning shift too since my colleague who was supposed to report for the morning shift had fallen sick.

  ‘George, you are a treasure to us,’ Dr. Michael said seeing me continue the second shift with no complaining.

  I nodded with a humble smile as I felt that it was a comment made from the most profound part of his heart. I had not noticed him praising without reason. Dr. Michael had a habit of talking about only what was necessary and relevant. He seldom spoke out of the point. Many colleagues said that he was afraid of running out of his diction.

  ‘How are those two kids?’ He asked me referring to the two confirmed cases that we were trying our best to save: One ten-year-old boy and a girl of thirteen years.

  ‘Sir they are under medication, and we gave them new drips a few minutes ago. The girl looks slightly improving whereas the condition of the little boy is uncertain.’ I updated Dr. Michael before the ward rounds.

  ‘Last night, the boy was attended by Dr. Peter and he was not happy about the situation,’ I added.

  ‘Let’s go and see what else we can do,’ Dr. Michael rushed to get his PPE to start his rounds.

  When those two children were admitted to the ETU, their parents had already died of Ebola. And the boy was not aware of the fact that his father and mother had already gone. He was quite active and playful whereas his sister was desperately grieving over the death of her parents and she was trying her best to hide it from her little brother who was already symptomatic. Whenever the boy was crying, the girl used to come near the fence and called the staff to attend her brother, and whenever the boy tried to play, she stopped him from getting tired. They had become the centre of attention of everyone in the ETU. After the third day in the observation ward, the girl also started showing the symptoms of EVD and boy`s activity level had gone down significantly which was not a good sign at all. We all knew that in case the boy could not make it, that would affect the probability of survival of the girl.

  ‘George!’ I was preparing the medicine tray when Dr. Michael yelled in the ward. I did not know how I got there, but I found myself near the bed of the boy who was trembling vigorously with convulsions. I immediately tried to turn the boy face down position for reducing the impact of fever seizure and then I noticed that he had already started bleeding from his mouth and nose.

  I realised that the boy would not make it and suggested Dr. Michael to relocate the boy to a ward where more critical patients had been so that his sister would not witness the death of her brother whom she was always concerned about.

  In less than 40 minutes after the relocation, the boy passed away leaving a permanent psychological scar on me. George II came to my mind. I could not imagine anything else, and my mind was empty except the sharp pain I felt in my wrist. I looked at my wrist wondering what happened. Between the sleeve of the protective jacket and the glows, an area of my skin had been exposed while struggling to stabilise the boy and probably, I could have hit a sharp end of a metal bed or a chair. There was a small cut which was slightly bleeding. I was relieved assuming that it was my blood. But I was not fully convinced that I was safe. I rushed to the washing area and rolled up the sleeve of the protection gear a bit. Blood stains on the sleeves on the other side of my wrist froze me for a while.

  In less than a few seconds, my father, grandmother, Oldman and the Reverend Philip showed up inside my eyes. All of them were in black clothes in a valley where there were nothing but tombstones. In the following moment, I saw myself walking along a passage leading to a silver line that separated me and those who were in black dresses. I looked behind and saw my family at the other cusp of the passage. They looked mournful. I wanted to wave them, but I was afraid that they would cross the silver line that I was about to cross.

  39

  I returned to my room in the evening with a confused mind. If it were Malaria or Typhoid, everything would be back to normal in one week, despite the weakness. But this was Ebola. Once you got contacted with body fluids, you contracted the disease. But survival could be possible if medical care was given on time and also largely on individual`s general health condition. I knew all of it as a nurse, but as a human being, I was overwhelmed with distortions that thronged into my mind just like vultures around a dying prey left by Cheetahs. Every single distortion had their portion just like each vulture taking a beak-full of bleeding flesh out of gradually dying prey.

  I had bought a parcel of Dumboy with some Pepper-goat soup, but my appetite was completely lost. I threw my meal to the dog waiting outside the fence sensing the smell of goat soup. I walked slowly into my room and leant on the bed head. My head was too heavy on my neck. I had already developed a severe headache which squeezed and crumpled my skull. I did not know how long I remained to drown in thoughts associated with nothing but rather a painful death than a struggle for survival. When I opened my eyes, it was dark and my head was heavy and hot. I tried to switch on the light, crawling along the mattress. I hit the table with my leg, and everything on it fell including my glass of water which I heard breaking.

  When the lights were on, I saw the photo of Jesus Christ fallen face-up on the floor. The glare produced by the reflection of the light right on the face of Christ reached my eyes just like rays of blessings.

  ‘Your life is in the hands of God,’ words of the Reverend Maurice came to my mind. I had been living through difficult times under the shelter of the Creator and protection of my ancestors until the day of my baptism when I was taken into the hands of God. Today, I was left with this piece of photo, which was the son of God who sacrificed his life for the salvation of the rest of us and I was looking at him as a father who almost sacrificed his life for the well-being of his family and, as a nurse who dared to maintain the oath of Nightingale amidst a killer epidemic. I tried to see myself as Jesus who was crucified during his endeavouring efforts in fighting for salvation. I silently prayed for his father, God. I prayed for my life and my family, but I could not realise that He failed to save his own son from the brutal Crucifixion.

  Though I was exhausted after having battled with various distortions and helplessness, I could not sleep the whole night. Whenever my eyelids touched each other, I saw what I witnessed in the village of Oldman`s brother, and then my father dying. I woke up with strong tremors in my arms and legs and palpitations that were felt as if the heart was trying to break my ribcage. The whole night was full of auditory and visual hallucinations.

  ‘Come here!’ I heard my grandmother all of a sudden whom I knew was no longer alive. She used to call me peeping through the window whenever she had something to give me.

  ‘Where are you going to go?’ My dead mother`s voice followed immediately what grandmother said. They used to have this cold war in which many of us caught in crossfires−specially my father and me.

  When I noticed the first rays of the rising sun, I realised that I had broken a night alive. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and walked up to the broken mirror barely hanging on the wall. I was shocked to see how my face looked like: swel
led and bled from the nose, eyes, and mouth. I screamed aloud.

  ‘What happened?’ It was Mr. Konnah who burst into my room. He kept looking at me for a few seconds and said ‘Rats are there, it’s a part of African life.’

  I wondered why he did not talk about my face. I went to the mirror again. My face was full of foam, and nothing else was there.

  I thought of revealing to Dr. Michael about what I encountered, and I believed that he would help me in dealing with the situation. I went to the office passing all the hurdles that I thought would be impossible. Temperature monitoring 36.4 degree Celsius, I was cleared. Then I went directly to the room of Dr. Michael and stood before him keeping a safer distance.

  ‘The boy could not make it, and the girl is critical too,’ he updated me as usual without having a clue about what I was going through.

  ‘Dr. I think I have come into contact with the blood of the boy yesterday.’ Dr. Michael kept looking at me as though he could not believe what I was telling.

  ‘George,’ he said walking towards me.

  ‘Doctor do not come close to me!’ I yelled.

  ‘No George, you can’t infect me,’ he said smiling while moving towards me.

  ‘Sit’! He said empathically showing me the chair where he was sitting and talked about our daily operations.

  ‘It is fine, I am comfortable here,’ I said hesitantly as I did not want to sit in a chair where others who had not come to contact with the sources of infection would sit.

  ‘George’ Dr. Michael pulled my hands and made me sit.

  ‘You need to remember that what we say is what we have to follow. Till the patient manifests the symptoms, the person is not infectious. You know that very well, right?’ He sounded calm.

  ‘I will call Irina here so that others will not notice you.’ Dr. Michael left the office to call Dr. Irina who was the head of the psychosocial unit. Dr.Irina was a very kind-hearted young lady who was from one of the republics of the ex-soviet union. Besides her strange Russian accent which sounded like throwing stones on a metal roof, her English was clearer than the other expatriates I had met from her part of the world.