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How Ebola has turned lives upside down in Sierra Leone

Wednesday November 12 2014
Ebola

Members of the Kagome family stand by their home with children in quarantine in the Dwarzac neighbourhood in Freetown on November 7, 2014. PHOTO | FRANCISCO LEONG | AFP

At one of the entrances to Freetown`s Connaught Hospital, a woman pleads to be allowed in to see her relative, a patient at the hospital, admitted with the deadly Ebola virus. Her relative has been in the hospital for the past two weeks, she laments. But the gatekeeper will not budge.

“If he has died, they should tell me,” the woman shouts, before hurrying off to the main entrance.

The gatekeeper here, masked like a Tuareg cattle herder, apparently in protection against infection, selects whom to admit after inquiring about their purpose of visit. The woman is again denied entry.

This is how much security has changed in most facilities, especially hospitals, across Sierra Leone, one of the three West African countries battling the Ebola outbreak. It is partly to control crowds but it is also to ensure security for the isolation unit, a doctor explained.

Connaught is Sierra Leone’s main referral hospital. It is not an Ebola treatment centre, but because of lack of space to accommodate a growing number of patients, it also serves as a holding centre.

A few days ago, a woman who tested positive for Ebola attempted to escape, according to sources. Back at the gate, it emerged that there were a few other people waiting for news about their loved ones, their stories both worrying and sad. And such stories are growing across the country.

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The past few weeks have been particularly tense as the epidemic switched its epicentre to the Western Area, which includes the crowded capital city Freetown.

By the beginning of September, it had fewer than 100 cases. Then, the hardest hit eastern districts of Kailahun and Kenema were making the headlines with a combined case load of over 800. By October 28, Western Area had over 1,000 cases, ahead of both Kailahun and Kenema, now with 551 and 480 cases, respectively.

On average, 50 infections are recorded daily, according to official sources.

Anger and fear

Covering the unfolding realities of this epidemic has exposed me to unsettling experiences, which provoke both anger and fear. When in September I told my wife I was going to Kenema, she thought I had gone mad. Although I never said it, for fear of making my pregnant wife more anxious, I was not sure of my decision either.

When Sierra Leone confirmed its first case, Kenema was home to the only lab capable of testing for Ebola. All of the initial cases were handled there. Many lives, including those of health workers, among them the country`s best known virologist, Dr Umar Khan, were lost there.

All kinds of stories coming out of there suggested it was a hell hole. I went anyway. But after the trip, I had the longest 21 days of my life.

I felt sick on returning, with a constant though mild headache. I also felt pain in my joints, and a little fatigue — classic symptoms of Ebola. I had not slept for more than two hours in three days. Could that be the reason for my ill-health? I kept asking myself that and hoping the answer was yes.

Telling anyone about your state of health in Sierra Leone today could be dangerous. Forget about the endless official announcements urging people to do so.

There is the story of pregnant Shola Margao. She had a fight with her husband, leaving her bleeding. Nurses at the Princess Christian Maternity Hospital in the east of the capital assumed she had Ebola, and abandoned her in an isolation tent where she bled to death. Later, a test for the virus turned negative.

At the Rokupa Government Hospital, also in the east of the city, a patient suspected of having Ebola was sprayed with chlorine till he died by jittery health workers unsure of how to handle her case. After three days, I told my wife to prepare for the worst.

“If something happens to me, you know how to get in touch with my family (in Gambia),” I said. I then apologised for all the arguments we had had. Tears were now running down her cheeks.

But my greatest fear was the thought that I would not see my unborn child. While waiting and hoping for the best, I kept thinking where I might have gone wrong in Kenema.

One particular instance came to mind. There was this man who approached me at a gas station. He said he was a college student and had not eaten for days. He wanted to buy “garri” (pounded cassava). I took out a Le 10,000-note ($2). He was so overwhelmed, he gripped my feet to show appreciation.

Could he have been the source of my infection? But he didn’t look like it. Still holding that thought, I fell asleep. In the morning, all the pain had gone. I felt like a newborn.

Fatmata’s story, told at a government press conference, compelled me to visit Rokupa. The nurses refused to touch her after identifying her as the daughter of their caretaker, who had died a few days earlier from Ebola. He was infected as part of a chain of infections that started with the hospital’s pharmacist.

“She was sprayed with chlorine every 30 seconds until she died,” Fatmata`s brother, Abu Benjamine Tarawallie, told me.

My first regret was sitting on the visitors’ chair in the office of the hospital’s medical superintendent for an interview.

“The past three weeks have been traumatic,” said Dr Matilda King. Three of her staff were still fighting for their lives in a tent serving as the isolation centreat the back of the hospital.

“If you saw me before today, you would know how much weight I have lost because of anxiety,” she said.

But my worst experience with the Rokupa story was at an interview with a lab technician. The young man was drunk and as he talked, he spat all over my face and would even pat my back occasionally to emphasise a point. The golden rule with Ebola is “no touching,” especially not with a health worker; worst of all someone who handles blood. But I did not want to lose a source.

Journalists like keeping in touch with sources in case of further developments. In this case, however, I kept calling and checking on the health status of my sources. I thought if anyone developed complications I was doomed. For another 21 days, my life was on edge.

Journalism aside, every aspect of life in Freetown today places you at enormous risk — from its rickety and congested public transportation system to overcrowded and chaotic streets.

Some aspects of our lives that we took for granted a few weeks ago, have suddenly become life-and-death issues. For example, I take over a month without visiting the barber and whenever I do, I spend the rest of the month wondering: What if the barber was infected? What if he had just cut the hair of an infected person before me?

A ban on overcrowding in commercial transport vehicles, aimed at cutting down on transmission rates, interestingly has shown that attitude, rather than just resources, is at the centre of this problem.

The other day, two passengers came close to exchanging blows in the Poda Poda (commercial transport van). One of them felt offended when they were reminded that they were perspiring.

A friend recently complained that while riding on his bike, someone spat into the wind from a moving Poda Poda ahead of him.
“What if he had Ebola,” he posted on his Facebook page.

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