Ebola and the Death of Shakie Kamara

Ebola CrowdThe following is based on real events.

Shakie Kamara had a hard life. He had suffered through much more than a 15-year-old would normally be expected to. When he was young, his mother and father had died, leaving him the care of an aunt, Eva Nah. Eva was not in a good financial position to care for Shakie, but she took on the responsibility with a firm sense of duty.

She had been a good caregiver within her means, which were not great. The only housing she could arrange was in one of the poorest slums in Monrovia, West Point. Their small home was cramped, but relatively happy despite the circumstances.

When Shakie had first heard the word Ebola, it was in a radio broadcast talking about a strange sickness in Lofa County. He had not thought much of it then, there were many bad sicknesses in the world and Lofa was far north.

Within weeks, Shakie was hearing from friends that Ebola had come to Monrovia. The discussions in the shacks on rainy days were conflicted. Some were very afraid of this new illness that cause you to bleed from your eyes and eats. Some said that this was a plot by Ma to get more money from America. Some said this was a plague made by white men to eliminate Africans.

Shakie didn’t concern himself with such grand things. Day to day food was a much more pressing issue for him. Eva worked where she could and Shakie also did whatever work he could for their small home.

When the first West Point residents were taken to the hospitals with Ebola, the community became tense. Several people Shakie knew had gone to those hospitals and very few of them ever returned. Not only were they fighting the ever-present plague of hunger, now a fearsome disease was stalking among them.

When the West Point Clinic was opened, Shakie was somewhat relieved. There was not a place for the sick to go. Maybe he wouldn’t get sick now. Plus, with the schools closed and the clinic in the schoolhouse, maybe Eva will get off his back about learning to read better.

The next day, Shakie saw a crowd trotting toward the new clinic. He followed at a distance (they didn’t look friendly). They arrived at the clinic. Men in the front yelled and ripped the gate off its hinges. A mass of humanity rushed into the clinic and many of the sick people were brought out.

Shakie did believe in Ebola so he avoided all the people leaving the clinic. When he saw people leaving the clinic with mattresses, sheets, and food, he rushed into the clinic himself to see what he could grab for his home.

The crowd had been swift and thorough. There wasn’t a stitch of fabric or a crumb of food left in the entire clinic. Shakie searched but all he found were a few nurses and about ten sick people who refused to leave the clinic. On seeing them, Shakie made a quick exit.

There was a strange calm in West Point over the next day. It felt like being heard for the first time in a long time. The slum had been ignored by the government for so long and they had shown them that they mattered. While Shakie didn’t like what was done, it did feel good to be heard.

The following morning, Shakie woke to a commotion outside. There, at the entrance to West Point, was a mound of debris blocking the streets. Soldiers stood behind the piles with guns in hand. A man who had an air of authority to him walked up with a megaphone.

“West Point, Ma has placed you under quarantine. You cannot come or go. If you have any sick people, please bring them to be taken to the hospitals.”

He repeated this several times. Few in the crowd knew what a quarantine was and it took a lengthy explanation from the  soldiers to get the message through.

They were trapped in West Point.

Well, to be clear, people without money were trapped. The bribes to leave came quickly. People quickly learned that if they looked poorer, they could get out with a smaller bribe. Most of the residents didn’t even have the meager amount necessary to bribe the soldiers.

Shakie was on the poor side even for West Point so he and Eva were going nowhere.

The calm after the clinic had been ransacked was gone. Now West Point seethed. Through the night the people of West Point became more and more agitated. They quickly realized they would run out of food. Prices for rice and fruit had doubled immediately once the quarantine had been placed. The soldiers had not mentioned anything about food coming. No one could go out and get food to bring it back.

They would starve.

The air that night was pungent not simply with the usual smell of humanity, but with the sense that something was going to happen soon. As men sat around small fires discussing, all of them were planning how they could escape from West Point.

Shakie was not involved in such discussion. Eva made sure that he was in before dark. During these troubled times, she had kept him on a shorter leash.

As dawn broke, Eva asked Shakie to go to a small shop near the entrance to West Point to get some tea and bread for them for breakfast. After grabbing what he hoped would be the necessary funds, he left. As he approached, a large mass of humanity moved quickly to his left. In an instant, Shakie realized he had walked into a riot. A soldier with a bullhorn was yelling some final warning, but the crowd rushing the barricade was no to be stopped.

Gunfire…

As suddenly as the crowd had lurched forward, it exploded in every direction away from the barricade. Some were bleeding, but in good enough condition to run away. No one noticed a small, 15-year-old boy with his legs mangled beneath him.

“No ma, No pa,” he screamed into the sudden stillness around him. Some trails of blood led back into sundry places in West Point, his blood left no trail, but a pool.

The soldiers didn’t know what to do and stood, paralyzed for a moment. The man with the bullhorn quickly ordered them to call for an ambulance and to tend the boy as best they could.

Despite the close proximity to several hospitals, ambulances in Monrovia take some time to arrive. Shakie was already unconscious with an inconsolable Eva nearby by the time the ambulance pulled up. Shakie was rushed to Redemption Hospital where he died quickly of blood loss.

The Defense Ministry claimed the Shakie had been killed by barbed wire, but the staff at Redemption were not persuaded. Shakie had obviously died from gunfire. The war had taught many of them what a bullet hole looked like in a person’s body.

Shakie Kamara never caught Ebola. The infection was spreading through Liberia and was slowly working out a much deadlier and more dangerous disease: panic. Though Shakie did not die of Ebola, it most certainly killed him.

-Chip

The story above is based on real events. I have taken some artistic liberty, but the events are real. I do not personally know anyone involved, but I felt that the story, as much as it is known, should be told.

The image above is from Abrissa Someri and is used with permission.

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Ebola and West Point (a true story)

West PointThe following is dramatization based on real events.

Charles Smith had been afraid when he first heard of Ebola. Rumors had been swirling for weeks, but he had not believed them until men from the government rode through West Point with loudspeakers telling them that Ebola was in West Point. They warned to watch for people with fevers and vomiting.

That was also when his doubts about Ebola began. Fever, vomiting? Malaria causes those symptoms too. After 14 years of civil war, he had been lied to by the government before and this did not ring true. His doubts were increased when “health workers” came to West Point wearing suits that we all white and covered them head to toe. He had seen things like this in American films.

West Point, a peninsula in Western Monrovia, was known for its poverty and squalid conditions. 50,000 people share two groups of public toilets (that most can’t afford). The beaches are littered with human waste waiting for the tides to come in and wash it away.

When he heard from friends that even doctors were saying there was no such thing as Ebola, he knew this was a coverup for something else. Something evil. Rumors were spreading that white men were eating people in the white tents and at the ELWA hospital. The posting of signs throughout Monrovia did not impress Charles. Like 75% of Liberians, he couldn’t read them, but signs told more lies that truths in his mind.

Charles took comfort that the Ebola liars were mostly on the other side of Monrovia. The JFK Hospital is uncomfortably close, but still far enough away. West Point had its problems, but the Ebola liars were not one of them.

He was awakened Sunday morning by his friend Thomas. The Ebola liars had come to West Point. A clinic had been opened in West Point itself!

“How can this happen? How can we let them eat our own children,” asked Charles.

He went to visit several friends to discuss this new clinic. Many could die if they don’t act quickly. The small crowd around him swelled to about ten as he discussed fervently how they must stop the clinic. Joseph, an old friend ran up.

“Charles, they have taken Jimmy into the clinic.”

Jimmy, one of Charles’ nephews, had been sick for a few days with Malaria. Now they had brought him into that death trap.

“Come with me friend. Come, let’s stop this madness” cried Charles. The crowd of ten swelling to over one hundred within minutes. Fueled by a smoldering anger at the lies about Ebola, burst into an angry trot.

The clinic was a converted school which was now going to hold patients who had been identified as having Ebola. The plan was for these patients to then go to a hospital when a bed became available.

The shanty gates to the clinic were easily ripped off their posts. The small clinic compound was quickly filled with several hundred people.

“The President says you have Ebola. You don’t have Ebola, you have malaria” Charles yelled, “Get up and get out.”

Many of the patients in the clinic left, including several children. Charles was quite relieved when he saw Jimmy. He had not been sent away to those hospitals to be eaten. Jimmy, clearly weak but able to walk, stood gingerly. Charles walked over and grabbed him under the arm and assisted him out of the compound. Jimmy was safe.

The others did not have such charitable motives. The mass of humanity quickly stripped the clinic bare of all food, mattresses, sheets, and gloves. Charles was indignant with the mob. He was here to save his nephew, not to steal from the clinic. He knew right from wrong and this was wrong.

With his nephew in tow, Charles was in no position to stop the mass looting. Within  minutes, it was done. There was nothing left in the clinic except about ten patients who refused to leave and some desperate nurses who wondered what to do next.

Charles took Jimmy back to his small home. Jimmy was feverish and clearly needed Charles’ care. He brought him food and water. Jimmy was shivering despite his fever. Charles laid next to him on the mattress and pulled him close to warm him. As they both fell asleep, Charles took great comfort that those he loved were close.

They were safe.

-Chip

The characters in this story are all fictional. The events of this story occurred on Saturday, 8/16/14, and are tragically true

 The Image Above is an aerial  view of West Point provided by Juan Freir and Google. It is used with permission.