Behind the Eclipse

by Pramudith D. Rupasinghe

  ‘Allo! Do you hear me?’ I heard from the other end.

  ‘Yes,’ I said but nothing more.

  ‘Do you hear me?’ She asked again.

  ‘I do,’ I replied.

  ‘They both are together, do not worry! Your daughter and wife are with us.’ Pauline assured.

  ‘Are you a …?’ I was about to ask whether she was a nurse or a doctor.

  ‘I am a doctor working in the treatment centre. Your daughter and wife are in my ward,’ she said in a reassuring voice but did not know that the man whom she was talking to was also in a treatment unit just like his daughter and wife.

  ‘You are free to call them anytime. And I will keep your number with me to inform their progress.’ I said ‘alright’ as I knew that she did not have an idea if I would be alive to hear from her again. But I started wondering why Aminatta could not talk. Was she critical? How came her situation escalated that fast? I was lost in a multitude of questions to which I did not have a single answer. I felt numb and indifferent and did not feel sorrowful anymore instead I started seeing people whom I loved just below my eyelid. They were silent and immobile. I suddenly felt weak, and they withered away as my eyes were closed.

  Every night one or two patients died in the ward. The middle-aged police officer who was transferred to the ward of confirmed cases was lying in his bed with his face covered which was evident enough to understand he was no longer living. Bed number 12 had gone the night before, and 13 left life previous night. I was on bed number 14 wondering whether I was the next.

  ‘George, how are you feeling?’ Dr. Michael asked while attaching the code of new intra-venal medication tube to the cannula fixed to my hand.

  ‘Trying small small*,’ I said.

  ‘Do not worry we are trying our best. You will be fine,’ Dr. Michael told me in such a tone that I felt he was trying to boost my stamina and moral.

  ‘I heard from Kakata, and they are improving,’ Dr. Michael added pumping some life into me.

  ‘Doctor,’ I wanted to talk even though it was exhausting.

  ‘Yes,’

  ‘Princess and Aminatta?’

  ‘They are fine, under medication. You can talk to them this evening over the phone.’ His words were first like pouring honey into my ears, but the following moment was followed by the fear of probable bitter reality which I might hear from the other end of the phone. However, I was hopeful to hear from them, but by the late afternoon, I was suffering from severe dysentery. A couple of times I vomited, and every time it was brown. I felt weak and dehydrated even though I was constantly rehydrated intravenously. I had completely lost my appetite. Everything except what went through the cannula was rejected from my body as if it was calling for a time of peacefulness to take me to eternal peace.

  I felt the veritable fear of death: losing my life, leaving my body behind, venting in the air as a soul with no host to live, leaving my family and all that I had earned. I started praying for God whom the Reverend Maurice introduced to me the time I was reborn as George. Then I begged for mercy from the Creator of Kissis and asked for help from my ancestors out of whom many had succumbed due to the Bush-curse which I still believed to be this Ebola. I prayed day and night, over and over again. I confessed everything I believed to be sins so that anyone among those, up there, could hear me. I wanted a word of relief, a divine word, gospel, a non-judgemental gesture and kindness but not human sympathy. I prayed till I got hiccoughs which scared me out as I had witnessed many people die in the treatment unit after reaching the stage where they started to hiccough.

  Next day morning, I could not hear or see properly. My eyes were almost closed, and my body pain had become more severe. I had a terrible stomach pain and a headache, yet I saw a pregnant lady who was admitted two days ago being rounded up by the doctors.

  ‘Oh No!’ It was Dr. Annabelle.

  The following moment, I saw them disconnect all intravenous equipment of her and take her out of the ward with a piece of cloth on her face. Waiting for death while witnessing the others die, was more painful than dying first.

  Dr. Michael and Dr. Annabelle monitored me more often than the other patients. The nurses, who were my colleagues, were always with me checking on me every single minute.

  It was the seventh day I felt a bit better, grace to the best supportive care I received from my staff. They replenished fluids constantly, and I was constantly monitored for secondary infections, and they kept me alive to fight the battle until I was able to gain some muscle and sharpen my sword to battle alone with the disease. After the eighth day, I started feeling my improvements as hiccough disappeared, fever was not constant and, above all, I had stopped bleeding.

  The more I became conscious and the better, one thing started annoying me. I could not but constantly worry about Aminatta and Princess. I could not find my mobile phone. I asked Dr. Michael if I could get a call to my wife.

  ‘George they are fine. Once you are completely cured, we will make sure you are with them,’ I believed Dr. Michael, but at the same time, I knew that we used to cover traumatising news from the patients. I could not wait to talk to them, but there was an unfathomable bizarreness was in my thoughts. I kept on thinking of my family. I believed they should be alive and safe by the grace of God, but in the recesses of my heart, there was a pinching feeling that was sharp enough to override my hopefulness.

  By the end of the tenth day, I started eating regularly. I was still weak, but I could feel the life coming back to me.

  ‘Life is an orbit where light and darkness follow each other in a mercurial cycle.’ The Reverend Philip was right. I thought of my family and did not know what to anticipate next ‘light’ or ‘darkness.’

  42

  I was restless the whole evening as Dr. Micheal told me that I would be discharged very soon. And I wanted nothing but some information from my family about whom I did not have any news since the last time except when I heard from the ETU in Kakata. What might have happened to George II and the little one? I did not hear about them since I was admitted to the ETU.

  ‘Good morning George’ Dr. Michael came to the ward by late in the evening which was not usual except there were no new or critical cases.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘Much better doctor,’ I said with a sigh of relief.

  ‘We have a couple of new admissions today. Among them there are some critical patients,’ he said while observing a ward attendant who was changing the beddings of the empty beds.

  ‘I guess George can go to the ward for pre-departure observations,’ what he told was a great relief for me. Since the day I was admitted to the ward of confirmed cases, many people who walked into the ward, were sent back carefully wrapped in a sealed body bags. Every single day and night, someone died and in place of the dead, new patients were replaced just like the logs coming into the chainsaw in a wood mill. The ward attendants often did not have enough time to change the beddings and clean the beds.

  I moved to the ward where the patients who had almost recovered were under observation till the discharge was approved after the final clinical evaluation. There were times Dr. Michael and I used to dance Azonto for the famous Nigerian song - Chop my money, whenever we were able to send someone through the exit door of pre-departure observation ward. We used to take selfies with those who recovered because they were the indicators of our success and the real heroes and heroines. But I never thought that I would have to come through the same channel as many entered and a few made the full length.

  ‘George, you have received a letter from Guinea,’ The following morning Dr. Irina appeared with a piece of paper in her hand.

  ‘How are you doing?’ She stood next to me.

  ‘Much better doctor. I feel much better,’ I said.

  ‘Well, we received this letter two days back.’ The moment I saw the handwriting on the cov
er, I recognised it was from the Pastor Jean-Paul. I could never forget even and clear cursive writing that was a like perfectly choreographed street dance.

  Dear George,

  May God bless you!

  I hope you are better now. I was regularly informed about your condition by Dr. Harris. He talked to me over the phone several times.

  I am deeply saddened by the news about your family. May their souls rest in eternal peace in the paradise. We live for a reason and die for the same reason. He who gives the life takes it back to him when he decides that their role among us is over.

  ‘If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.’

  Be strong! May God be with you! Your boys are well-taken care in our church in Tubmanburg. Thank God, they are healthy and waiting for their father to return. I will reach Monrovia on the 12th which means in 4 days, and I will come to see you before you leave the treatment unit.

  God bless you!

  Pastor Jean-Paul.

  I could not lift my hand to wipe out the tears that were streaming down my cheeks. There was no doubt that Ebola had stolen my Princess and Aminatta from my little boys and me. I would never see them again in my life. I felt the saltiness of pouring tears that trespassed into my twitching lips. I got tremors in my fingers, and my teeth clenched while the heavy heart was trying to release a full load of accumulated anguish.

  I felt the warmth of Dr. Irina`s hands even though she was wearing two glows.

  ‘George!’

  ‘I understand how you feel,’ she said.

  ‘Doctor I lost everything. Yes everything,’ I felt I was falling from a height to a never ending precipice. I lost my wife; I lost my daughter, and I had not seen my boys since the day I fell sick. It was said that they were fine but how could I believe that? I knew that everyone including Dr.Michael must have known the death of Aminatta and Princess and they kept it a secret from me as everyone did in the ETU when a patient was in a critical condition. I knew that it was for the sake of saving my life, but I was concerned about the lives of my boys who were said to be fine in Tubmanburg accordant with what I heard. I had a second thought about it and wanted to see the children right away or talk to hear from them.

  ‘Doctor I want to hear from my boys. I do not believe that they are alive either.’

  ‘Sure why not,’ she replied.

  ‘Let me call Michael,’ she left the room.

  After a while, Dr. Michael and Dr. Irina came along with one of my colleagues, one of the psychosocial counsellors who worked in the ETU.

  ‘Hello! Hello! Hello!’ I could not stop to barricade the downpour of tears when I heard the playful voice of George II.

  ‘Where my Begin*?’ I asked where the little boy was.

  ‘Begin here o, chopping,’ he replied that the brother was there with him eating.

  It was an eclipse. An eclipse that brought a sudden darkness into my whole world without allowing me to imagine of a ray of light. It was a moment of darkness that retained an unmeasurable time and a moment where horror and fear dominated at the very nucleus of my soul. It was a moment when the loss and the fear of losing had strangled the neck of our future. It was an instance when desperateness feasted its coronation after the brutal victory over hope. It was a time when the command of demon stamped down that of God. It was the moment of eclipse when I walked along the shore of death holding the icy cold hands of Aminatta and Princess until I heard the voices of life ‘My sons’ which undid the lethal grip and dropped me into the waters of life. But the waters were cold as they remained long in the absence of light and it looked like there would not be much light in days ahead.

  I felt completely lost. I was a committed man to his family and faithful to my religion. I always stood for the right but why was God this cruel to me? Was it because I was not born as a son of God? Was it because I prayed for the Creator of Kissis`? Was it because I had faith in my ancestors as an African tribesman? Was it because I was black? Poor? The long years of faithfulness to all those whom we prayed for proved to be unavailing. I could not believe why the God, the creator, and the ancestors were cruel enough to be silent.

  ‘Did you eat?’ I asked George II.

  ‘Yes, Potato green and rice,’ he sounded happy probably because he did not know what had become of his sister with whom he used to quarrel all the time and his mother he was always clinging on to. I felt as if I was an old man with trembling legs waiting at the foot of a sky-high mountain with a sack of rocks on my shoulders. I felt I was drained to the extent that I had no energy to push the wheel of life. There were two mouths born as a result of the conjugal love of Aminatta and me waiting till their father and mother returned. I had lost all that I had, but I could not let them fall to be complete losers.

  ‘Papa, you come here?’ It was George II `s usual question whenever he heard my voice over the phone. He always wanted his Papa to be at home. I could not talk to him anymore. I did not want him to hear his Papa crying like a child.

  When I opened my eyes, I saw Dr. Annabelle looking at me.

  ‘How are the kids?’ She asked kindly.

  ‘Good,’ I could not hide the current of sadness that had taken me away from the zone of normality. I could not believe the bitter fact that Aminatta and Princess were gone for good.

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ Her next question annoyed me, and I did not want to respond.

  ‘You have a visitor with good news.’ She smiled. But I could not believe if there would be anything positive that could happen to my life, so I expected another bad news.

  43

  I did not know that it was my last day in the ETU as a patient even though Dr. Michael and Dr. Annabelle gave me some clues about the possibility of getting discharged soon. The moment I was disinfected and taken to the safe area, I felt a great happiness that no words could explain, but an influx of thoughts blended within me when I crossed the red fence and finally chlorinated my legs.

  ‘You won the battle against the virus George! You won it,’ Dr. Irina said. It was the first time, since my hospitalisation that I saw her without the PPE.

  I responded to Dr. Irina with a smile. Nonetheless, I felt I had lost the battle of life even though I was alive. Two loved ones for whom I had been fighting the battle of life were already gone. Again, as a deadbeat, I had no choice but to continue the battle for those who were left: my boys.

  I was taken to the main office where Dr. Annabelle had been. My first day as a nurse came to my mind. I came here and sat on the same lobby chair with Dr. Harris. I was full of enthusiasm and energy as a nursing professional who was ambitious and hopeful. Today, instead of ambitions and hopes, I was full of sadness and desperateness.

  ‘George, you know that except for your semen, there is no other way you could infect another?’ Dr. Annabelle came to her table while she was talking to me.

  ‘Yes doctor,’ I said as I had been preaching all of this to the patients whom we had discharged before I fell sick.

  ‘Here is your Ebola-free certificate,’ Dr. Michael showed me the certificate that was issued to everyone survivor.

  Before I left the treatment centre, Dr. Micheal gave me the certificate which clearly stated that I was no longer sick so that other people should not fear me because the people out in the communities were afraid of contamination. They did not want the survivors to return to villages because there were cases of new infections through sexual contact with the survived men which was believed to be true since it was proven that Ebola virus could retain up to three to four months in semen of men. However, irrespective of gender, people feared Ebola survivors and often treated them with violence; therefore to prevent the survivors from being stigmatised, a certificate was issued signed by the authorities in the ETU and endorsed by the ministry of heath of Liberia.

  Ministry of He
ath Liberia

  Name: George Bokai

  Age: 51

  Address: Peace heaven, airport highway, Harbel, Margibi County. Liberia.

  From the date of issue of this document, the career of the certificate is declared to be cured of Ebola and does not present the risk to contaminate other people. His health condition does not cause danger to the community. For this reason, he can return to his home and working environment to continue daily activities. The family, community and the authorities are requested to facilitate his social insertion.’

  Dr. Annabelle Santos

  Dr. Jonathan Doe

  Signed by a representative from the ministry of health Liberia and the head of ETU, I could not believe that I had my name on it. This piece of paper played a great role in many situations, but unluckily, I met many survivors who had reported that the people in villages did not trust this certificate. Consequently, they faced various results of maltreatment and rejection induced by the fear of getting infected. Indeed, I did not have a problem returning to work as everyone at my workplace was aware of my condition, but going back to the community and children was an upstream swim.

  All of a sudden, the metal door of Dr. Annabelle`s office creaked which took my eyes off the certificate.

  ‘May God bless you!’ When I heard those words, I realised that it was no one other than the Pastor Jean-Paul.

  ‘Pastor,’ I raised from where I was sitting.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ He asked in his usual calm and quiet voice and flat tonality which was unique to him.

  ‘Pastor, God did not take care of me and any of my family.’ I honesty expressed what I felt.

  ‘My Aminatta is gone, my Princess is gone. I was sick, and I am still not back to life. My little boys, they do not have a mother, and they will never play their sister again. Pastor, what did I do to the Lord to treat me like this?’ My legs could no longer hold my weight and started trembling vigorously, and the very following moment, I fell at the feet of the Pastor Jean-Paul.