20-07-2014
A tear dropped from his left eye as he thought
about Anna again. How could she be dead? How?
Anna, the best sister anyone could ever have.
Anna, his only sister … who made so many
sacrifices to ensure he went to college and
become the man he is today.
Anna. Dead.
What is this life?
“Tea or coffee sir…?” Munachi – the air hostess –
asked, snapping him out of his reverie. He dried
his eyes and gestured towards coffee. He nodded
his thanks as she gave it to him and went about
her business.
He took a sip of the scalding hot beverage and
didn’t even flinch. All he could think of was Anna
and how he wept over her cold dead body. He had
flown to Monrovia immediately he was told that
she was seriously ill. The doctors had initially
refused to allow him see her, saying it was unsafe,
but one look at them and they obliged. Patrick
was a big man. In Liberia and other African
countries, big men always had their way.
That all seemed like years ago though. He had
given her a quick burial and was now on his way
back to Nigeria. He took another sip of the coffee
and this time he felt as it burned his tongue. He
let out a tiny whelp and dropped the mug. It
shattered, spilling its content everywhere. He
quickly made to pick up the shards, but cut his
forefinger in the process. He put the finger in his
mouth and sucked the blood as Munachi came to
his aid.
“So sorry sir,” she apologized. “Are you alright?”
she gestured towards his forefinger. He nodded,
stood up, and went to the restroom.
The cut wasn’t too deep, but he had plenty of
blood in him, so the red liquid flowed. He picked
up a Kleenex and pressed on it. It became
bloodied in seconds. He dropped the tissue in the
toilet bowl and collected another. After the third
Kleenex, the blood had almost stopped flowing.
He pressed the knob and watched as the toilet
flushed. He did not notice the tiny drops of blood
he left on the knob. He turned on the tap, washed
his hand and turned it off. He did not notice the
blood he left on the tap head either. He dried his
hand and left the toilet. Munachi had cleaned up
when he got back to his seat. She offered another
cup of coffee but he declined and, suddenly cold,
he asked for a blanket instead. She obliged him –
some of the perks of not flying economy class.
***
Bishop Samuel Ndah of Royal Diadem Ministries
had gone to Monrovia to minister at the Liberian
branch of his church. It was a power packed 3 day
crusade that ended with miracles, signs, wonders,
and some extra dollars in his off-shore bank
account. He was going to Australia in two weeks
to set up another branch there.
The ministry was seriously moving. The Lord is
good.
He used the toilet a few minutes after Patrick did.
Of cause he washed his hand thoroughly. One of
his favorite quotes was ‘Cleanliness is next to
Godliness’, and as a Bishop of Christ, he always
practiced what he preached. When he turned the
tap head to close it though, he did not notice the
drops of blood his fingers collected. He ate
Kentucky Fried Chicken and Chips a few minutes
later; chicken so good he licked his fingers
afterwards, and washed it down with a bottle of
the cold orange juice Munachi served him.
Two other business-class passengers used the
toilet during the 165minutes flight.
***
Patrick was sweating when the plane landed at
the Murtala Muhammed International Airport,
Lagos. He was sweating and shivering slightly.
Munachi wanted to call the airport paramedics but
he refused. He explained that he’d just buried his
only sister and the past week had been hectic. It
was probably fever with a shot of jet-lag. She
obliged, called Aisha, her colleague, and they
helped him disembark. He almost fell when they
made to leave him on the tarmac. He steadied
himself and told them he was fine. They left him
and went back into the plane. He sort of staggered
to the customs area and gave the immigration
officer his passport.
The officer scrutinized Patrick’s travel papers and
returned them to him. The Liberian was walking
into the arrival lounge when he collapsed in a
heap. It was like a joke. For a few seconds nobody
reacted. Then somebody yelled and all hell broke
loose.
“What happened to him? Who is he? How did it
happen?” Everybody seemed to be asking at the
same time as a small crowd gathered around
Patrick. Jemila, an Airport security woman pushed
her way through and asked everyone to back off.
She checked his pulse and proceeded to give him
CPR. She was doing the mouth to mouth
resuscitation thing when paramedics arrived and
put him on their stretcher. They took him straight
to the Airport clinic, while somebody checked
Patrick’s wallet for his ID. They found he was a
Liberian and worked in the Liberian Embassy.
They called the consulate and informed them that
their countryman had collapsed in the Airport. The
Liberian high commissioner immediately had him
transferred to First Consultant Clinics, a private
hospital at Obalende.
***
21-07-14
Dr Abdullah Isah, the Chief Medical Officer of First
Consultants Hospital had just begun a complex 7
hours marathon surgery on a 13 year old boy’s
lungs when Patrick was wheeled in. After the
successful operation, he had taken a 6 hour break.
When he came back, he started his usual ward
rounds with Dr Abiye – the doctor on duty. They
got to the Liberian’s ward and Dr Abiye gave his
boss the man’s case file. A quick glance at it and
he had an idea what was ailing the man. He pulled
Dr Abiye to one side and told him in confidence
what he suspected was the cause of Patrick’s
ailment.
Ebola Virus.
Dr Abiye’s jaw dropped. “Jesus,” he exclaimed.
“Jesus!” He had been at the waiting room when
Patrick was wheeled in. He had checked his vitals
and placed him on drips and stabilizers pending
when a proper diagnosis was carried out. He had
been in close contact with a probable carrier of the
deadliest disease on earth at the moment.
“Jesus!”
Dr Abdullah immediately had Patrick quarantined
in a private ward. He also had every member of
his staff who had been in close contact with the
Liberian quarantined in another ward. He didn’t
want to start a panic so he didn’t say why he was
taking those measures. He just instructed the
other staff not to go into those two wards without
face masks, surgical gloves and disposable gowns.
He called the Lagos State Ministry of Health and
informed the receiver he might have a case of the
Ebola Virus in his hospital. He was transferred to
the commissioner of health himself who asked
what had been done so far. He brought the big
man up to speed and was told to maintain the
status quo while the minister of health himself
was informed.
Unfortunately Dr Abdullah was working with
smart people. Someone put two and two together
and the word ‘Ebola’ was mentioned. Less than
twenty minutes later, the normally full waiting
room was almost empty. Family and friends of
patients who heard the rumors came and
retrieved their wards. Non-Medical staff who
didn’t want to risk being around a virus that
dangerous suddenly became ill and asked for
permission to go home. They had no plan to
return until it was safe to do so.
The three nurses and two porters who were on
duty when Patrick was wheeled in had gone home
to their families before Dr Abdullah made his
analysis. In the midst of the chaos, nobody
remembered them.
Someone tweeted about the incidence, someone
else retweeted it, and in minutes, the news went
viral.
Ebola Virus was in Nigeria.
22-07-2-14
Munachi woke up with a nagging headache; very
unusual because she almost never fell sick. She
glanced at the clock, 7:19am. How did she wake
up this late? She was supposed to be on the 11am
Kenyan flight, and by Lagos traffic standards, she
was late.
She jumped out of the bed, then fell right back in.
Her head felt like someone was pounding yam in
it. She waited a few minutes, then stood up again,
slowly. She went through her morning routines at
that pace and was ready to leave by 8:30. Nduka,
her cabman had been waiting for her since 8am,
the time she’d asked him to come.
“Nne, ogini…?” he asked her in igbo, when he
noticed how much pain she seemed to be in.
“Onwe gi,” she replied and forced a smile, as he
collected her bag and helped her into the car.
They were halfway to the Airport when she knew
for certain she would be unable to fly. She called
her supervisor and told him her condition. He
almost yelled at her bad timing. Aisha had called
in sick earlier and he had only just gotten her
replacement. But remembering how hardworking
Munachi usually was, he told her to go to a clinic
and treat herself.
Munachi asked Nduka to take her to any good
pharmacy around so she could get drugs. He
found one soon enough, drove in, parked, and
helped her get into the building. His phone rang
and he went outside to answer it. He was
negotiating fares for a trip with another customer
when people inside the Pharmacy started
screaming. He craned his neck to see what was
happening and saw Munachi sprawled on the
floor. He ended the call and rushed in.
“Wetin happen…?” he yelled to no one in
particular. “Aunty Muna, ogini…?” he cradled her
in his arms. “Aunty Muna….” he shook her. No
response. “What happen’?” he looked up and
asked again. Before he could get any response,
the owner of the Pharmacy came out of a side
room and asked him to bring her in. He lifted her
up and took her in, leaving a trail of blood in his
wake. He laid her on the bed and left the medics
in the room with her. “Wetin happen?” he asked
the nurse at the counter.
“She just fell down o,” the visibly shaken woman
replied. “She was telling me she had headache
when she suddenly fell down. Is she your wi…”
she looked him up and down “…is she your
madam?” she asked, immediately concluding he
couldn’t be such a beautiful lady’s spouse.
He followed the direction of her eyes and noticed
the blood stains on his shirt. “Blood…” he
muttered. “Where this blood come from?” The
nurse pointed at the spot Munachi had lain a few
moments ago. There was almost a pool where her
head had been. Nduka started sobbing. A few
minutes later, an ambulance arrived.
Munachi died on the way to the hospital. The
official cause of death was ‘Intracranial
Hemorrhage secondary to head trauma from a fall
with associated skull fracture and scalp bleeding’.
Nobody asked why she fell in the first place.
Nigerian Doctors were on strike. The few who were
available had too much work on their hands.
Nduka, the pharmacist, the cleaner at the
pharmacy, the paramedics and the mortuary
attendants – about 8 persons – were in direct
contact with Munachi’s body fluids.
***
23-07-2-14
Jemila was breastfeeding her five month old son
when she felt like going to the toilet again – for
the 4 time that morning. She passed the baby
to her mother-in-law and went to relieve herself.
When she came out she complained to mama who
said she’d concoct some herbs for her before she
returned from work at the Airport. Mama and her
bitter tasting herbs she thought. She made a
mental note to buy Flagyl en-route.
She never made it to the Airport.
She was collecting the purge-stopping drug from
her local chemist when her eye caught the TV
news headline, ‘Liberian man in Lagos being
tested for Ebola’.
“Please turn the volume up”, she told the
Chemist. He did. The clip went on to chronologize
the Liberian’s arrival at the Lagos Airport, his
collapse and subsequent transfer to a hospital at
Ikoyi area. It added that from all the symptoms,
he was infected with the deadly virus, and they
were only waiting for official confirmation from the
lab that it was indeed Ebola. Even before Patrick
Sawyer’s picture was displayed on the screen, she
knew it was him. She didn’t hear the chemist
shouting “Iya Jumoke, your change, your
change…” when she rushed out of the drug store.
She whipped out her phone and dialed her
husband.
“Hello … daddy, there is a problem…” she started
when he answered at the 3 ring.
In the 11 years they’d been married, Mr Paul
Shaibu, a professional caterer and cook at Federal
Palace Hotel, Victoria Island, had never heard
those words from his wife. “Kilode…?” he asked,
walking out of the kitchen.
“Remember that incidence at the Airport I told
you about? The Liberian I gave first aid?”
He did. “Yes. What’s wrong?”
“I made a mistake. It happened so fast I didn’t
have time to look for a medical kit and collect a
protective barrier before I gave him mouth to
mouth resuscitation. It is recommended that we
do that to prevent cross infection, but he had a
pulse, yet he was barely breathing. If I had
delayed he might have died, and…”
“Mummy, calm down. Kilode…?” he cut her short.
“I just saw the man on TV. They said he has Ebola
virus.” Silence at the other end. “Hello, daddy…”
“I’ll go and pick Jummie and David from school,”
he began, in the calmest possible voice. “Just go
to Ebony and wait. I’ll tell Dr Ugonna we’re
coming. I’ll be there in 30mins.”
Paul was a numb robot when he took off his apron
and walked out of the Hotel. He now understood
why Jemila had been purging earlier that morning.
Purge … Diarrhea …one of the symptoms of the
Ebola virus. If she had it, then he had it. They’d
made love the previous night. And the night
before that. If they had it, then, unless a miracle
happened, their 3 children, including five month
old Paul Jr had it too. And his mother who had
been with them for the past two months…
Paul did not hear the people yelling at him to get
off the road. He did not see the Cement Truck nor
hear the blaring horns either. He did not feel the
impact. He died before he hit the ground. Later,
when his body was deposited at the mortuary, the
morgue attendant noticed some strange rashes
around what was left of Paul’s lower back. He
ignored it. Him don die be say him don die
After 40 minutes at Ebony Hospital, Jemila tried
Paul’s number. It didn’t connect. She called mama
to know if he had come home. She said he hadn’t.
She called the school, they confirmed he hadn’t
come to pick the kids yet. Something had
happened. She felt it. She was standing up to
leave when her phone rang. The caller identified
himself as a Policeman and asked her to come to
the Lagos Island Mortuary to identify the body of
one Mr Paul Shaibu.
Her screams were heard from miles away …
***
24-07-2014
One of Bishop Samuel Ndah’s most notable
attribute was his strong baritone voice. On
Thursday, when he woke up, he could barely
speak. He had only experienced sore-throat once
in his life and it surely didn’t hurt this bad. Nor did
it come with weakness of the muscle and troubled
breathing. He asked his wife to call his pastors.
The devil was at work. That evil being didn’t want
him to minister at tonight’s special service. But he
was going to, whether Satan liked it or not.
The pastors came, held his hands and prayed. His
condition deteriorated.
He was taken to a private hospital some hours
later. The doctors are yet to realize he might have
the Ebola virus. They’re still giving him treatment
for Influenza.
25-07-2014
Patrick Sawyer died and it was later confirmed by
the Nigerian Government and WHO that he was
indeed carrying the Ebola Virus. 30 people may
have been in contact with Patrick Sawyer from the
Airplane to the Hospital in Obalende. It could have
been more, it could have been less. The Lagos
state government is still trying to track them
down.
Epilogue
Munachi infected Nduka and a host of others.
Nduka mourned for a while, but man must wack.
He still drives his cab around Lagos; he has a wife
and baby back home in Anambra, and a girlfriend
in Okota to take care of. He doesn’t understand
why his joints and muscles have been aching him
since…
Aisha, Munachi’s colleague, thinks she’s
constantly weak because she is pregnant. She
also thinks the rashes on her body are because
she changed cosmetics. She and her banker
husband have no idea…
Jemila’s children were infected. The older ones
shared meals, toys and other facilities with their
friends in school…the friends have friends, who
have families ….
Bishop Samuel Ndah is un-quarantined and has
been receiving hundreds of visitors daily; faithful
members of his church who greet him with a kiss
on his Episcopal ring…

The end
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story is fiction. Patrick Sawyer is indeed the
first known victim of the Ebola virus in Nigeria,
but other characters exist only in my imagination.
Real locations have been used to make the story
as realistic as possible.
One nagging question remains though: are these
scenarios not possible?
Could you know someone who knows someone
who currently has the virus?
I’d have abandoned my awesome new job and
carried my polythene bag back to Portharcourt,
but if it is in Lagos, is it not only a matter of time
before it gets to other parts of Nigeria?
This is not meant to start a panic though. It is to
create awareness that this virus is real and
amongst us.
I appeal to the Nigerian government to take this
menace seriously. As I write this, there are no
equipments to diagnose the virus. There are no
centers to quarantine and care for victims. There
are no specialists to supervise the control of a
possible epidemic. And striking doctors’ demands
have still not been met.
I appeal to the Nigerian Medical Association to call
off their strike. Two wrongs have never made a
right. And right now, if an epidemic breaks out,
you’re the only hope we have. Please put your
heads together, and agree on something positive
for the good of your brothers, sisters, mothers,
fathers and children that make up this entity
called Nigeria. Once Ebola is taken care of, I’m
sure the whole Nigeria would gladly go to strike
with you guys.
To everyone reading this, Ebola is real. The
symptoms are Fever, sore throat, headache,
weakness, joint and muscle pain, chest pain,
Diarrhea, rashes, troubled breathing and bleeding
from the skin. There is no known cure yet. To
reduce risk of infection, wash your hands as often
as possible with sanitizer or soap. Always wash
your fruits and vegetables before cooking. And
finally, avoid contact with people with suspicious
signs or those from places where there has been
an outbreak.
Cheers,
Chidi @Chydee Ace Okereke.