As humanitarians would say, I 'deployed' three weeks ago
with a suitcase full of alcohol gel from dad, a 6-pack of Handy Andies from mum and a guitar, a last minute purchase from
Amazon. In hindsight, I'm not sure that teaching myself how to play the guitar in
the middle of an epidemic was the best idea I've had, but it certainly wasn't
the worst.
Connecting in Casablanca, my initial thoughts were that the
plane to Sierra Leone would be empty as who in their right mind would be
heading that way? I was wrong - the airport was full of young, white, European
NGO workers all congregating in eager huddles talking about life post-Ebola.
So here I am in Africa again. West Africa this time, with a humanitarian
NGO not a development one and during the 18th known outbreak of the viral
haemorrhagic disease, Ebola. In truth I see very little of the real Sierra
Leone. For an hour each day on the drive to and from the Ebola
Treatment Centre (ETC) I see the country that is my home for the next 6 months
through the windows of an air-conditioned minibus. It looks very similar to
Tanzania in terms of poverty and social structure judged only by the simply constructed houses, the scantily clad children and the goats and dogs making
unpredictable forays into the path of oncoming traffic. But actually it is much
lower down the UN Development Index with a life expectancy of only 45 years and a
GDP per capita of $1586. Sierra Leone sits at position 183 out of 187 countries
on the Human Development Index which takes into account a long and healthy
life, knowledge and a decent standard of living.
The remaining 23 hours a day I am either at the ETC officially
working or at the hotel unofficially working. By that I mean many of the most
productive conversations about how to improve the way things work at the ETC
are done on the journeys to and from it or over the table at breakfast or
dinner. Most people here are on secondment from the NHS for 5-6 weeks so the
passion for talking about Ebola doesn't wane. Ten minutes ne'er pass without a
mention of work, one of the patients, national case numbers or Ebola in some context or
other.
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| The ETC |
We are incredibly lucky to stay in lovely hotels due to a lack of other local accommodation that could house so many staff. The Place, The Sands and The Palms offer varying levels of comfort and privacy with upgrade
from one hotel to another forming the main bone of contention between us 'deployed'.
Politics are rife and relations are tested if someone moves further up the beach before
you do. Heaven forbid should somebody get a room at The Place without first staying
at The Palms or The Sands. The Place has become the epicentre of our lives outside
the ETC. With 24 hour electricity, air-con and Wi-Fi, The Place is also where all
meals are served and where minibuses to and from the ETC depart. I think this
goes a long way to explain why people would exchange their first born child for
a room here. Needless to say as an old hand with three weeks experience, I am
comfortably interned in my shiny room at The Place where the bathroom is bigger
than my bedroom in London and the hot water rain shower and mini-fridge make it
hard to believe that outside the hotel walls is one of the poorest countries in
the world.
Our bosses are protective of us and we aren't encouraged to leave the hotel grounds. Several people have made a break for it and gone for runs along the beach but it's only a few kilometres before an estuary blocks the way and you have to turn back. One person who shall remain unnamed escaped all the way to Freetown for a night but this required much planning and friends in high places. As the daily routine remains the same, the weekdays and weekends merge into one and life in Sierra Leone becomes much like that of Groundhog Day or The Truman Show. Only usually without the cameras unless the BBC pops by again...
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