Thinking about Ebola

I am glued every day to page sixteen of the NTY because of their stellar coverage of Ebola as it plays out in west Africa and the fallout in first world countries.

With the exception of one case, Mr. Duncan, our first - and so botched- everyone who has been treated here has recovered so far. Today I learned in specifics how these Ebola cases are treated in such dire circumstances in Africa. Just the simple hydration of patients, the monitoring of electrolytes, the tending of other disease issues such as malaria, can make such a huge difference in outcomes. There is such a need for the basic medicine we can do so well here! There is such a need for more health care workers on the ground in west Africa! There is such a need for ambulances and ultra sound machines and all the small things our medical institutions take for granted. I read today in the NYT how the health care workers are constantly figuring out new ways to make their practices better. The recoveries will increase as these afflicted places get more resources.

We cannot imagine how hard it is to be doing this in the extreme heat and humidity of equatorial Africa, covered in heavy personal protection garments. We cannot imagine (in our comfortable lives) how it can be that so many Americans and other people have gone there to the Ebola region of west Africa because they have the mission to care for each person in the world. These people are our heroes.

It saddens me that a few politicians have made hay with this for their own benefit and drum up panic. Glad to note that our Florida governor has stepped back from this.

Several times I have made trips to west Africa: Ghana, Ivory Coast and with stops in other countries.
The images and emotions that stick with me are all positive. I loved the colorful cloth worn by everyone, the warmth of the people, and the feeling of safety I had everywhere. (Yes! Yes! I know how dire and cruel some of the civil uprisings have been). I loved the markets and the unending tracts of dreadful slums with their red earth slurry after a rain. Most of all I loved those people. I loved being in a tent with a head man of some tribe. As we talked I was fascinated with his elephantiasis of his leg, and I politely declined his offer of palm wine.

Even though the poverty and differences were so cuttingly clear, I understood, in some of those encounters, that we were in this world together. I loved being in an intimate colonial dining room with the university chancellor and I loved watching huge geckos climbing the walls, and I wondered if the spectacularly colorful wrap of our host would ever fall to the floor.

Instead of the panic, we need to understand. This epidemic will be quelled, but we need to help.
Especially here in the U.S. where a fifth of our population has African roots and provides us all with the traditions and warmth of African conscience, we need to get over the initial panic. It's going to be O.K.