I am back in Ottawa, safe and sound. I arrived Monday evening, a tad tired and in desperate need of a shower. 30+ hours of travel time will do that to you…it did to me anyway. So not pretty.
The last couple of weeks in Sierra Leone were filled with high highs and low lows. I’ve learned that riding an emotional rollercoaster is virtually unavoidable in doing this type of work. In being so close to the epidemic, it’s impossible not to get swept up in both the devastation and elation of it all. I think without the latter, this work would eventually get the better of you.
Looking back on my time in Sierra Leone, there are so many memories to choose from to describe what it was like to be a part of the Ebola response. As a Psychosocial delegate, I had the distinct privilege of participating in many stages of the life of the centre. Beyond providing one-on-one support to patients, I was also involved in supporting bereaved families, supervising burials, photographing the deceased, managing the discharge of survivors and looking after the needs and well-being of unaccompanied children. I could easily focus on all the pain and suffering I witnessed… how hard it is to watch people die, day after day, and later bury them in the cemetery. Or how hard it is to make arrangements for a child whose entire family died at our centre. This is part of the reality of this work, and I cannot deny the heavy toll that it takes.
But I prefer to focus on another side of the story…the unexpected beauty and humanity in doing this work. First, the absolute pleasure of meeting and working with like-minded, passionate humanitarian workers from around the world. As a rookie to international emergency response, I learned so much from my peers (if I can even call them that!). I was humbled daily by the breadth of their collective experiences from humanitarian missions all over the world. Most of the time, I found myself wondering, “What the hell I am doing here?”…although no one ever made me feel that I didn’t deserve to be. I met many new friends that I hope to have forever and meet again someday. I’m sure I will… somewhere…sometime.
The last couple of weeks in Sierra Leone were filled with high highs and low lows. I’ve learned that riding an emotional rollercoaster is virtually unavoidable in doing this type of work. In being so close to the epidemic, it’s impossible not to get swept up in both the devastation and elation of it all. I think without the latter, this work would eventually get the better of you.
Looking back on my time in Sierra Leone, there are so many memories to choose from to describe what it was like to be a part of the Ebola response. As a Psychosocial delegate, I had the distinct privilege of participating in many stages of the life of the centre. Beyond providing one-on-one support to patients, I was also involved in supporting bereaved families, supervising burials, photographing the deceased, managing the discharge of survivors and looking after the needs and well-being of unaccompanied children. I could easily focus on all the pain and suffering I witnessed… how hard it is to watch people die, day after day, and later bury them in the cemetery. Or how hard it is to make arrangements for a child whose entire family died at our centre. This is part of the reality of this work, and I cannot deny the heavy toll that it takes.
But I prefer to focus on another side of the story…the unexpected beauty and humanity in doing this work. First, the absolute pleasure of meeting and working with like-minded, passionate humanitarian workers from around the world. As a rookie to international emergency response, I learned so much from my peers (if I can even call them that!). I was humbled daily by the breadth of their collective experiences from humanitarian missions all over the world. Most of the time, I found myself wondering, “What the hell I am doing here?”…although no one ever made me feel that I didn’t deserve to be. I met many new friends that I hope to have forever and meet again someday. I’m sure I will… somewhere…sometime.
Photo above: My Community Health/Psychosocial Team surprising me with a farewell party
In addition to my fellow international delegates, I also had the pleasure to work side-by-side Sierra Leoneans, who formed the majority of workers at the ETC. If I haven’t said this already, and even if I have, they are the backbone of this humanitarian response…the reason these efforts are as successful as they are. Without them, it would all fall apart. As international Red Cross workers, it is our job to help support, supervise and revitalize their efforts where needed, in order to enhance the functionality and capacity of the centre. The National staff members have my utmost respect for their hard work and dedication, and thank them from the bottom of my heart for teaching me so much.
Among the National staff is an exceptional group of people known as the Survivor Nurses. When the outbreak hit, the hospitals were overrun and ill equipped to handle Ebola cases. As a result, many healthcare workers became infected and sadly, many died. At the Kenema General Hospital alone, nearly 40 nurses and doctors fell victim. Many of the survivors made the brave decision to continue the fight against Ebola, despite the continued uncertainty about the disease. They did this often despite the disapproval of their own families and communities. We were lucky to have some of these Survivor Nurses at the ETC in Kenema. My conversations with these courageous men and women were always a source of inspiration and encouragement, and a reminder of what it means to be truly selfless.
And finally, the patients admitted to the ETC. For me, they were a constant source of hope and humanity. I don’t think that a day went by when I wasn’t moved to tears by the acts of kindness and generosity that I witnessed from across the fence. (Thank goodness for sunglasses.) I witnessed a young man care for a recently orphaned child, as they both awaited their test results. Emanuel entertained Mohamed, made sure he laughed and ate his food, and at night, when Mohamed was especially frightened and asking for his mother, Emanuel dragged his cot to the doorway of Mohamed’s tent so he wouldn’t feel so alone and afraid. Both Emanuel and Mohamed tested negative. I also witnessed a young baby become the honoury adoptee of a group of Ebola patients in the centre. They all took turns feeding her, rocking her and making sure her diaper was changed. One woman even offered to take her home with her when they both got out. Days later, they both left us as survivors. Watching people at the most vulnerable stage in their lives – unsure of whether they will live or die – find the strength and compassion to care for and help each other is not something I have the words for. These are the scenes behind the Ebola outbreak that don’t often get reported, but they are just as much a part of the story.
Leaving Kenema was difficult. It felt strange to leave when there is still so much work to be done. I wasn’t ready. A small group of us left Kenema by helicopter, and had one final goodbye to the centre and our coworkers below. It was an emotional departure and dramatic end to one of the greatest experiences of my life. I feel like I was given a unique opportunity to be a part of something bigger than myself…something meaningful, and I am forever grateful to all of the people that made this the experience that it was.
Thanks for reading,
lj
In addition to my fellow international delegates, I also had the pleasure to work side-by-side Sierra Leoneans, who formed the majority of workers at the ETC. If I haven’t said this already, and even if I have, they are the backbone of this humanitarian response…the reason these efforts are as successful as they are. Without them, it would all fall apart. As international Red Cross workers, it is our job to help support, supervise and revitalize their efforts where needed, in order to enhance the functionality and capacity of the centre. The National staff members have my utmost respect for their hard work and dedication, and thank them from the bottom of my heart for teaching me so much.
Among the National staff is an exceptional group of people known as the Survivor Nurses. When the outbreak hit, the hospitals were overrun and ill equipped to handle Ebola cases. As a result, many healthcare workers became infected and sadly, many died. At the Kenema General Hospital alone, nearly 40 nurses and doctors fell victim. Many of the survivors made the brave decision to continue the fight against Ebola, despite the continued uncertainty about the disease. They did this often despite the disapproval of their own families and communities. We were lucky to have some of these Survivor Nurses at the ETC in Kenema. My conversations with these courageous men and women were always a source of inspiration and encouragement, and a reminder of what it means to be truly selfless.
And finally, the patients admitted to the ETC. For me, they were a constant source of hope and humanity. I don’t think that a day went by when I wasn’t moved to tears by the acts of kindness and generosity that I witnessed from across the fence. (Thank goodness for sunglasses.) I witnessed a young man care for a recently orphaned child, as they both awaited their test results. Emanuel entertained Mohamed, made sure he laughed and ate his food, and at night, when Mohamed was especially frightened and asking for his mother, Emanuel dragged his cot to the doorway of Mohamed’s tent so he wouldn’t feel so alone and afraid. Both Emanuel and Mohamed tested negative. I also witnessed a young baby become the honoury adoptee of a group of Ebola patients in the centre. They all took turns feeding her, rocking her and making sure her diaper was changed. One woman even offered to take her home with her when they both got out. Days later, they both left us as survivors. Watching people at the most vulnerable stage in their lives – unsure of whether they will live or die – find the strength and compassion to care for and help each other is not something I have the words for. These are the scenes behind the Ebola outbreak that don’t often get reported, but they are just as much a part of the story.
Leaving Kenema was difficult. It felt strange to leave when there is still so much work to be done. I wasn’t ready. A small group of us left Kenema by helicopter, and had one final goodbye to the centre and our coworkers below. It was an emotional departure and dramatic end to one of the greatest experiences of my life. I feel like I was given a unique opportunity to be a part of something bigger than myself…something meaningful, and I am forever grateful to all of the people that made this the experience that it was.
Thanks for reading,
lj