A TOUCHING STORY: EBOLA Vs LOVE!

About twenty four (24) years ago, the nation Liberia appeared in the international media for the wrong reasons when civil war began to erode the beautiful land of liberty, and Liberians pleaded for international aid to restore peace. Little did they know that that unassuming rebel incursion in Nimba County in December 1989 would send more than 250,000 people to their early grave. For fourteen painful years, Liberia was synonymous with civil war; precious lives and properties were constantly being destroyed and Liberians were utterly shattered by the guns. But today after only eleven years of relative peace and stability, another war has started again. The war is no longer C-civil; it is now D-disease.  The 167 year old nation with only about 4 million people climbed out of the pit of civil conflict after 14 years but is now caught up again in another snare of a deadly disease.

I woke up this morning hoping that this Ebola Virus Disease (EVD) that has been killing our people for months now was just a mere long terrible dream. But the sad truth is, it hasn’t been a nightmare at all, the deadly Ebola virus is a shocking reality; claiming innocent lives on a daily basis. The effect of Ebola is astronomical. The disease is crippling almost every aspect of the nation, including health care delivery, education, agriculture, transportation, and the economy as a whole. But at the family level, the Ebola effect is gruesomely unimaginable.

I was completely devastated by this story of a typical victim of the Ebola phenomenon in Liberia. Daniel asked me with tearful eyes, “What’s the real meaning of love, my brother?” What’s the meaning of such question, I wondered. How would you define the complicated issue of love for someone whose eyes are soaked with tears? I couldn’t, so I was mute.

“I thought love is when you commit yourself to helping someone who least deserves your kindness?” He sobbed uncontrollably. I couldn’t understand the reason behind such manly tears, so I mustered courage to ask, “What’s the problem, bro?”

“I don’t like to tell people my story, but… My mother died from stray bullet during the civil war when I was only 10. That fateful evening my auntie rushed over to help, but my mother took her last breath right in my auntie’s arms.” Daniel couldn’t control his tears from falling and I couldn’t control my heart from breaking.  

“After my mother’s death,” he struggled to continue narrating his ordeal, “Auntie Becky became all my little sister and I had, next to God, for our survival. We became the children she never had and she became the mother we lost. She took full responsibility for our wellbeing from that moment.” Again the tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

“Try to be a man, bro.” I tried to offer my best consolation to nurse his worst sorrow.

“How can I be a man, when the woman who has groomed me to be the man you see today is now gone away forever? Auntie Becky took us to Ghana to find peace when all Liberia could give us was sorrow and fear. She cared and sacrificed everything for us all through the struggles in our Buduburam refugee conditions. I remember Auntie Becky telling us one day, ‘As long as I have you both, if God doesn’t give me my own children I am ok, because I know that when I’m old you will be there for me.’ When Auntie Becky was convinced Peace had returned to Liberia, she followed Peace to Liberia and we also followed her back home.” He wailed bitterly as he shared the sorrow behind his story. “Today, Ebola has taken Auntie Becky away.” That was when I really understood how terrible the civil conflict and the deadly disease have been for some Liberian families.

“My brother, I have tears in my eyes because I have pains in my heart. I have pains in my heart because I have some sad pictures on my mind. I can still see how my ma’s blood from the bullet wound oozed all over Auntie Becky’s clothes before she died in her arms that evening.” At that moment, every word that found its way between Daniel’s trembling lips seared my heart. “The more painful picture now is, I see Auntie Becky helplessly lying on the floor calling and crying for help but I couldn’t touch her because of Ebola. Tell me, my brother, what could be more painful?” I couldn’t imagine anything more painful, so I remained mute.

“I remember when I was struggling to overcome the grief of my mother’s nasty death it was Auntie Becky who introduced me to Jesus, the man who wiped those tears away. Today as a Christian, I see Jesus’ blood oozing all over the cross to save someone like me; someone already infected with the incurable virus of sin. If Jesus could demonstrate such a love for an undeserving person like me, what pierces my soul is the simple fact that I could not stretch my sinful hand to the woman who sacrificed everything to care for an orphan like me. Oh, how I wish I could look reality in the eye and deny it. But now tell me, my brother, what’s the meaning of life when it cannot be used to show love to someone who needs it the most? How could I let Auntie Becky down when I know she brought me up?” When Daniel realized I never had any answer for his questions, he sobbed the more. I could feel his pains. I wanted to give him a warm hug to soothe him atleast, but I couldn't because the ugly picture of Ebola was on mind too.

This story led me to the conclusion that love is really a stupid thing and we are too wise to demonstrate it, and Ebola is a proof.