It was last year. The noise about the deadly Ebola virus was deafening. Lives had been lost in their thousands in the West African countries of Liberia, Sierra Leone and Guinea. One Patrick Sawyer, who left a hospital in Liberia against the advice of the medical staff, flew to Nigeria. On arrival, it became obvious that he was ill when he passed out at the Murtala Muhammed International Airport in Lagos, and he was taken to a hospital. At the hospital, he tested positive for Ebola from which he died five days later.

 

When viruses break in any part of the world, America takes it seriously. Citizens of all nations of the world visit America annually in their hundreds of thousands for one thing or the other. So it made a lot of sense for the country to guard its borders and ensure that curable or incurable illnesses do not creep in through the back door. The country was thrown into a panic mode. Some state governors on the East Coast were ordering that Americans and others coming from any part of Africa be quarantined for 21 days before co-mingling with the society. Some people I know cancelled their trips back home to Ghana and Nigeria for the fear of being forcefully quarantined on their return to the US. The entire US Health Care System had also been inundated with instructions to detain and keep in isolation anyone, Black or White, just returning from a trip to Africa.

 

It was in the middle of this melee that I returned from one of my trips to Nigeria. Nigeria was not on the list of countries to watch out for because the government had perfectly put out the ignited fire before it became an inferno.

 

Before I left Hartford, I had had my annual medical check-up, and on this particular day I walked into my doctor’s office to obtain a hard copy of the results for my records. In a routine question-and-answer session, the following ensued between me and the nurse on duty:

 

“Have you travelled to any West African country in the last 21 days”?

 

“Yes”, I replied

 

“Common pastor, I am not kidding”.

 

“I said yes.”

 

“Are you serious?” she asked.

 

“Yes, I am dead serious. I just got back from Nigeria about a week ago”, I explained.

 

“Oh my God….” She frantically grabbed the phone and made a quick call to somebody, hands shaking in tremors.

 

 

“We have a patient who just returned from an Ebola country”, she told the person on the other end of the phone. I was surprised that these nurses, who I would call friends, had turned against me in an instant. I immediately became “a patient” not “Mr. Ojo”. These are people who want to go to heaven but not ready to die through Ebola. What was going on in their minds, I had no idea. The one who was closer to me during the registration procedure might have thought she must have inhaled some of my breath; and in turn must have caught Ebola and waiting to die immediately. All smiles on their faces disappeared; all friendly discussions took a trip to la- la land just like that.

 

They probably thought that death was standing before them and ready to snatch one or all of them to its abode. It was obvious that they were not prepared for the journey to a world they knew not. I was watching the drama; partly angry, partly amused. I watched as ignorance turned their world inside out; and lack of knowledge tore their emotions into shreds. There is nothing as sickening as ignorance, my friends. Eventually another nurse showed up; all masked and gloved up in a fashion of an astronaut taking an unscheduled trip to the moon. Before she said a word, the Spirit that moved Jesus in the temple where people were buying and selling must have moved me too. I snapped in fury.

 

“What do you mean I just returned from an Ebola country?”

 

“But you told me you just came back from West Africa. You have to put on a mask and someone will see you in that room,” she told me with obvious fear in her eyes.

 

The room she was talking about was the VIP room for Ebola virus suspects.

 

“This is ignorance, ma. Do you know where West Africa is? Do you know how many countries are in West Africa?” I asked with a voice of authority.

 

“I am sorry. You just came from an Ebola country and I have to ask you these questions”.

 

I then demanded she read the instruction on her computer. She went through the list of countries and Nigeria was not on it. It was obvious that she was gearing up to wrap a mask on me and have my anointing confined in an Ebola upper-room. My inner man wanted to lash out at her a little but I quickly remembered I am a pastor. My friends, this pastor garment can be constraining sometimes.

 

But in all of this, I saw an opportunity to teach this woman who thought she was knowledgeable. And I went on and on.

 

“West Africa is in the Western part of Africa with 18 countries, occupying an area of about four million miles; it is one-fifth of the size of the entire continent of Africa. Only a few countries in this region are affected by Ebola. It’s like a flu epidemic going on in Mexico and you guys in Wisconsin are afraid you are going to die soon of the flu in Mexico. Got it?”

 

“Yes, I am sorry” she said again. But I saw in her eyes she did not believe the account of history I just gave her for free. I am sure that even if she had read it herself in a book, she wouldn’t have believed it. This world is filled with stereotypes; people believe what they want to believe even if what they believe is not true.

 

Apparently afraid of a lawsuit, the entire staff came apologising to me one by one. Although I was in need of money at that time and still in need at this time, monetary profits from any manner of lawsuit will not change my life story. Only God can change a man’s story. I accepted their apologies.

 

By Fola Ojo

The Punch