Desperate: Liberian health workers at the NGO Medecins Sans Frontieres Ebola treatment centre in Monrovia, 18 October. Photo: Getty
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Monrovia, the city at the heart of the ebola outbreak

At least 200 health workers have been infected with ebola and 90 have died, according to the latest government figures, yet pay is modest. Last week they staged a two-day strike. 

Monrovia is a city where ambulances rush back and forth and burial teams in white hazmat protective suits have become so commonplace as to arouse no more curiosity. As the clock struck midnight on 13 October, health workers planned to abandon their posts at hospitals and ebola treatment units in the Liberian capital in a pay protest. Patients infected with the deadly haemorrhagic fever and vomiting, those who were “toileting” and bleeding, would be left alone in bed without food or care.

With close to 500 infected people in treatment centres, and almost three times as many yet to access care, the strike threatened to derail efforts to contain the crisis in Monrovia, now the centre of the ebola outbreak in West Africa. Given the huge risks and sacrifices endured by local medical staff, it is not hard to understand their anger.

At least 200 health workers have been infected with ebola and 90 have died, according to the latest government figures. Yet pay is modest.

At Island Clinic, a recently refurbished hospital that had been converted by the World Health Organisation into an ebola clinic, workers said they did not have contracts and that the government was skimping on hazard pay. Nurses and other staff claimed they had been promised $750 a month, and that the government was now offering them $435.

Workers elsewhere told similar stories. “They [the patients] are our people – we have to save their lives – but the government is not treating us fair,” said Matilda Weah, a 30-year-old nurse who had worked at Redemption Hospital, a government facility where five nurses and a doctor died after being infected.

In the end, the industrial action was called off, but only after a last-minute appeal from President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf as well as desperate negotiations between the government and the workers’ union leadership. Nurse Weah said it was concern for the patients, many of whom would have died, that persuaded them not to strike.

“When you see how sick they are, you cannot leave them like that,” she said.

Monrovia has teetered on the edge of chaos in these past few months. Desperate families transported loved ones in yellow taxis to hospitals because none of the city’s dozen or so ambulances was able to pick them up. Some died in the streets outside treatment centres even before being admitted. Others were turned away, returning home to infect relatives.

Schools were shut. The economy ground to a halt. Work stalled on the Mount Coffee hydropower plant, slowly being reconstructed by Norwegians; one of the darkest cities in the world could remain so for years to come.

Chinese workers building roads across the country were suddenly nowhere to be seen. Other foreigners –NGO workers, oil and mining company staff – scrambled for flights out. Coming the other way were specialists from the Centres for Disease Control and Prevention and WHO and USAID’s disaster assistance response team, with their safari waistcoats and caps.

US troops and military personnel are also trickling in as part of Operation United Assistance, announced by President Barack Obama last month. Their mandate is to build 17 ebola treatment units across the country, though these will not be staffed by Americans.

Many people welcome the assistance but some are suspicious of the motives of the US, which is widely seen as pulling the political and economic strings in Liberia. At a recent press conference, the US ambassador, Deborah Malac, felt compelled to assure people that US troops were not here to overthrow the government.

“They are here to provide additional heft to the effort that is already ongoing to fight ebola, period,” she said.

That fight remains a big one. Outside a former cholera clinic that has been turned into an ebola treatment centre sat five people: three men in their thirties, a young woman and a five-year-old boy. They had survived the virus and were waiting to go home.

“It was hell in there,” said one man, who wished to go unnamed because of the stigma associated with the disease. “We are traumatised. People were dying all around us.”

A jolly nurse who brought food to them while they were sick arrived to greet them. This was the first time they had seen her face; before, she was merely a figure in a mask. They thanked her for her help.

Yet the boy, who had lost his parents to ebola, was not on his way home but off to a centre built to care for some of the thousands of orphans who are expected to be created by this deadly outbreak. 

This article first appeared in the 15 October 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Isis can be beaten

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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times