"Contagion, Take Me Away....."

You remember those old commercials for Calgon....

"Calgon, Take me away........." ? Well, I've got a new spin on them.

I mean, what does one pack for an emergency Ebola evacuation??

I'm grappling with that dilemma this evening. I think I’m prepared; I’ve stuffed my suitcase with a couple of pairs of jeans and casual t-shirts, some decent blouses, a few nice outfits just in case I have to meet with U.S. Embassy or CDC officials, casual and dressy shoes (all EXTREMELY comfortable – including my MBT’s), and a smidge of make-up, which I never wear anymore, but always regret not having when I travel.

By now, you may have deduced that I’m trying to downplay the fact that in 24 hours, I’ll be in Kampala, holed up in the Fairway Hotel. My bosses…and the U.S. Government….have decided it will be safer for Internews staffers to be based there instead of in Gulu. After all, the last (and the FIRST) time Ebola hit Uganda, it struck hard in Gulu. Almost 300 people from here died from it in 2000.

Oh, yeah, I wonder if there’s room in my suitcase for one of those biological Haz Mat spacesuits like the one Dustin Hoffman wore in “The Hot Zone”? I mean, I ain’t trying to die with a 150 degree fever and bleeding from every orifice in my body.

Yes, dear friends and relatives, an Ebola outbreak has struck Uganda. I’d wager most of you have heard the name Ebola, and even if you’re not exactly sure of the details of the disease, you know it’s a gruesome, agonizing way to die. You also know it has made quite a name for itself on the African continent, having cut a wide, murderous swath through the population of Congo since it was first identified in the late 70’s. I won’t go into details here, but I will include this link with some information about Ebola.

http://www.cdc.gov/ncidod/dvrd/spb/mnpages/dispages/ebola.htm

The thing that irks me about this recent biologic nightmare is that media sources allege Ugandan government officials knew about the Ebola outbreak when it began back in August, in a remote Southwestern corner of Uganda. But that was just 3 months away from the Commonwealth Heads of Governments (CHOGM) shindig being planned for late November. The so-called “eyes of the world” would be on Kampala, and officials didn’t want to spoil the fun by announcing a pesky bout of the plague. It might hamper tourism.

So, Queen Elizabeth flew into Entebbe Airport in late November, and was greeted along the road to Kampala by about a million waving, smiling Ugandans. She hung out for a couple of days, feted by much splendiferous pomp, and then bolted the heck outta here. Lo and behold, the following week, local newspapers “revealed” that the mysterious disease officials noted back in August was in fact Ebola. Of course, there were no real precautions taken to try and isolate the outbreak back then, because you know how people are. You tell one guy he’s at risk of spreading a hideous contagion, and the blabbermouth is BOUND to tell at least, say, a gazillion other people.

Now, before I go any further, I want to assure everyone reading these words that I am absolutely safe and absolutely fine. Physically, anyway. Mentally, I’m slightly freaked, but even so, I’m not as hysterical as I might have been 6 months ago. I know this will sound macabre, but I kinda see myself in a no-lose situation here. If officials get the outbreak under control, and I’m safely tucked away in Kampala, in close proximity to the U.S. Embassy and a fleet of top flight military doctors, then I’ll have lived through an incredibly tense but exciting experience.

If by some bizarre and insanely unlikely chance I wind up eating diseased monkey meat, or shaking hands with a Congolese whore, and contract a nagging case of Ebola I’m unable to survive, after a week or so of unspeakable agony, I’ll get to see Julie again.

Sounds crazy, right?? And probably disgustingly hypocritical, given that I’m not exactly a Sunday go-to-meetin’ kind of gal who’s been washed in the blood of The Lamb. (I mean, do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of silk?) But I’ve told a few people here that seeing my sister die has profoundly altered my view of life. In many ways, it’s made me less afraid of dying, not so much because of the promise of an afterlife, but because I’m truly convinced now that DEATH HAPPENS. It’s not an abstract concept anymore, and it’s not something that happens to other people. Why the hell spend however many years I have left on the face of this Earth being afraid of dying when….IT’S GONNA HAPPEN ANYWAY????

So once again I say, DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME. I’m fine. We leave for Kampala tomorrow morning, and I swear on a stack of bibles that I will not stop along the way and help wash and prepare the body of a Sudanese rebel for burial. I vow to avoid copulation with a Congolese whore of either sex. I will not place my lips on a Coke bottle that was just quaffed from by a teenage girl with blood oozing from the cracks of her eyes.

I’m not only celibate these days, I’m also practicing safe evacuation.