Voices: Ebola establishes dictatorship in Sierra Leone

FREETOWN, SIERRA LEONE — Since the Ebola outbreak began in May, Sierra Leone has become an authoritarian state. It's not one dominated by politicians, religious leaders, the army or the police – it's a dictatorship by virus. Ebola has taken over everyone's thoughts, actions, just about everything.

This notion struck me as I washed my hands. Authorities have wisely set up hand-washing stations everywhere to prevent the spread of Ebola. The stations reinforce the new codes of behavior that dominate what was once an easygoing, multicultural country — avoiding handshakes, avoiding crowded spaces, avoiding family, avoiding friends.

Our normal lives are gone. The streets are blocked off. Schools and business are closed. Cinemas and restaurants are shuttered. Even Freetown's lovely beach is lonely and deserted.

More than 1,000 people have died here from the disease.

The government, to be sure, has enacted rules to reinforce these new codes of behavior. I have to get a security pass to visit my relatives in the countryside, for example. The difficulty of getting such a pass reminds me of my first time applying for a visa to the U.K. Ordinary people who can't justify their trips are out of luck.

The social and psychological shift that's taken place under Ebola's regime worries me more than the government's temporary restrictions on our movements to deal with the public health crisis. When fear becomes a prime motivator for people, they lose touch with the better angels of their nature. I've seen it firsthand.

Since Ebola struck, I have seen family members abandon their sick loved ones. I have seen people buried in body bags, their families unable to participate in the burial rites. I have seen burial teams attacked by mourners angry over losing the opportunity to pay their last respects. I have seen women at markets increase food prices because everything imported is more expensive, and we import much of our food from Guinea.

I have seen people bathe with water and salt in the sincere but misguided belief it will protect them from the deadly virus.

When I started reporting on Ebola in the eastern part of the country six months ago, I never thought it would devastate the country like this.

As if to make up for what I've seen, to replace bad energy with something positive, I'm playing my part as the dissident in Ebola's dictatorship. I stopped seeing my barber five months ago, and I have promised not to return until we contain Ebola. My rough hair is merely token resistance, but it's my resistance, my personal statement against the status quo that I'll abandon when the status quo changes.

Yet my rough hair hasn't inspired me to seek out social gatherings, welcome visitors to my house or turn away from the movies, books and television shows that occupy my time in isolation. I, too, am succumbing to Ebola's state of sadness.

I sometimes read religious books, but I hadn't read the Bible much since college until recently. I luckily came across this passage: "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified or discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go."

Joshua 1:9 reminded me that although God can be everywhere, Ebola cannot. God can command. Ebola cannot. God creates the kingdom. Ebola does not. Ebola is a virus. We react to it. But we can control our reactions.

I'm thankful for OXFAM, the World Health Organization, UNICEF and Doctors Without Borders, whose workers are selflessly putting their lives on the line for my country and my people. My hope burns brighter when I think about the more than 600 people in Sierra Leone who have overcome the deadly virus despite its reign of terror.

Joshua 1:9, the health organizations' efforts and the medical victories against Ebola are what Sierra Leoneans need to combat the virus' regime. They remind us the virus is not omnipotent, the state of sadness not absolute. Both shall pass.

Kamara is a journalist based in Freetown, Sierra Leone.