"Good News, It's Plague"

This past week, we began filming interviews with medical staff at the government-run Gulu Referral Hospital. While waiting to meet with the head of the hospital's community outreach program, we were hosted by his office-mate, a very congenial public health officer. He brought us across the hall, into another office, which appeared to function more as storage unit these days. We scavenged for places to sit, and he began asking lots of questions about our film and research projects, in particular he wanted to know the specifics of where we intend to work. "Will you be in Kitgum or Pader?"

"Not anymore," I replied, " since a few weeks ago, we decided to just keep it simple and limit ourselves to Lira and here."

"Good, that's very good because you may have heard about the strange disease there now. Been killing people. Since about two weeks ago. They get a fever, start coughing blood, and after a few days they die. 30 people so far. Government's keeping it very quiet. Until they know what it is." Then shaking his head, and with a little, soft laugh, "Or, until it's too late. Like always."

After processing his cautionary words, John, Meredith, and I immediately began darting our eyes back and forth between each other. We were just 7 kilometers from the hospital that battled the most famous Ebola outbreak ever, and now, we were being warned about some mysterious hemorrhagic fever threatening communities in the neighboring districts. We all started blurting out, "Is it Ebola? Is it Marburg? Lassa?" He simply reassured, "They don't know yet." Then his colleague arrived and greeted us one by one. The public health official got up from his chair, and walked around a desk to shake all of our hands one more time. As he was leaving, he said "It was nice to meet you. Good luck with your work."

We kept short our meeting with the community outreach leader, and scheduled an on-camera interview with him for the next morning. Then the three of us made our way out of the hospital grounds, which actually feel more like an army barracks than a health facility. It's surrounded by a chain linked fence capped with barbed wire and its front gates are patrolled by an armed guard in military attire. As we reached the outside world, we all professed our mutual anxieties from hearing about some deadly disease being hushed from public ears. Was this guy serious? Does this really happen, a government keeping a deadly outbreak secret?

Just as we were beginning to evaluate these questions, Akra arrived at the hospital gates with the car. We started driving back to the center of town when we spotted our Italian friend Luca at an intersection. He was trying to give directions to a boda boda driver for some arts and crafts store in the neighborhood. We offered him a lift and he gladly accepted. After he squeezed into the back seat, we promptly barraged the young pediatrician with questions about the rumored lethal illness. He quickly responded, "It's all true. We had two cases brought to our hospital this last week, both died. Nobody knows what it is." When we arrived at Luca's destination, we decided to join him for some souvenir shopping. While perusing shelves of minimally designed earthen clay pots, and surveying walls covered in brightly painted canvases depicting rhythmic scenes of village life, we prodded the Italian for any other details he could provide about the mysterious disease. He really didn't have much more to add, but promised to keep us posted on whatever he learns at the hospital. After we finished wading through the local wares, we dropped Luca off at another motorcycle taxi stage and returned to our hotel to log footage before our next appointment at a local radio station.

Two hours later, while I'm sifting through the morning's interviews for highlights, my cellphone begins to blare its obnoxious techno-ring. It's Luca. I answer. "My friend, good news! It's plague! Pneumonic plague!" A little unsure of what he was saying, I replied with a confused, "What?" "It's not Ebola, it's plague. Results came back. It's good news, at least we can treat this one." "I see. Great news. Thanks."

Shortly after getting the brief words of comfort from Luca, we had to leave for our next filming engagement. Our filming journey has helped uncover various informal and formal channels through which the local population is able to voice their right to better medical services. One of the more popular informal routes is the radio. When we asked the District Health Officer of Gulu how human rights empowers the community, he replied, "Go talk to the radio stations." He then explained how more and more people are calling into radio programs to complain about the poor state of medical services, and in turn, the health facilities are forced to respond to the shaming publicity. Just about every person that we've interviewed so far has referenced the radio as a main source of health rights education or tool for voicing grievances. For these reasons, we have begun exploring how radio stations serve as a practical alternative to the human rights commission when Ugandans are stranded from essential medical care.

For a long time, the radio has played a very important role in Acholiland. During the war years, parents would broadcast messages to their children, stolen at night by the LRA and forced into carrying out their gorilla military action. Often times, the LRA would force new abducted recruits into murdering other members of their community, and then tell the young ones that no one would accept them back in their villages after what they have done. Despite having spent most their days hiding in the country side, the LRA remained connected to Gulu town by the radio, especially at night when they would come in close to the city for raids and reconnaissance. So in the evenings, mothers and fathers would use the air waves to call their children home, telling them no matter what they've done, it's okay. As peace settled into the region, the radio then became a greater tool for the locals to learn about and voice their civil and political rights. Historically, most complaints have involved torture and abuse by soldiers, especially the loss of cattle to feed the military. But more and more, as resettlement is taking place, and the NGOs are pulling out, the economic and social rights, like health, are being asserted.

Mega Radio is a local station that has been around the longest. It has weekly programs devoted to human rights issues as well as health topics, and for our film, we interviewed a DJ, Steven, who is in charge of both. On top of being trained in broadcasting, Steven is also a doctor to-be, having just finished his pre-clinical years. In a well enunciated voice born for the radio, he provided us a lot of great sound bites for how his type of programs are a clear channel for rights to be expressed and heard. After our interview, we went into the studio with him to document his work. He warned us in advance, however, that the radio only broadcasts in Acholi. "The language of the people," he stressed. Despite his concern that we wouldn't understand anything he announced on the microphone, we were able to follow his first news report loud and clear. He began, "Pneumonic plague... Kitgum and Pader."

Fortunately, we head south tomorrow for at least a few weeks. Hopefully, this plague will end its course soon with no more casualties. At least, the whole town is aware of it now.