Monrovia – Hospitals have always been an eerie place for me, with their sterile walls, bright blinding lights, and shadowed cracks and crevices. Despite my wariness, I am convinced that hospitals can be (and should be) safe havens. In most places around the world, hospitals are where the sick go to get better. In Liberia, however, going to a hospital is like a 50/50 gamble. You throw the dice and hope that it lands you in better health.
My cousin Ballah Scott was on the wrong side of the dice. He died a very mysterious death at John F. Kennedy Memorial Hospital, once dubbed “Just for Killing” before the war. The irony is, JFK is the very place where he should have been most protected.
Cousin Ballah, JFK’s deputy personnel manager until his untimely death, went missing on July 25th after being admitted at the hospital for abdominal pains. His strange disappearance prompted his elder sister, Selma Scott Gibson, to lead a frantic search galvanizing entire communities to look for her missing brother by ma and pa. The first place they checked was JFK, because cousin Selma was convinced that her brother was there — dead or alive.
The search proved futile until a tip from someone in early August led them to the back of JFK’s compound on August 14, where grass had been growing uncontrollably. Surrounded by a thick patch of green shrubbery and debris lay cousin Ballah’s body, so badly decomposed that only his closest relatives could identify him.
Our family is still awaiting a DNA test, which has yet to be administered by the Government of Liberia. That elusive test is the stamp of approval needed to give cousin Ballah a proper burial. Ballah Scott went to JFK because he assumed it would nurse him back to health. Instead, it turned out to be his point of no return. He discovered that in Liberia, health care is no care at all.
If our health care system has failed us, then who can we turn to?
When our family approached JFK about cousin Ballah’s whereabouts immediately after his disappearance, they said that according to his chart he had been discharged. This display of “I told you so” exempted the hospital from any negligence. Now the family is telling JFK, “We told you so!”
A few nights before cousin Ballah disappeared, he was reported to have been stopped by hospital security while attempting to leave JFK wearing nothing but shorts and slippers. He had “gone out of his head,” those who saw him said, ranting and raving that he wanted to see President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf.
Whatever happened between that encounter with JFK security and the day cousin Ballah’s body was found is anyone’s guess. In a conversation I had on August 30th with Commissioner Joseph B. Flomo of the Crimes Services Department (CSD) of the Liberia National Police (LNP), he said that “the investigation \[into cousin Ballah’s case] started about a few days ago, and it is still ongoing.” This is as much information as I’ve been able to gather from anyone official. It is clear from all indications, however, that something went terribly wrong.
Things tend to go terribly wrong too often in Liberia’s hospitals.
In the past few weeks, I’ve heard horror stories from countless victims and survivors about how a simple trip to the hospital turned into a date with death. Of babies being listed as stillborn even though the mothers heard their first cries after delivery. Of patients facing no life threatening condition dying after a single night without family supervision. Of nurses who curl up in lounge chairs when they are supposed to be monitoring patients in critical conditions. Of body parts disappearing from hospital morgues.
The health sector has been allocated US$69.5 million in the recently passed multi-year budget, which represents 10% of the overall US$672 million budget for fiscal year 2012-2013.
Admittedly, we have edged forward small small. In 2006-2007, for instance, the health sector was 9% of the annual budget (at US$7.5 million of the overall US$80 million budget). Despite the slight increase in financing over the past six years, I question whether enough is being done to overhaul our entire health care system starting with hospitals — big and small.
When our privileged few, myself included, are forced to go to the JFKs, Redemptions, Phebes, JFDs, and Catholic Hospitals of Liberia, instead of jet-setting to Ghana, Southern Africa, Europe or North America at the slightest indication of a headache, private health facilities will rival public ones. This would force public facilities to catapult into the 21st century.
When our elected officials — the president included — make a covenant with their constituents to undergo yearly physical exams in Liberia, hospital management will be in tip-top shape.
When our doctors are forced to take the Hippocratic oath to practice medicine ethically and honestly, when they are monitored and evaluated by their patients on a quarterly basis and compensated based on satisfactory performance on the job, corrective measures will be taken in the health care supply chain.
When our nurses subscribe to the principle of “do no harm” and are more concerned about patients than their press-on nails or intricately woven weaves, cases of unexplained deaths will be diminished. When there is a collective uproar about the need to improve health care delivery for all Liberians, cousin Ballah’s death will not be in vain.
[B]Monrovia[/B] – Hospitals have always been an eerie place for me, with their sterile walls, bright blinding lights, and shadowed cracks and crevices.
Despite my wariness, I am convinced that hospitals can be (and should be) safe havens. In most places around the world, hospitals are where the sick go to get better.
In Liberia, however, going to a hospital is like a 50/50 gamble. You throw the dice and hope that it lands you in better health.
My cousin Ballah Scott was on the wrong side of the dice. He died a very mysterious death at John F. Kennedy Memorial Hospital, once dubbed “Just for Killing” before the war. The irony is, JFK is the very place where he should have been most protected.
Cousin Ballah, JFK’s deputy personnel manager until his untimely death, went missing on July 25th after being admitted at the hospital for abdominal pains.
His strange disappearance prompted his elder sister, Selma Scott Gibson, to lead a frantic search galvanizing entire communities to look for her missing brother by ma and pa.
The first place they checked was JFK, because cousin Selma was convinced that her brother was there — dead or alive.
The search proved futile until a tip from someone in early August led them to the back of JFK’s compound on August 14, where grass had been growing uncontrollably.
Surrounded by a thick patch of green shrubbery and debris lay cousin Ballah’s body, so badly decomposed that only his closest relatives could identify him.
Our family is still awaiting a DNA test, which has yet to be administered by the Government of Liberia. That elusive test is the stamp of approval needed to give cousin Ballah a proper burial.
Ballah Scott went to JFK because he assumed it would nurse him back to health. Instead, it turned out to be his point of no return. He discovered that in Liberia, health care is no care at all.
If our health care system has failed us, then who can we turn to?
When our family approached JFK about cousin Ballah’s whereabouts immediately after his disappearance, they said that according to his chart he had been discharged. This display of “I told you so” exempted the hospital from any negligence. Now the family is telling JFK, “We told you so!”
A few nights before cousin Ballah disappeared, he was reported to have been stopped by hospital security while attempting to leave JFK wearing nothing but shorts and slippers. He had “gone out of his head,” those who saw him said, ranting and raving that he wanted to see President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf.
Whatever happened between that encounter with JFK security and the day cousin Ballah’s body was found is anyone’s guess. In a conversation I had on August 30th with Commissioner Joseph B. Flomo of the Crimes Services Department (CSD) of the Liberia National Police (LNP), he said that “the investigation \[into cousin Ballah’s case] started about a few days ago, and it is still ongoing.” This is as much information as I’ve been able to gather from anyone official. It is clear from all indications, however, that something went terribly wrong.
Things tend to go terribly wrong too often in Liberia’s hospitals.
In the past few weeks, I’ve heard horror stories from countless victims and survivors about how a simple trip to the hospital turned into a date with death. Of babies being listed as stillborn even though the mothers heard their first cries after delivery. Of patients facing no life threatening condition dying after a single night without family supervision. Of nurses who curl up in lounge chairs when they are supposed to be monitoring patients in critical conditions. Of body parts disappearing from hospital morgues.
The health sector has been allocated US$69.5 million in the recently passed multi-year budget, which represents 10% of the overall US$672 million budget for fiscal year 2012-2013.
Admittedly, we have edged forward small small. In 2006-2007, for instance, the health sector was 9% of the annual budget (at US$7.5 million of the overall US$80 million budget). Despite the slight increase in financing over the past six years, I question whether enough is being done to overhaul our entire health care system starting with hospitals — big and small.
When our privileged few, myself included, are forced to go to the JFKs, Redemptions, Phebes, JFDs, and Catholic Hospitals of Liberia, instead of jet-setting to Ghana, Southern Africa, Europe or North America at the slightest indication of a headache, private health facilities will rival public ones. This would force public facilities to catapult into the 21st century.
When our elected officials — the president included — make a covenant with their constituents to undergo yearly physical exams in Liberia, hospital management will be in tip-top shape.
When our doctors are forced to take the Hippocratic oath to practice medicine ethically and honestly, when they are monitored and evaluated by their patients on a quarterly basis and compensated based on satisfactory performance on the job, corrective measures will be taken in the health care supply chain.
When our nurses subscribe to the principle of “do no harm” and are more concerned about patients than their press-on nails or intricately woven weaves, cases of unexplained deaths will be diminished. When there is a collective uproar about the need to improve health care delivery for all Liberians, cousin Ballah’s death will not be in vain.
[B]Born in Monrovia, Liberia, Robtel Neajai Pailey [/B]is an opinion fellow with [LINK=http://www.newnarratives.org/]New Narratives[/LINK], a project supporting leading independent media in Africa. She is currently pursuing a doctorate in Development Studies at the University of London’s School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS), as a Mo Ibrahim Foundation Ph.D. Scholar. She can be reached at [[email protected]][email protected][/LINK]