Discretion saves lives: quick cleans and ‘Hotel Quarantine’ in Niamey

It feels strange to cover the coronavirus crisis in Niger. Everyday life is taking its normal course, but you sense a strangeness in the air. It is manifested in the neighbourhoods, in the space between people. In a society where physical contact is part of the fabric of things, social distancing remains a challenge.

Most of our humanitarian colleagues have never been in a crisis like it, and only the most seasoned recognise it. “I have been through more than four cholera outbreaks, and also worked during the Ebola crisis in 2014. But this is a pandemic, and those are bigger words,” says Alama Keita, water, sanitation and hygiene officer at Unicef Niger, as we drive to the home of someone who has tested positive for the virus in Niamey, Niger’s capital.

Keita has been working with Unicef to prevent cholera since 2011. He is currently responsible for prevention of the disease in the Lake Chad region, but he’s now helping the coronavirus response. He’s supporting the Nigerien government and partners on the ground in coordinating preventive measures, community engagement, supplies and healthcare provision to mitigate the impact of the pandemic on children and women across the country. Children risk missing out on life-saving vaccinations, and are at increased risk of malnutrition because of the pandemic.

Niger has registered more than 900 Covid-19 cases since mid-March. The government took measures to prevent the spread of the virus and to raise awareness. However, the country’s healthcare system is already at breaking point.

We arrive at gate 237. When we make a house visit we don’t know who will be there, what they do, or where they come from. Protocol only allows us to access that information at the door, and to accompany the Nigerien Red Cross teams to disinfect the house.

The family have allowed their house to be disinfected from top to bottom, something people are increasingly reluctant to do. They’re also not always willing to accept “dignified” burials organised by health officials. Fear of stigma by the community is greater than fear of the virus. In Niger, family reputation is the basis of community life.

In Niamey’s overcrowded neighbourhoods, everyone knows each other. If someone tests positive, the neighbourhood will soon know. The coronavirus has disrupted many lives, and has changed how many communities deal with death. In Islam, burial ceremonies are sacred moments, often attended by hundreds of mourners. Customarily, the corpse is first wrapped in a shroud and placed on a mat made of palm leaves facing Mecca, then buried as soon as possible after the death. In many cases, tradition has led families to refuse to call an ambulance to retrieve virus victims.

Discretion is essential to execute quick and effective action that can save lives, and avoid more contagion in the neighbourhood. We accompany two Red Cross volunteers and watch as they put on their protective suits, reload their chlorine sprinklers and give each other a fist bump before going in.

Your husband has tested positive. But it doesn’t mean he is going to die. Inshallah. Let’s pray for him

As they enter, a little girl stares at the masked men in disbelief. Her mother welcomes us with a shy smile. However, seconds later she breaks out into sobs, grasping her baby. A neighbour looks over the wall and observes the scene. The sprinklers spitting chlorine on each object of the humble house is the only other sound.

In less than five minutes, the job is done and we must leave. There is no time for interviews, or photos, and hardly any time to thank the family for accepting our presence in their home.

Keita walks back to the woman. ‘‘Don’t be afraid. A team of psychologists will come this afternoon to speak with you. Your husband has tested positive for the coronavirus. But it doesn’t mean he is going to die. Inshallah. Let’s pray for him. This cleaning is to prevent more cases. Take the preventive measures seriously. Be strong. Goodbye.”

The volunteers disinfect each other, remove their suits and return to the car. Mahamoud Moussa, who works in education, became a committed Red Cross volunteer after the coronavirus outbreak. “I prefer to contribute with my colleagues to this fight, rather than to stay at home and see people dying in my town,” he says.

One of the oldest and most famous hotels in Niamey has become known as “Hotel Quarantine”. The scene from the lobby is eery. The red carpet leading us inside does not shine as usual. The metal detector at the entrance has stopped beeping. Two volunteers in protective gear await, sprinkler in hand, to disinfect our shoes. Next to them are two national police officers with tired faces, and a doctor who greets us with a wide smile.

We follow the volunteers up to the first floor. One of five levels that accommodates up to 70 suspected cases of coronavirus. Rubbish bags filled with contaminated material wait in front of each room. We walk down the dimly lit corridor.

We leave with a deep appreciation for the health officers, military and young volunteers who risk their lives at this hotel in the Nigerian capital. A wave of heat hits us as we push the hotel doors open. Sweat drips from our plastic gloves and masks.

“We have to continue,” he says. “Children and women are the most vulnerable to this pandemic. For them we must continue. We have to work and pray. Don’t forget to wash your clothes before going home.”