A few weeks ago, I flew from Atlanta to Murtala Muhammed International Airport here. Everything about the flight was routine, until I saw a flight attendant, a face mask flattening her blond hair, tentatively approach an older woman sitting several rows behind me. Upon landing, the flight attendants informed us that there would be a delay in disembarking because the woman was ill.
The passengers began gossiping: It couldn’t be Ebola, could it? We were going the wrong way — toward the hot zone, not away from it. The man next to me, who had dismissively told me earlier that Ebola was no big deal in Nigeria, fretted over whether he had walked past her seat and touched anything.… Seguir leyendo »