The 2014 West African Ebola virus epidemic was the most widespread outbreak of Ebola virus disease in history. It  caused major loss of life and socioeconomic disruption primarily in the countries of Guinea, Liberia, and Sierra Leone. The outbreak’s  impact is still reverberating through West and Central Africa. And I was in the middle of it.

Shortly after my dad started his new job with the State Department, we moved to our first post: Conakry, Guinea. Guinea seemed relatively nice. We received countless immunizations that were required to enter the country, but dismissed them as formalities and focused instead on the upcoming adventure. We imagined the world famous traditional and modern dancing, the deep-sea fishing, and the boat expeditions to nearby islands. When we arrived, we saw a different world. Our rose-colored glasses were ripped away, and we were met with a world of poverty and pollution. A world of plastic and pain. Houses held up by sticks. Shops made of sheets of aluminum. Piles of trash along either side of the road. Run-down concrete buildings. Dozens of cement buildings that were left unfinished, to exploit a legal loophole to avoid taxes.

After months of adjustment, we barely noticed the extreme security, incredibly bad traffic, mosquito nets over our beds, or pills we had to take every morning so that we didn’t die of malaria. Every day on the way to school, we called out landmarks we had made silly names for. Landmarks like “Trash Mountain,” an especially large pile of trash on our school route, or “Dead Dog,” the site of a bloodied dog’s limp corpse being buried in the dry, sandy soil that made up a “highway” divider downtown. This was the lifestyle we had accepted and planned to live for the next two years. This was our reality.

To make matters worse, as we were getting ready to return to post from spring break, we received some news. The deadly Ebola virus had broken out in Guinea. Despite this, we returned.

Although Ebola had not spread to the capital city, Conakry, where we lived, it was scary. Well, it was scary for the people who knew what Ebola was. I was only nine or ten, so I didn’t know what Ebola was. My parents explained that Ebola was a virus that can make people very sick. I didn’t know that Ebola was an incurable virus with a minuscule survival rate. I found that out myself.

Ebola became everything. I was surrounded by it. The virus still hadn’t spread to the city, but people in Sierra Leone were dying quickly. The virus spread to Mali and Senegal, while still avoiding Conakry. West Africa was dealing with a crisis, and wasn’t prepared. The virus thrived in small villages on the outskirts of Conakry. These villages were a big part of why the virus was spreading, due to their tradition. Corpses are handled, moved around, and touched a lot in Guinean tradition, which is a perfect time for Ebola to infect a new host. These traditions continued during the Ebola crisis because of the lack of health education in these villages. This, and because many households held upwards of 10 people in one-room structures, allowed Ebola to spread like wildfire.

The CDC (Center for Disease Control) started going to these villages to educate people about sanitation, safety, quarantining the dead, and isolating the infected. Unfortunately, the officials were frantic, barging into villages clad in Hazmat suits holding needles and syringes. Life saving doctors were labeled as “devils.” Locals would see a truck of these “devils” carry people away, dead and alive, to camps blocked off by fences and barbed wire. Locals would see these “devils” disrupt decade-long traditions. They would see the havoc that the western world saw.

Concern was escalating in the U.S. During an Ebola scare in Texas, an old virus was reintroduced: fear. Fear is like a virus. It is detrimental to mental health and well-being. It triggers a fight or flight response in humans and decreases their sense of reason. Their gut instincts take over. I saw this in action on my way back to the U.S. for summer break.

We got on the plane to Paris, and flight attendants walked down the aisle spraying bug repellent to kill any mosquitoes carrying malaria that may have gotten on the plane. When we arrived in Paris, they filed us all through a checkpoint at the airport, right outside the plane, to check our temperature. If we had a fever, we would be questioned. If they suspected we might have Ebola, we would be quarantined and sent to a nearby hospital.

Next, we flew to Atlanta. As we scanned our passports at the digital kiosk in the Atlanta airport, a red ‘X’ appeared on our printed passport security summary cards. We heard our family’s name echo through the large room, and were briefly questioned by a border agent. He gave us all face masks. My mother protested that the face masks were unnecessary, and that my brother and I should not have to wear them. The border agent cut us some slack. My mother, however, was still required to wear a mask. We were sent to the other side of the room behind a temporary room divider. A few rectangles of blue canvas with wheels aligned to form a wall hiding us from the rest of the public. This was our waiting area. We were being hidden so that we wouldn’t induce chaos if the public realized we were a group of people suspected to have the infamous Ebola virus.

We were supposed to wait for a few minutes in the makeshift waiting room, but ended up waiting an hour for a Health Officer to give us a check-up and let us into the country. Eventually, a very large pompous man stumbled into our little waiting room. He took one look at my brother and me and gasped. He glared at the border agent. As he opened his mouth, the fatty skin on his cheeks withdrew from their position on either side of his mouth, his already large stomach grew even more with the air in his lungs, and his face turned red. He yelled, “Why do these kids not have masks on?!” with the full force of his stomach collapsing onto his lungs, pushing every inch of air out with a roar. He went on to describe us, yelling, “They are practically walking fungus!”

He was lucky he didn’t alert the general public. They might as well have been a leaking tank of gasoline, and he was a blowtorch. We had done nothing wrong, so he also was lucky we didn’t get offended.

After his outburst, we went into a back room for examination. We were put in a cell where criminals are held at airports. There was a cement bench attached to the wall. There was a toilet with only a small barrier next to it for privacy. They left the door open, but made sure we were inside the room so they could shut it on us quickly if needed. Four doctors in Hazmat suits took our temperature and interrogated us. This whole ordeal took so long it almost made us miss our next flight.

Let this be a lesson. In my opinion, the man in Atlanta had caught an especially bad strain of fear. Once fear infects someone, it stays dormant in their system forever. The symptoms may subside, but the virus lasts. When defeated, Ebola leaves the system, but fear … fear stays. Fear stays indefinitely. The Ebola pandemic has been declared as “over,” even though some strains of Ebola are spreading in Congo. I think a different epidemic is taking place. A fear epidemic. Since the beginning of time fear has been spreading. But now, with the Ebola crisis, we have had a glimpse of what happens when it is activated, when it is no longer dormant. It is more widespread now than ever, and especially in today’s world, with social media, and the current American government’s administration. We are practically begging for another fear epidemic, and this time – even more than last – we won’t be ready.