Heavy oppression seemed to brood upon the air Friday, June 25, as the woman let me into the room. My mind was filled with expectation of what I had read about the condition of Gabriel Gworlekaju. What happened to him? Reports said he lost consciousness, (coma) following a one-person life-threatening auto accident on Saturday, June 19, near his residence in Lawrenceville, Georgia.

   We approached a cluster of women, nurses, seated in their reception stations, computers before them; blinking and looking up to make eye-contact with visitors.

   Overwhelmed by the report, I avoided eye contact, as I sauntered behind my guide.

                                    Gabriel Gworlekaju Jr.

    Nearing the room where Gabriel rested, a hint of death in the icy breath of the gale filled my mind but I knew I was being too hasty to conclude, particularly a report from his former co-worker at the Liberia Broadcasting System, Hassan Kiawu, who visited him at the magnificent Gwinnett Medical Center in the heart of Lawrenceville, GA, a few days earlier.

  A glassy stare of deprecating horror shot through me as my darting eyes held the advice at the door in steady concentration: “Two Persons at a time. No Exception.”

  So this was no dream, and Gabriel’s misfortune was true like day following night. In the room, a nurse held out his hand and swiftly engaged the intravenous instrument closer to the patient, lying unconcern about what was going on around him as well as what was being done to him.

  The nurse’s gloved hands shot this way and that way, feeding him intravenously through several tubes protruding from Gabriel’s chest. I moved to the right side of the bed, and before me stood the ‘Life support equipment,’ (LSE) or the oscillator, a mechanical (or electronic) device that produces a back-and-forth periodic motion. The device swung with constant amplitude ...humming its lonely tune, reminding me of man’s incredible attempt to re-introduce active force to revive a deprived body, due to shock or blunt force.

    Intermittently, the LSE powered itself up, and Gabriel’s body jerked with suddenness, with numbers running in low or high velocity, without any assistance from him.

    I felt a nagging sense of horror, looking at Gabriel down and motionless on the bed, and I made a silent prayer for divine intervention. I was thinking about the Biblical story of the widow of Nain, whose son died but was fortunately resurrected by Jesus Christ.

    I was thinking to myself, “Can such a miracle happen here for Gabriel,” when a voice said, “We are told to wait.” The woman’s voice intruded into my concentration, when she realized I wanted to know more.

     “You are his friend?”

    “Yes,” I said, and gave a brief history of my relations with the patient. I wanted to say more, but I could not muster the courage to do so. I simply turned around to look at my friend on the bed, with all those strange instruments about him.

    “The doctor has not been definite about Gabriel’s chances of survival,” she said, they are working on him.”

   All along, the nurse kept himself busy, refilling the empty intravenous instruments that protruded from several places of Gabriel’s upper body.

    “So that machine,” I pointed to the LSE, “helps him to breathe?”

    “Yes,” the Liberian woman who said she was the patient’s niece said, in her inaudible voice, “he cannot breathe on his own.” This was information communicated to her by a doctor, and she was passing it to me.

      The day was monotonous and colorless, and it had been like that for Liberians and well-wishers who had been coming during the week to comfort the few family members camped at the hospital.

    Turning to my left, directly opposite the patient, was this sign:

    Diet: Not eating through the mouth

    Activity: Bed rest

    A drowsy murmur floated into the air like thistledown, as I imagined a miraculous healing. Surprisingly, I felt a deep and brooding resentment in my heart. I was sure Gabriel’s tragic situation had overwhelmed me.

   In the room, a cluster of balloons hang like fruit in the tree, with writings like, “We Love U Dad,” “Get Well Dad.” Also on the corner were three to four "Get Well Cards." I knew then how difficult it had been for his children.

   Coming here and seeing your dad unaware of his surroundings and hoping against hope that he might pull through, could be any child’s nightmare.

   “What hope does Room 675 have for us?” That question intruded itself into my mind. There were several of them, but I was unable to bring myself to ask. But who could I have directed my questions to? I was not sure, for trying to find out more particulars met stiff resistance from my guide who said: “His family does not want to give out any more information, and you cannot also find out from the nurses. We want them to give all their attention to Gabriel.”

    The enormity of the situation indicated that certain conventions were respected and I felt the family’s pain and complied with their request and decided to seal my mouth.

    Watching Gabriel inactive on the bed, and oblivious of all the activity around him did not sit well with me. In such a dreamless state, I came to understand the experience of a body without life. It seemed spooky, but then it is the eventuality of anything living, when the grim reaper makes its presence.

    I walked out to where the nurses held their ground and directed my eyes towards heaven, but I failed. I was hoping to see the sun, for the summer weather had exploded here, and beating hard on us.

     I felt the urge to speak to God by looking at the heavens directly.

    They walked into the room despite the warning, and one moved closer to Gabriel, the slim one in jeans, her arms folded across her chest. The other, shorter but older stood further away. Family friends, I thought.

   “Any change?” the slim woman said to no one in particular, and my guide said, “Nothing much.”

   “There is something coming out of his ear,” the woman said, and lowered her body to take a closer look. The lame curtain opened and the nurse entered, pretending we were not in the room.

    He regarded the machines that were monitoring the patient for some seconds and walked out of the room.

   The LSE worked as instructed, sending jerking motions that it was working on the patient around the clock, and of course the humming sound was another.

   On the bed, his entire body covered, safe his arms and a part of his head. I moved closer, and had the urge to hold my friend’s exposed hand.

   “Can I touch him?”

  “Yes,” my guide said, as she moved away and lowered herself in a chair near the door. Her face was as pale as wax and I could discern a confused mass of impressions, like a mother wailing over her only child.

   I lifted my right hand and folded my fingers around his. It was warm, like any one living. Over his head I could not read the part of the Bible that was open but I figured it could be Psalm 27, when King David of old prayed to God for deliverance:

PSALM 27 (1-9)

1 The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? 2 When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.3 Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.4 One thing have I desired of the LORD, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the LORD, and to enquire in his temple.5 For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion: in the secret of his tabernacle shall he hide me; he shall set me up upon a rock.6 And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me: therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto the LORD.7 Hear, O LORD, when I cry with my voice: have mercy also upon me, and answer me.8 When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee, Thy face, LORD, will I seek.9 Hide not thy face far from me; put not thy servant away in anger: thou hast been my help; leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.

    I remembered the above supplication and took comfort in the amazing grace of God and said a silent prayer, wishing my friend God’s undeserved kindness and a miraculous recovery that comes only from God.

   Particularly from verse 9, (quoted above) and I also imagined Gabriel urging God, “hide not thy face far from me…neither forsake me, O God of my salvation,” as he lies there unaware of his condition.

   Then the slim woman’s voice said something, indicating my guide’s time was getting closer, and when I checked it, she was referring to her due date, for now I could see the bulge before her: she is pregnant.

    So far I had spent almost an hour, watching and examining the condition of my friend. I could not come up with any conclusion, and unable to control my disappointment, I knew I would be better to leave, for a while.

    With uncertainty bothering on my personal wish for Gabriel’s recovery, I informed my guide:

   “I must go now,” I said, “and hope God will come down to touch him.” I knew she was touched by my emotional parting words, for she breathed in deeply, and made a smile that was painful. However I made sure she did not see the tear that was betraying me, as I walked out ahead of her into the elevator that would take me towards the exit lobby.

     The blazing sunshine that had enveloped the whole of Georgia waited for me patiently as I made my way from a friend whose tragedy had unsettled his family and friends, both in the United States and in Liberia.

   Meanwhile, I fumbled in my pocket and found the piece of paper where telephone numbers of close ones who are always in contact with the hospital are recorded:

    Contact persons/numbers are: William Gworlekaju - 404-219-7740: 404-219-7740, Izetta Willie - 770-895-5295: 770-895-5295, Mahsan Swen - 770-896-7473: 770-896-7473 and Tewroh-Wehtoe Sungbeh 770-896-5873.