The global spread of Ebola has struck terror into many, as the great disease has already caused much devastation in Africa and threatens even the United States at present.It is, however, but another chapter in the history of mankind in which a disease has threatened entire populations with extinction. While a piddling debate now goes back and forth about whether the threat of Ebola warrants the cancellation of Carnival, and there is much windy talk about the national preparedness level to face the menace, few realise that we have gone through this sort of crisis before and with dire consequences.
In 1918-20 there was a worldwide influenza pandemic which caused the deaths of nearly 100 million people. T&T was not spared, although the fatalities were relatively few in number.In the 1890s typhoid and yellow fever also took a heavy toll on the local population, while at the St James Barracks in 1858, a significant number of the troops stationed there succumbed to yellow fever, because at the time, it was believed that methane emissions from swamps, and not mosquitoes, transmitted the dreaded disease. Though hundreds died in these cumulative epidemics, they were nothing compared to a plague that had gone before.
In 1854 a threat loomed heavily over Trinidad. Cholera was ravaging St Kitts, Antigua, and other islands in the Lesser Antilles. Barbados was particularly hard hit where several thousand people died in a matter of weeks. For many decades afterwards, workmen digging white marl for construction on that island would come across human remains–the victims of cholera. Quarantine was discussed, but in a busy commercial place like Port-of-Spain this was difficult at best. Dozens of vessels, large and small, plied the islands carrying mail, passengers and produce. Many landed without formal customs procedures, which in any case, did not include an inspection by a medical officer, especially since there was no dedicated port doctor.
Moreover, sanitation in the city was deplorable. Cesspits and backyard wells were side by side, with piped water being only supplied to the Governor's cottage in St Ann's. Those who did not have a well on their premises depended for water on one near the eastern limits of the capital called Madame Moncreaux's Spring.Dirty canals flowed down the centre of the unpaved streets and the ubiquitous corbeau was the only real sanitation worker in the city, scavenging the piles of refuse which collected in the roadway. It was not an uncommon sight for an overhead window to open suddenly and a tureen of dirty water to come cascading out onto the pedestrians below.In the countryside, things were worse, especially in the barracks of sugar estates, where no toilet facilities existed for the droves of Indian labourers who had begun arriving in the colony in 1845. Water was most often taken from a well or a pond which was probably contaminated by faecal matter.
In early September, the first cholera deaths were recorded in Port-of-Spain. These were treated with some minor concern, but did not attract enough attention to warrant any major action on the part of the authorities. By the time it became apparent that the level of infection in the city was much worse than previously thought, the Colonial Government did not have time to react since by September 22, the number of deaths had risen to 140 and by the end of the month 200 were dead. Cholera did not discriminate according to colour, class or wealth and struck down rich and poor, black and white alike.
An emergency ordinance was proclaimed and troops from the West India Regiment (stationed at St James Barracks) were called out to assist in keeping the peace and manning soup kitchens for the destitute. This latter measure became necessary since the population of the city was so ravaged, scarcely a home was untouched and many hungry people roamed the streets. All productivity ground to a halt and the usually throbbing mercantile life of the town was eerily silenced. There was as yet no proper hospital in Port-of-Spain, since this institution would not be founded until 1858. All medical aid for the afflicted had to come from the few physicians then resident in the city and the resident military surgeon at the barracks.In a last-ditch and rather feckless attempt to stem the tide, the government issued bottles of remedies which had little or no medical credence, being simply infusions of ammonia, peppermint and rhubarb. Next week, we will pay closer attention to the actual impact of the epidemic and a solemn relic of its ravages still to be seen.
