terrim-lockdown-diary

[terrim-lockdown-diary]

Day Eight: 03 April 2020

Venturing into the Unknown

It is Day 8 and the beginning of the second week of lockdown. It is a Friday and I must add that I had to do some serious thinking before I could arrive at that conclusion. For someone who is always governed by time tables and rosters, this was a new experience. And I can only imagine that as the days progressed and blended into each other, remembering the day and date is not going to be easy. 

As I do each morning now, I contemplated what the lunch menu will be. This continues to remain one of the great successes of the family meeting of Day One. As I scan through the grocery cupboard and the refrigerator, I realise that I am running out of supplies. We were told not to stockpile but then we are also constantly being reminded not to go out. Do you see the same conundrum that I do? Anyway, I now know that I have to get supplies and decide that today I will sort of stockpile in order to avoid further trips. Now let me tell you a little bit about me and grocery shopping. I hate it! There is no other way to express this. I simply hate it! It always seems like an intrusion in a day of very important things to do. On my way home from school, I pass three major supermarkets and I am spoilt for choice. However, it takes me days to pick up what I need. Only when I get home do I realise that I did not stop at the supermarket and that I will have to do without eggs again. And then, the next day yields the same results. Is this conscious? Is this sub-conscious? Or is that just me being contrary again.

But today I approach the prospect of going grocery shopping with the same glee that I anticipate an overseas holiday. My heartbeat increased, my spirits were uplifted and I sat down at my kitchen table diligently making a list. I planned, I wrote and then I put on a really nice dress (something I stopped doing on Day 1). I was going grocery shopping! Yay!

Now this trip to get supplies is no ordinary one. I had to get my mask and gloves. This took at least 20 minutes because I had stored these precious commodities so well that I could not find them. Familiar? Sadly, many of my 60 something friends will identify with this. Then there were some serious considerations. Which supermarket should we go to? Where will the queues not be too long? Where will we get everything so that we can make just one stop? And the questions went on. In my wildest dreams I would not have imagined that grocery shopping, normally an absolutely brain draining activity for me, could ever have required this amount of thinking and planning.

Anyway, my husband and I finally got on our way, suitably armed with mask, gloves and hand sanitiser. We were not sure whether we would run into a road block or the army. These were scary times. Forgive me. Being glued to the TV for the past week made us a little melodramatic. The roads were quiet and devoid of the regular traffic. There were no policemen nor soldiers. There were no people. It was something out of a science fiction movie. I almost expected that suddenly the walking dead would appear. You can see that my taste in TV series fully embraces the apocalypse. 

When I got to the supermarket, my heart fell at the sight of the long queues, people circumspectly standing according to social distancing norms. After putting on our masks and gloves, we joined the line way, way back. There were no conversations and no complaints.  But as fate will have it we did not have to wait long. The security guard announced that pensioners did not have to stand in line. Oh, the joys of being old. My husband, having just retired, fitted this description. And of course, as his plus one, I was able to accompany him, past the line and straight into the store. What luck! I am sure that every person we passed couldn’t wait to become pensioners. The lockdown dream!

But this joy was short lived. Once I secured my trolley, I realised that I had forgotten my list which I had so painstakingly prepared. I could just see it still sitting on my kitchen table. Oh bugger! Now it was back to memory. We shopped as best we could. Looking at the contents of my trolley, it would be hard to imagine that I could have forgotten anything. Practically the whole store was in it, including yeast and flour should the days get darker.

I felt so much better after that shopping expedition. My grocery cupboards were full. My fridge and freezer were full. I even managed to get a few treats for all of us – Krispy Kreme doughnuts (my son’s favourite) and, yes, lots of chocolate. And then I realised that I had forgotten something. Any guesses? Yes, eggs. Fortunately, I had a dozen in the fridge and now I had the perfect excuse not to bake. The silver lining story is true.

At the end of Day 8 I am tired but relieved. I now have enough food to last a while before I venture into the unknown again. In the face of all the loss of employment, pain and poverty that many families are facing in this crisis, I am deeply grateful that I was able to buy food today. I phoned my daughter and regaled her with my tales of grocery shopping expedition. I will be sure to end my day with a prayer for my family, my country and my world.

[terrim-lockdown-diary]

Day Seven: 02 April 2020

Laugh and the whole world laughs with you 

It is Day 7 and today marks one week of lockdown. Fourteen days to go. Maybe. On Day One, I thought that this time will drag on. Twenty-one days of lockdown seemed to loom interminably ahead. What will I do? Will my learners manage to be disciplined and work independently for so long? Will their work schedules be enough to keep them busy for 21 days? Will parents manage to adequately supervise their children through this time? But today, a week later, I realise that time will do what time always does. Time flies. Why did I imagine anything otherwise?

 This has been an interesting and introspective time for me. I must confess, other than the usual fears about the Corona Virus, I have found this lockdown to be a little unexpected gift of time and space. I have started writing and journaling, something I have always wanted to do but never did. I have come to appreciate being still. I have re-examined my career, my dreams and my priorities. In obeying the charter at our first family meeting, we are re-learning the value of team work and camaraderie. In the midst of danger and tragedy, that many little moments of wonder and beauty shine through.

 Social media has never been this active. If this is the third world war, it certainly is different from the other two. Social media has kept everybody connected with everybody else. Sometimes a little too connected. In addition to all the educational corona virus videos, national and international news and of course, the fake news, I have been amazed at the creativity, often downright hilarious, that this pandemic has inspired. These gems have outwitted the germs and the social media is busy with the sending and re-sending of these witticisms, jokes and outrageously funny videos around the sombre topic of Covid 19.

 Now in my circle of family and friends I have had a mixed reaction to these funnies. While most of them have embraced these light-hearted renditions, there are a few that have responded with a stoic silence and across the various electronic platforms I could feel their palpable disapproval. Some of them have expressed this. How dare you, at a time like this, trivialise and make light of real life and death issues? It is sacrilegious. It is downright disgraceful. I hung my head in shame. But fortunately, not for long. My good humour restored itself and I accepted the idea of each to his own. I still love them, by the way, maybe just not their sense of humour.

 One of the most entertaining satires through this lockdown has been based on the relationship between parents and their school going children. Now as I teacher, I do sympathise with parents, suddenly entrusted with the brief to supervise school work. This is no easy task and we know this. After all, we work with their children every day. And even though we are trained for many years at university to do this, it is admittedly a challenging task. But teachers in recent years have faced much abuse from parents. Many parents today have vilified teachers, have found it difficult to accept that perhaps, just perhaps, their children may have reported the story incorrectly or even acknowledged that maybe their children are human and therefore not perfect.

 So you can forgive me and my fraternity for our amusement on reading the hilarious commentary on the current dilemma of parents, locked down with their children and playing teacher. Whether it was a statement, a story or a song, we loved it.  But let me assure parents that once the laughter is over and the lockdown is over, we are committed to our learners. We love them and will do our best. But we hope that now parents realise that it is not so easy to do what we do and a little respect may be in order. We are after all, on the same side.

The satirists have had a field day with the relationship between husbands and wives during the lockdown. Marriage has always been an easy target for cartoonists and comedians, I am sure, from the days of Adam and Eve and their social circle. But in this period the astute and funny stories that have come through have been just brilliant. Most of the wry and sometimes wicked humour has come to me via my husband. We are taking great delight in taking pot shots at each other with these posts. All in the spirit of the moment. And we are loving it.

 The humour has crossed all barriers and all topics. The clever use of language, the funny adaptations of songs, the brilliantly drawn cartoons and the true understanding of human nature have resulted in creativity at its best. They have become the sunny moments in a time when we are all struggling with the darkness of an enemy that is threatening to overwhelm us. Edith Eger, a holocaust survivor, in her autobiography said that she struggled herself to understand humour in times of great suffering. She writes, “Intellectually, I understood the purpose of the satire. I knew that laughter can lift, that it can carry us over and through difficult times. I knew that laughter can heal.”

 Humour in this period has taught me many things. I learnt that in the midst of depressing times laughter can raise my spirits, that a single funny story can link so many people, that I can stand in awe of the creative brilliance of the architects of the humour, that I am still able to laugh at myself and that my family continues to laugh at me too. I said to my son that I have been so entertained by the little videos of this Tik Tok person that I have never heard of before. And his response with a laugh was, “Mum, please don’t go out in public and say things like this. Tik Tok is a well-known video platform where people post short videos of not more than 15 seconds.” And so I was suitably chastised.

 So one week draws to a close. I have yet to put the TV on today but can’t see myself putting it off for much longer. But I and hopeful and feel positive. Oops! Bad choice of word. Let me re-phrase that. But I feel hopeful and optimistic. I am grateful for all that I have, and today especially, for the ability to laugh in these challenging times. I will be sure to end my day with a prayer for my family, my country and my world.

[terrim-lockdown-diary]

Day Six: 01 April 2020

My Favourite City in the World 

It is Day 6 and April Fool’s day. At 00:05 my son played an April Fool’s trick on me. This put my nose a bit out of joint since I am always the one that catches him first. I like to believe that I can take it like I can dish it out. But maybe I’m not. So since the morning held no anticipation of a great laugh, I turned instead to my cell phone to pore through the social media message overload that we all have experienced since the lockdown. The first message that I Iooked at was from a colleague. She posted a picture of a rosary that I had brought for her from the Vatican. This picture stopped me in my tracks as I felt a sharp pain.

 Today that picture reminded me of the fleeting nature of life and the speed with which things can change.  Exactly a year ago my daughter took me on holiday to Croatia and Italy as a 60th birthday gift. On this very day last year, we visited the Vatican City. I remember the exact spot where I bought the rosary and how I debated on the colour of the beads and which Saint’s emblem to I should choose, a task made all the more difficult by the fact that I am not a Roman Catholic and had little or no understanding of these matters. So I went to what’s familiar and debated between colour and pattern. I chose with little confidence or spiritual knowledge. But I do remember the joy this purchase brought me and the delight of my colleague on receiving it.

 I clearly remember the monumental crowds that filled the Vatican. Do we buy a ticket to the Vatican museum and on completion stand in the long queue to visit the St Peters Basilica or do we take the guided tour for twice the price to the museum and you gain direct access to St Peters Basilica? No queuing. My daughter was so miffed. “Mum, how can this be right? Should entry into a church be determined by money? That is ungodly. Look at the opulence of this museum. The opposite of spirituality!” My ear was punctuated by her anger at these apparent contradictions throughout the tour of the Vatican museum and this continued as we exited the museum and stood in the long, almost never ending line to enter St Peter’s Basilica. I will always remember the teeming crowds that characterises a visit to the Vatican City which, by the way, I learnt is a country on its own, separate from Italy.

 Today the picture of the rosary brings none of the joy or delight of a year ago. Instead it brought a sharp stab of pain to my heart. Today, I see a different picture of Rome. All the news channels show empty streets, deserted monuments, a ghost of a town ravaged by the Corona Virus. There is no line outside St Peter’s Basilica, no tour guides badgering people to take a tour with them. There are no vendors, no open gift stores, no crowds of tourists with selfie sticks capturing for posterity a visit to the Vatican, not a single person in sight. Today’s Rome is labouring under the total onslaught of the Corona Virus and the entire city is under a lockdown.

 Last year was my second trip to Italy. My first trip was with a friend in my bachelor days. I have since visited several European countries three and four and five times, but I have only been twice to Italy. Now this is the strangest and oddest thing because I fell in love with Rome on my first visit and it has always remained my favourite city in the world. Why did I never visit it again until last year? Today I am troubled to think that my Rome may never be the same, may never truly recover like many a city after the second world war.          

 I quickly open the gallery on my phone and pore through our 2019 holiday pictures in Italy. I voraciously take in the pictures of all the monuments on our walking tour, the spectacular tributes to the great Roman Empire. I admire the statues of the Roman Emperors. I remember as we walked the streets, thronging side by side with tourists and locals, we marvelled at the buzz of Rome, the aromas of rich Italian cuisine, the haute couture of Italian fashion and the hot pot mix of the old and the new. This was a city that lived for thousands of years and will never die. Or will it? The death toll from Covid 19 is not letting up and my favourite city in the world is battling.

 I scroll a little more frantically through my photos: My daughter and I sitting with hundreds of people on the Spanish Steps, a beautiful picture of us in front of the Colosseum which is bathed in the orange of the setting sun, throwing a coin into the breath-taking Trevi fountain to ensure that we return to Rome, eating in a restaurant in Piazza Novona and thinking that South African pizza tastes so much better (Forgive me, Rome), testing every gelato outlet, shopping for a Moreno glass Christmas bauble and eating delicious chicken risotto cooked by my daughter in our Airbnb apartment. I frantically scroll through memory after memory: the Pantheon, the Roman Forum, etc, etc. etc. I want this Rome back.

 And then I realise that a place is made of people and history has taught us about the indomitable spirit of the human race. Yes, we have made many mistakes and the pandemic may be as a result of these mistakes. But I pray that we take this time to review our actions and make amends. I pray that when I return to Rome, and I know that I will, I will find the same joy in its cobbled streets and great sights. But that the crowds that throng the streets, local and foreign, will have a greater respect for a city and its people who have seen untold suffering.

 As Day 6 of the lockdown draws to a close, I am thankful that I had the foresight to make traveling the world one of my life’s choices. I am grateful that I could translate this choice into action. Nothing can take away those beautiful memories and experiences. My day ends in prayer for my family, my country and my world.

[terrim-lockdown-diary]

Day Five: 31 March 2020

On safari! 

It is Day 5 and 15:00. I have just taken an afternoon nap. This is quite uncharacteristic, I must add. But then I remind myself that there is nothing normal about my being at home on the day that I would have returned to school after the term break. I try to ignore the CV words and I have avoided the TV all day. So I have no current update on the state of affairs in South Africa or anywhere else in the world. For the time being I will keep it that way.

 On my way to make a cup of coffee, I notice that my husband is engrossed in a movie. Now that sport has virtually come to a standstill, he has limited options. My son, is nowhere to be seen. I look outside for Gypsy, my Labrador. She too has hived off somewhere in the garden. So hopes for a quick chat had to be halted for the time being. Ah! Perhaps not. My roses. And they do not answer back. Even better. I have more than 25 varieties of roses that require a lot of care. I would rather die (sorry, bad choice of hyperbole in current times, but you know what I mean), than divulge how much it costs me to maintain them. I must add, that in the lockdown they have provided immense joy to me. So I decided to indulge in a little chat while I water them.

 Little did I realise how this simple activity would take me on a mini safari. As I watered the roses, Gypsy arrived from her adventures and joined me. She usually does this and I have grown to enjoy this little bonding session with her every day. She noses her way alongside me, darts over to a butterfly, barks at Bella, the husky next door, with whom she has a love-hate relationship and she waits expectantly for our daily ritual of me suddenly spraying water on her and her looking at me with great disappointment that I could use her as the object of my entertainment. I love Gypsy, but I must add, like a true member of this family, she is quite a character, with a quirky personality of her own.

 As we approached the stretch of my front lawn, I noticed that Gypsy’s demeanour suddenly changed. She became absolutely still, her left hind leg was raised and she was totally focused on something in the grass. I stopped watering. She sprung forward and just as quickly stopped. She stepped back, raised her hind leg again, in readiness to lunge forward and assumed a demeanour of absolute concentration. Now picture this scene. The predator is stalking the prey. Gypsy, at that moment, with her beige colouring, easily resembled a lion in the African bush. I stood stock still, the equivalent of the game ranger, heart beating fast, watching in wonder. Is this going to be a kill? Am I going to witness something to tell other rangers over a camp fire? In my case, this would translate to my telling the story to my family, all wildlife enthusiasts, over the braai stand on a Sunday.

 Gypsy lunged! I noticed that she had in her grip a small creature I could not see clearly. And like a true ranger, I did not move, did not call out to her. I just stood, enthralled at the scene playing out in front of me. If truth be told I also did not move because I am in abject terror of rodents and suspected that the creature in Gypsy’s grip was the mole that has been the object of her obsession over the past few days. Between paw and mouth Gypsy grappled with the creature. By this time my paralysis disappears. I abandon hosepipe, dog and the lion and prey analogy and rush into the house to call my husband, my saviour in moments like these. He knows about my phobia for rodents. He always comes to my defence but also never fails, together with my children, to have a good laugh at my expense about this. How can you be afraid of such a small thing which is more terrified of you? Hello? This is what a phobia is. It has no basis in logic. But I can live with this, as long as he comes to my rescue, which he does, every time.

 I took refuge inside the house. After a while, my husband returned to say that it was indeed Gypsy’s mole. He managed to rescue it from Gypsy and send it on its way down the road, to wreak havoc in someone else’s garden. I can only imagine the tales with which Mr Mole will regale his companions at the daily Mole briefing, of this terrifying monster called Gypsy that lives in a lovely rose garden. And this will be how Gypsy will acquire her legendary status in Mole country on a balmy lockdown day.

 There was no hiding from reality anymore. I watched the news and saw that Spain had recorded its highest death toll thus far on this day; that there was no respite from the virus in Europe. The UK and the US were also hurtling in the same direction. There were disquieting scenes from India and South Africa, of their challenges with social distancing and possible human rights abuses by the police and army. The evening news recorded 5 deaths in South Africa. Later I heard that further deaths occurred, of a professor at the helm of HIV research and an educator from a primary school. And the underlying feeling of unease changed to real fear for the future. I immediately phoned my daughter with strict instructions not to leave her apartment. We have so little control at times like this and for a self-confessed control freak, I was panicked. But I soon calmed down, as I knew I had to, and understood that in times like these we have to be careful, stay at home, practise social distancing, and be responsible for ourselves and, in this way, responsible for all those around us.

 On this night I have to consciously remind myself that I have a lot to be grateful for. My day ends in prayer for my family, my country and my world.

[terrim-lockdown-diary]

Day Four: 30 March 2020

Keep calm and stay apart 

It is Day 4. Eight o’clock seems to be my new internal alarm clock. While one part of me will be happy to return to work, because this would mean that all is well again, I can assure you that most parts of me will vehemently resist the return of the mandatory 04:30 regime. In fact, I am leaning in the direction that retirement may not be so bad after all. I have always been uncertain about retiring because I was terrified that doing nothing would be a terrible alternative to constantly doing something. I think that the last few days have taught me better. In retirement it may be possible to do many things but without the pressure and pace of my current life. But this is a decision for another day.

 I also recognise a few other changes about myself. I feel neither guilt nor joy about lazing in bed in the mornings. I have embraced that too. I also do not feel a compulsion to be productive or to have the mandatory to-do list which painstakingly starts with all that I could not complete the day before. In fact, I am quite relaxed. I decide that today I will not even clean the one cupboard that I promised myself I will do.  Instead I will totally embrace this simulated retirement scenario. I fear I may be an undercover sloth who has been masquerading for my entire life as a productive pillar of society.

 So how did the rest of the day go? While still in bed, I switched on the TV. Big mistake. It was ENCA. The field reporter was at a supermarket with long queues of people waiting to go in. The picture switched to another area with an equally long queue of state pensioners in line to collect their monthly pension. They obviously will then join supermarket queues for food purchases. Is there social distancing anywhere? No. Is it possible, even with the police and army trying to ensure the social distancing? Sadly, no. And most certainly, the taxi industry is going to do all it can to make sure that the social distancing principles are not going to interfere with profits.

 Herein lies the greatest challenge for South Africa in managing the Corona Virus crisis. The middle-class, with their financial resources have stockpiled, locked down and are practising social distancing. The vast majority of South Africans are working class, living from pay check to pay check and for whom the pandemic has to give way to basic needs first. Maslow knew what he was talking about.  So while my friends and colleagues and, at one time even myself, berated our people for not obeying the call of our president for a total lockdown, I realise now that this is not so simple.

 As I continued to watch intermittently throughout the day, there seemed to be a growing understanding from government, police and reporters that these challenges had been underestimated. Some of the burning questions were: Is hunger more compelling than the fear of death? Should the pension pay out process have not considered the age of the recipients and implemented a more compassionate and safe system of payment? Given the many informal settlements in South Africa, how practical is the social distancing principle? For people who lived in these settlements, without even the basic storage or refrigeration facilities, food shopping is a daily activity, so can they really lock down? What about the homeless? How do they fit into the preventative measures that the government was implementing? The questions seemed endless and it was so obvious that the police, army and the policy makers were so clearly out of their depth.

 At the end of the day when President Ramaphosa addressed the nation on the status of the Corona Virus pandemic, he stated that South Africa had to date 3 deaths and 1326 positive cases of Covid 19. He looked very subdued. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, indeed. But he did try to reassure the nation. I detected some sincerity, some plan, some pain and a smidgen of panic in his speech. Sincerity and politicians are generally not synonymous. But these are unique times. And I must confess that at some point I couldn’t resist thinking that if the politicians were less self-serving and less corrupt, there would have been no informal settlements and almost all South Africans would have had a home. Now the entire population is at risk. I hope this lesson is taken seriously by government. But then the government is made up of people and people have short memories. And politicians will be politicians. I wondered what Jacob Zuma would be thinking as he sat in his fire pool, surrounded by luxury, and of course, complacent in the belief that a shower can solve anything.

 But telling the TV screen and whoever wanted to listen at home (no great success here), how government should be doing their job, was not all I did today. I sat down to a light breakfast with my husband. He was a school principal too, until he retired at the end of January and I see a nice mental easing up and relaxing in him too. You know uneasy lies the head, etc. I cooked a delicious veg meal, with high praise from my son, who generally dislikes veg. I continued to read almost to the end one of the most amazing autobiographies I have ever read, “Choices” by Edith Eger. To think it sat on my bedside pedestal for more than a year until a week ago. But then I was always very busy with my to-do lists, a practice that must come under serious review in the future. I chatted to two of my colleagues. School was not even mentioned once. How easily we shrugged off the institution that defines us on a daily basis? I chatted to my daughter briefly on two occasions. Even though she was on lockdown, she is working from home.

 So Day 4 had an interest all of its own. It was another day of uniqueness, another day of mixed feelings. It did not matter what the activity or non-activity of the day was, you could never quite shrug off the nagging concerns about the Corona Virus pandemic. It is 22:33 and I am off to bed but not before I remind myself that I have a lot to be grateful for. My day ends in prayer for my family, my country and my world.

[terrim-lockdown-diary]

Day Three: 29 March 2020

Women rule!!!

It is Day 3. It is Sunday. It is 10:00. I immediately realise that today is different. There is no eerie silence. There is no subdued feeling of the past two days, no sense of the volume being turned down, no ominous silence, no abnormal quietness. In fact, today seemed noisier than the average Sunday. I relished the silence of the past two days. But what was the reason for today being different? In fact, if anything at all, it should have been quieter. Let me re-count how Day 3 played out.

 I listened to the sounds as I drank my coffee and pondered on the reasons for the noise. Maybe with the cancellation of religious services, this Sunday seemed a little busier. But there were not many cars on the road. In my own home, my son had, true to form, not surfaced from slumber-land. My husband was nowhere to be seen. Now that is quite normal for a Sunday morning. My husband is a committed runner of ultra-distance marathons and on Sundays he does a bit of extra training. But that would not have happened today. Where was he? Suddenly I heard the sounds of a compressor in my backyard. I went to the back door and there he was spray painting something. Ah, then the penny dropped.

 As I consciously listened, I heard the sound of a drill from a neighbour, the sound of the lawnmower in the distance, the sound of a hard broom against the paving from somewhere else, a brush-cutter, an angle grinder, a chain saw. I burst out laughing. Gypsy, my Labrador, jerked awake and stared at me with concern. I realised then that the wives had been busy! And with a vengeance! They had finally got their husbands to do the work that they had probably been asking them to do from aeons ago. Now with all this time on our hands and nowhere to go, the husbands had finally run out of excuses. I smiled wryly and decided that I too will jump on the bandwagon (I admit this with a little bit of shame, which did not last for too long) and decided to get my husband to do some repairs. Yes! This was an opportunity too good to miss.

 Alas, I was not given the opportunity to make a single request. This is what happened. The day before I had asked my son to clean out the bathroom cabinet. He was most irate that I could ask him to clean out a cabinet that held only one of his possessions, his toothbrush. He looked totally puzzled and could not fathom what kind of logic I could use to justify making such a request. My husband must have seen my expression and in order to prevent a war, volunteered to clean out the bathroom cabinet.

 Now back to today. I gleefully debated amongst the many repairs that were needed at home and weighed how best to ask the two men in my home to do it. Finally, I decided that yes, I will ask them to paint my bedroom. I went outside in search of my husband but he was nowhere to be found. After a few moments he came out of the house, carrying the bathroom cabinet. I must have shown a fair amount of surprise, no perhaps shock is the right word, at the sight he made. He had unscrewed the cabinet from the wall and walked towards the compressor to start the process of prepping and re-spraying the cabinet. That was not the brief of yesterday.

 I was completely deflated. Gone were my hopes of getting my bedroom painted. I was disappointed that I was slower than the other wives were. Damn! Now I will have to find another day to slip in that request. But nevertheless, my husband worked tirelessly all day prepping and spraying. The bathroom will definitely get a facelift when he is done. Sadly, my bedroom has to wait. But I think, we still have 18 days to go. My bedroom may yet get painted. That’s an uplifting thought. But ladies, you have done well today. Congratulations! And thank you, guys, better late than never.

 The magnitude of the Corona Virus pandemic continues around the world. The stories get scarier and the challenges back home seem daunting. I promised myself that I will not watch the news channels but I find myself obsessively doing just that. I switch channels trying to get a global view of the pandemic. The picture is not good. Nobody can really predict the curve. Each country has its own context, its own challenges and the picture is grim. I am forced to consider the unpalatable truth that if first world countries are seemingly not coping, then South Africa’s road may be far rougher than we imagine. But I try not to dwell on this for too long. I turn my attention to all the funny and creative stories on social media. Mercifully, we have retained our ability to laugh.

 I chat to my daughter. Our conversation meanders across so many topics. She unwittingly slew one of her roses by mistake, and we were both suitably distressed at this. We both love our gardens and our rose plants. We laughed at the funny things around us, academically discussed all things Corona while trying to be optimistic, shared our menus for the day and concluded with my reminder for her to be safe, something that I pray for every day. At the end of the day, when I tried to call her, she was playing an online game of Dungeons and Dragons with her friends. I was so grateful that modern technology facilitated this type of social activity. For a mother with a child living alone so far away during this pandemic, this provided some comfort.

 It is 20:00, I am off to shower and get some sleep. Today women have emerged the victors. Way to go, ladies! And I remind myself that I have a lot to be grateful for. My day ends in prayer for my family, my country and my world.

[terrim-lockdown-diary]

Day Two: 28 March 2020

My Shirts, My Memories

Day 2 dawns. At what time? I can only guess. I was so snugly enveloped by silence for a second day that I completely overslept. Strange how quickly we adapt. All it took was 24 hours for the quietness to be accepted as the new normal. To awaken at 08:30 on a regular Saturday morning would have been disastrous. Unforgivable! This is the day that I get up as early as I can, notwithstanding that from Monday to Friday I get up at 4:30. But on Saturdays I cook up a storm and prep for the meals for the week, just so that I can have a bit of a rest when I get home from what is often a punishing work schedule or the evening school meetings. In addition, on the once a month weekend that my daughter, who works in another province, comes home, it’s the usual cooking plus all her favourite meals.

 But today is Day 2 and time has acquired a completely new meaning.  It’s another beautiful day if you can forget the Corona Virus, and for a moment I did. I lay in bed and contemplated my day ahead and savoured the complete joy of no pressure. I could hear the whirr of the aircon from my son’s bedroom. Every night in the summer he creates a freezing temperature in his bedroom and then covers himself from head to toe. I have given up trying to discuss the contrariness of this with him. He has the special gift of taking anyone from a simple discussion to a circumlocutory argument starting with the aircon and traversing a million topics and ending with the price of eggs in Siberia as opposed to the cost of electricity in South Africa. By this time my head would be spinning.

 In the background I hear the soft sounds of the TV from the lounge where my husband was watching. Just for a few minutes I feel totally self-indulgent. However, this was not to last too long. Five minutes later, I heard the loud and discordant sounds of the high pressure cleaner and I knew that my husband was washing his car. I am sure that my long suffering neighbours have devoted an entire chapter of their memoirs entitled “Our neighbour and his power tools at 6 on a Sunday morning”. Of course, through all this noise my son never stirred. He remains my one constant in any storm.

 I got out of bed and went straight to the shower. On a normal weekend I would have lingered and then I would have debated whether I should wear my jeans or just have a pyjama day. I realised that today my rushing in to the shower was another sign that as wonderful as this relaxation seemed, there was a certain unease to it. I showered and dressed. This seemed to be the right thing to do. It established the routine of a normal day. And yes, maybe I was trying to ignore that these were not normal times.

 I walked through an unusually neat home (testimony to the success of the family meeting of the day before and I am keeping my fingers crossed), and prepared a simple breakfast. I glanced out of my kitchen window and noticed that Gypsy, our crazy Labrador, was keeping vigil underneath the birdfeeder that my husband had made, presumably to scare off the birds. This birdfeeder and a mole in the garden have become her latest obsessions. She pursues these obsessions at different times with a bit of casualness, a bit of mania, a bit of slyness and then when failure seems inevitable, sashays off with apparent disdain. Gypsy is no ordinary dog.

 After breakfast I decided to make good on my personal objective of at least cleaning one cupboard a day. I decided to tackle my shirts and while I did this, I put the TV on and switched to the BBC News Channel. And then I was reminded that this was no vacation, but a terrible time in our history and that is why I was at home. A sobering thought that disturbed the equilibrium of the morning.

 As I removed the shirts off the rail, I realised how many of them were bought on my many trips overseas. I have been to Europe several times in the last 4 years and I realised that most of my shirts had been bought on these travels. They are my memories of the many countries that I have visited. I grew sombre and morose as I nostalgically picked through the shirts. Would these cities remain as I remembered them? Will this pandemic destroy the hearts of the people in all these places? Will I have the opportunity of re-visiting? As I re-hang my shirts I am reminded of the love affair I have with London, a city to which I keep returning. Will Rome still keep its majestic aura?  In the background I hear TV anchor describing how Rome and Italy are being devastated by a virus that descended upon it without warning.

 I pick up a pink shirt and am immediately reminded of a little street in Krakow, Poland. I have not heard much of what is happening there. Perhaps one holocaust indemnifies you against another catastrophe. My red handbag which lies on the bed reminds me of the grace and charm of Florence, a city that does not at all resemble what I now see of it on TV.  And I hold in my hands my memories of Croatia, Italy, Poland, Germany, Austria, Hungary and London. I pray that these places will be able to beat this enemy and that the spirit of the people survives. I know that there will be many lost along the way but I have hope that the many that survive will re-build and restore for a new era.

 Cleaning my cupboard was not much fun today. I finished off today’s task and I switched the TV channel to ENCA and watched the South African drama unfolding. My country, my people. We have a problem. Vast numbers of people do not understand the implications of the lockdown, social distancing and the deadly consequences of not taking the Corona Virus seriously. Once again the great social divide in South Africa is apparent. The poor and the people living in informal settlements have their own challenges. Given their context, the lockdown and social distancing seem almost impossible to adhere to. Will this challenge be the nemesis of a government currently so desperate to do what it takes to prevent the spread of the Corona Virus, but whose negligence to provide houses for the poor may have resulted in an untenable situation.

 So Day 2 drew to an end. I had many mixed feelings today, some grave concerns as my shirts took me down memory lane, some sombre thoughts and some heart-sinking moments as I watched TV. But then I remembered to be hopeful and prayed that when we emerge from this war we would have learnt some lessons. And even through the midst of a see-sawing day, I must admit that I had many blessings to be thankful for. My son swept the house, but not without the expected debate on which is the best way to sweep. I chatted to my daughter and she was safe and well. It’s always fun to chat to her. We share a great bond of love and common interests. My family sat down to our lunch date before dispersing to our own interests (When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning or at tomorrow’s lunch?). Watching Gypsy meander her way on her hunting expeditions was a pleasure all on its own. I was able to wish my friend, Linda, a happy 60th birthday.

 So I have a lot to be grateful for. My day ends in prayer for my family, my country and my world.

[terrim-lockdown-diary]

Day One: 27 March 2020

The Family Meeting 

I woke up to an unusual quietness, almost eerie. The normal sounds of the traffic or the train in the distance did not happen. Even the chirping of the birds or the occasional barking of dogs were missing. The regular household sounds seemed muted. My husband, whom I am regularly berating for being noisy in the mornings, seemed unusually quiet. And then realization hit me. It’s Day One of the national 21day lockdown. Two immediate responses accompanied this realization. The first was an ominous feeling that I felt in the pit of my stomach. What is going to happen to the Corona Virus pandemic in our country? The second was that even though I am a person who prefers quiet to noise, how easiIy had I internalised noise in my everyday life that this morning of delicious quietness seemed off kilter.

I knew that these 21 days were going to be significant, not just for the country or the world at large but, most importantly, for me. Since my first day of school at 5 years old, I have been busy. I spent 40 years as an educator and am currently a school principal, the CEO of my school I am euphemistically told. But in this period of lockdown, I have 21 days of being homebound and I could choose my pace. I could drop the frantic speed at which I did everything, be it work or even something as mundane as cooking (Sorry, Master chefs). How did I feel about this? I had mixed feelings: unease at where we are going as a country with this virus, concern and fear for my family first and the world at large, gratitude that the government was taking the decisive action of a nationwide shutdown but most of all I felt an overriding sense of guilt, that in the midst of a global pandemic, I could feel the guilty pleasure of having 21 days of doing pretty much what I wanted to do. Yay! (Sorry.)

 I got out of bed and walked past my son’s bedroom and made a dead stop. Bed unmade, curtains still drawn and my son nowhere to be found. I called out to him or as my family will correct me, I yelled out to him. Of course he did not answer. At least, even in the midst of so much uncertainty surrounding this day, some things did remain constant. After several of my yells, he answered from his chair, in front of his computer downstairs, his default position. I walked to the kitchen and noticed that my husband had emptied the dishwasher. But the kitchen had the remains of several actions that had resulted in the need for cleaning. Oh yes. Yes, indeed. There was an absolute need for an immediate family meeting. Or the next 21 days were going to force me to either commit murder and be in permanent lockdown or be forced to flee my home and risk my life.

 The meeting was convened an hour later. Perhaps I should have chosen a better venue like my dining room table which could have simulated my boardroom and given a degree of seriousness to this critical policy making meeting . But I was so desperate to get this meeting off the ground that I ignored the choice of a more appropriate venue. So picture this. I am sitting on my bed ever so eager to start. My son arrives, still in his pj’s, with a pained, long-suffering and sceptical look, and plonks on the other side of my bed. My husband, fresh and neatly attired after his shower, stands against the dresser with a bored, apathetic look, accompanied by a thinly veined annoyance at being summoned to this meeting. And then I began.

 I started off by discussing the purpose of this meeting and the need for all of us to be able to survive these 21 days, without being on a life-preserving lockdown but metaphorically killing each other. This was met with silence. Nevertheless, I continued with my suggestions for sharing the workload to keep our home and garden clean and pleasant. Being the head of a school and the large and in charge type (euphemism for control freak, as my family will add) I did not want to appear autocratic, so I asked for suggestions from the other two members of the board. Both had nothing to contribute except to remind me that in the past I too have been guilty of not doing my bit. At this juncture I realised the futility of refuting this, as I can assure you, I would have been able to, because it was not true and I had the further advantage of having been the debate captain in high school. Instead, I decided to choose life and except for a cursory response, closed the meeting on a positive note. I suspect I may have been able to pull off a career in politics.

 The wonderful thing is that for today, the meeting yielded results and therefore I am optimistic about the next 20 days. I will have to manage the policy with care. I asked for a family lunch every day. Today my husband and my son cooked. We all cleaned up. I have not seen anything of my son since and have had minimum contact with my husband all afternoon.

 I felt a sense of calm today. There was a definite slowing down, an easing up, a letting go of the idea of doing more than is humanly possible. I relaxed, enjoyed talking to my many roses who wonderfully do not answer back, and just enjoyed the beautifully temperate weather of Durban in March. I put in some reading time, happily cleaned a cupboard (almost a contradiction in terms), watched some TV and chatted to my daughter who lives away from home. I tried not to watch too much of TV or follow what’s happening on social media. I fear the little I indulged in may have been a little too much. This is something I must control in the coming days.

 As my country struggles with getting the lockdown right and losing the first two South Africans to Covid19, and as the pandemic reaches astronomical proportions in the world, I am humbled by the suffering I see. But I am also encouraged by the resilience of the human race, and the efforts and selflessness of the medical and health workers. This is a battle no one has prepared for. While the focus has been on nuclear arms and the 4th industrial revolution, the Corona Virus has snuck in and blind-sided the world. Despite the conspiracy theories, scientific rationales or inexplicable, sheer dumb luck of the arrival of Corvid 19, the world unites to fight this pandemic. My day ends in prayer for my family, my country and my world.