Credit: Dom Mckenzie/The Observer (2020)

Tighten your belts, we’ve got another SARS, y’all. They say that it’s definitely tracking better than the Spanish influenza, and of course eons better than ebola, but it’s government. Do you trust yours? They let in people a few weeks ago, mine that is, right from the epicentre of corona, to self quarantine. Yup, to self quarantine, it’s a thing. It’s dependent on whether someone’s naturally disciplined and obedient. And you know, has integrity and oodles of compassion to prevent endangering others. Simple stuff. Everything’s up for sale these sides. And debt speaks louder. Chinese to be exact.

Chinese culture, just like British aristocratic culture, confounds me. There’s wild rearing and wild hunting and wild breeding, and gulp, wild eating? Bats, those beautiful nocturnal creatures have also been thrown into the mix. Apparently, this coronavirus simply could not resist that mix. That’s the official story. There’s also a thing called wet markets. I’ve heard of fruit and vegetable ones before, and fish and meat markets, but there are wet ones too y’all. I wish I was joking. Really. I wish this was one of those crazy apocalypse dreams of mine, and I’ll wake up to business as usual. Because nothing’s the norm anymore. There’s masks to be worn. And gloves. And sanitisers messing up my hand anti-aging routine. There’s also deaths. Every day.

A Public Health Emergency of International Concern. There’s nothing jokey about that mouthful of a name, is there? I don’t know which one’s worse. That, or coronavirus or COVID-19, or pandemic? A pandemic, y’all. I’m living in the age of a pandemic. Forgive my panic, but Dr. Tedros, lovely chap he may be, does not in any way, shape or form, give me any comfort when he talks. The slightest itching in my throat now translates to a fear of epic proportions.

Two weeks ago, I had a horrible chest infection. A bacterial one, my doctor assured me. Until my cough changed into a dry one, oops, and I had breathing problems, and I’m sat here wondering, was that it? If there are people getting sick, just count me in. I’m far from the fittest or healthiest tool in the shade. Things do not simply just roll over me. I honestly hope that was it, and we’re done, and there aren’t any second waves, God forbid. Because it would confirm the worst of our fears. An incurable disease? We’d have moved towards the unimaginable. We’ve gone ahead and truly angered God. And there just aren’t enough good people amongst us to pray this away.

There’s a barrage of information, the horrible kind, and misinformation, tragic, all of it. From an escaped virus of a wuhan virology lab to Bill Gates’ desire to control world population through vaccination, there are conspiracy theories to suit everyone’s inclinations.  What is incontrovertible is the tragedy of it all. It’s death after death after death. In Italy. And the west. We haven’t got much of it in Africa, at the moment. My Lord, please spare us. We’ve just gotten over a wave of ebola. In central and west Africa, the poor chaps. With mortality rates of up to 90%, many Africans understandably can’t just take corona seriously. Which is scary. Because it means putting the vulnerable amongst us at risk. And people like me. Ahem. You see, at 47 kg, I’m currently at my heaviest in recent years. I have never donated blood – my standard of glowing health. I tried once in high school, to access free soda issued to anyone who’d donated. I wanted that soda. Badly! Err, so I’ve lumped myself together with my 60 year old mum. We’re delicate, that’s the word. And we need protecting!

Since nobody apart from government cares, allegedly, I’m doing a lot of it myself. I’m wearing those uncomfortable to breathe masks. And I bought a host of vitamin supplements. And we steam our throats, because this virus is heat sensitive, can you believe it? It looks straight out of an episode of the apocalypse and can stay on steel for up to 3 days, but it’s beaten by regular ol’ steaming? Who knows? There’s a new term called social distancing a.k.a introverted dynamics. And there’s no handshaking, hugging nor kissing. God, I hope this sticks!

There is a cost of course, though everything is so uncertain, and no one can tell the extent of any damage – economic, social, political, you name it – there surely will be some. My business has been severely impacted, and I’m sat here feeling sorry for myself, with my hands shaped like bowls, begging from The Compassionate. To pay bills. And salaries. And God knows what else I’ve got to pay. There’s a plus. The environment has taken a respite from human activities, and the Taj Mahal, long covered in a fog of pollution, was seen recently in its glory. And the Himalayas too, envy them to bits! I’m trying to think of another plus. I like the fact that it’s sobering and that it’s pushing us to innovate but also repent, because this surely has to be a punishment. For the intolerable injustices in this world.

I’ve stayed relatively positive and upbeat waiting for this thing to fly over, in a month? Two months? Nobody can predict. It’s incredulous – the sheer ease in which this virus has upended my life as I’ve known it to be, in a second. And the world in the age of globalisation, I don’t know if we’ll have any international order after this. It’s everyone for himself now, really. And it promises more. More cuts, unemployment, collapse, upheaval, I honest to God hope that I’m wrong.

For me, it’s a time for reflection. I’m lost for words. This is so far off the grid of my imagination, I cannot fathom how, and when, we’ll manage to get out of it. Nor its cogent consequences. And whether I can make lasting strategic decisions for my business off of this. It’s too much. I can only think of myself, and my family, and my delicate health. Err, for now. Tomorrow, I will chip in to see how best I can contribute and do my part in this Inshaallah. Today though, I will curl myself up in bed, and think of good days gone past.