A five-year-old girl runs across the grass towards an older man who is wearing a mask.
‘Grandpa!’ she shouts, launching herself off the ground and into his open arms. She wraps her legs tightly around him, peers into his face and lowers his mask. Planting two little hands on either side of his face, she gives him a big smack on the lips.
We meet my mum and stepdad for the first time since lockdown began, at a nearby farm with a lovely outdoor area where we can have a breakfast picnic. We keep our masks on, except to eat or drink our take-away coffee and pastries. I watch as two masked moms, each with a masked little girl in tow, walk towards each other. When the girls make eye contact, they rush headlong into each other’s arms, squealing in delight.
‘Tiffany!’
‘Kiara!’
And a hopping-dancing hug ensues.
As they run off to play on the swings, one girl turns back, her mask pulled down to her neck. ‘Can I take this off, mum?’ Her mum looks around helplessly and catches me watching, I shrug in commiseration: Who the fuck knows??
‘Uhh…ok sweetie’ the mum says, hesitantly.
The two friends rush off, maskless, giggling and jumping in delight.
We are a bundle of messy contradictions
We all know the facts and stats around dosage and dispersal and distance, but we each have to negotiate our own risk threshold. As our world slowly opens up, (along with some very conflicting messaging and nonsensical regulations from our various governments), we are each finding our own path through the craziness. And because we are a bundle of messy contradictions, this path-finding seems to be a somewhat slippery and fluid business.
A few days before the first lockdown was implemented in South Africa, a friend and I met for coffee. The restaurant was filled with signage about sanitising and not touching faces and our conversation obviously centred on the latest scary news about how catchy this virus is. The couple at the table across the way from us commented on how delicious our cheesecake looked. My friend slid the plate across and offered to let them have a taste. And right there, two worlds collided: the one of kindness and sharing, the other of wariness and vigilance about touching and spreading germs.
Our risk-adjusted strategy isn’t always logical
And now, four months down this road, as we each continue to make our way through this unfamiliar territory, there is a constant reassessment and renegotiating of boundaries. And, in my case at least, this adjustment is not necessarily always logical. One day I’ll state strongly to Joel that I plan not to see my writer friends, apart from our weekly Zoom meetings, until the Western Cape’s numbers of new cases start to go down. A few days later, I’m in tears and desperate for some writerly and womanly companionship, so I agree to meet up with a couple of friends at an outdoor deli for a take-away coffee (which, post-meeting, I’m glad to report was utterly heavenly and very timely).
The risks we take affect others
The hardest part about this viral-jungle world in which we’re currently hacking our way through the bushes, is that the risks we take affect others. On our side, the fact that we’ve kept Jack out of school since the end of March – even though the government opened schools at the start of July – means that we feel reasonably at peace with him seeing his grandparents. They now have a playdate together every Saturday, which means Joel and I have a weekly date afternoon. And what a treat it is to be able to be together and not talk about Minecraft or Lego!
And so, for us at the moment, the pay-off of seeing my mum and stepdad regularly, means choosing not to socialize indoors with our friends over a meal. At least this avoids having to ask slightly creepy questions: Who else have you been seeing? Who have they been seeing? Did you practice safe braai-ing? Did you touch anyone? Is everyone in your family feeling well? When was the last time you coughed?
And at some stage we’ll need to readjust our risk threshold when Jack does eventually go back to school. (Although he’s making a strong case for being allowed to keep home-schooling: he loves being able to stay in his pjs all day!)
There are always gaps in our day where this sneaky microbe can squeeze in
It’s a hard place for all of us to be. There’s always room for doubt, little gaps in our day where this sneaky little microbe can squeeze in. I feel like I’m always messing up. I’ll wake up some nights, cold terror prickling my neck, remembering how I coughed in the car just before my mum got in.
My feelings fluctuate wildly from extreme caution to a reckless aah-fuck-it vibe. At the shops, I sanitize before entering. I sanitize before and after entering a shop. But then my mask has some teasing little hairs on the inside that make my nose itch beyond all reason and I can’t help but scratch it. When I finally get into my car, I tear my mask off with the same amount of glee that I unstrap a bra on the very odd occasion that I wear one.
Licking trolley handles
And then I reach the point of corona-fatigue. I am so over this worry and constant fear that I want to throw caution to the wind. On my next excursion to the shops, I have to resist a wild urge to lick the trolley handle I wrap my hands around, just to get it over with.
And so, we stumble messily through each day in this new land, some days fearful, some days confident, flip-flopping from one state of mind to the next. Some days I feel I’ve navigated it all pretty well. On other days, there is no navigation whatsoever and instead, I’m a ball in a pinball machine being biffed from bumper to bumper, just trying to get through the day.
Are we at war or at school?
All the while, I’m praying that this silent invisible enemy (to use the popular war metaphor) passes by our door, and the doors of those we love.
Or (to use a different image of earth as school for the soul), I hope with all my heart that this viral subject is not on my body’s curriculum or that of the people I love, and that none of us will have to endure this particular physical test.
Cathy Park Kelly 