To call the level-related
guidelines confusing would be the understatement of the year. Especially around
the reopening of schools – needless to say, an extremely controversial issue.
First we heard schools were
reopening, then we heard they weren't. This went on for a while - back and forth. Then it’s the 1st of June, then it’s a week
later. Then it’s only certain grades, then it’s no-one. Then there’s a
nation-wide rule, and then the Western Cape is declaring a provincial back-to-school
order, declaring (inaccurately) that all WC schools were ready. I don’t think
so. Confusing, as well as stressful for
everyone involved - managers of schools, teachers, support staff,
after-school-care staff, school transport providers, and of course, pupils and
their parents/guardians. Some people who were due to return to work on 1
June were expecting their children to go to school that same day.
Imagine the dilemma: Do I send my
child to school, knowing he/she could become infected with the virus, or do I
leave him/her at home, unsupervised? And we all know that across the population
of South Africa there are extremes of wealth and poverty, making the situation
in the leafy suburbs very different to that in rural areas or impoverished townships.
I was interested to see a new hashtag emerging:
“EducationForAllOrEducationForNone”. I'm sad to say that, like all other hashtags, it will not have 100% buy-in. South Africa has one of the biggest gaps between the rich and poor in the world, with the gap in empathy even bigger.
Last night, I was overcome with
sadness. Its source lay in a few areas of concern and consternation, for
me – some personal, but most related to other people and what they’re going
through. I struggled to fall asleep. I
was just dozing, when a series of WhatsApp messages roused me. It was a work-related
situation that needed an urgent conversation, so I chatted with the person
who’d messaged me. The conversation lasted quite long, after which I was wide
awake, with one more thing to worry about. Even now, hours after having got up,
I’m exhausted. I know for a fact that expending emotional energy can be as
draining as - if not more so than - expending physical energy.
I struggled to work, today. I
struggled to focus on my office work, which required me to sit still and
concentrate for a long time, on a relatively uncomfortable chair, in a cold
kitchen. On days that I do sit for hours at the laptop, I have such sore back
muscles, that I have to go to bed with a warm beanbag, to ease my muscles.
But it’s so much more than
physical. I think we carry a lot of tension in our necks, shoulders and backs.
My shoulders are like rocks, they’re so tense. What we expose ourselves to,
during lockdown, affects us deeply. Every time I read about the dramatic rise
in COVID-positive cases in our country, it affects me. Every time I read about
another death, I feel sadder than I thought possible for people I didn’t even
know. But that’s the scariest part – soon they will be people we know.
And, by implication, soon it could be us.
It’s a lot to deal with. And some
people are dealing with all of that sadness and anxiety, on top of a myriad of pre-COVID
challenges, like caring for an aged relative or a baby, without support,
or unemployment, hunger, domestic abuse.
Even loneliness, or mental illness. It’s hard for me not to think about all of
that.
About a week ago, our winter
season suddenly arrived, bringing the cold, the wind, the rain, the hail, the
darkness. For people who are vulnerably housed, there’s the draughtiness, the
damp, the leaks, the discomfort, the insecurity. In some areas with poor
drainage, there’s the flooding that takes place every winter. In many informal
settlements, winter brings an increase in the number of domestic fires, which
often result in loss of life.
Poverty is not just having little
to no money – it’s so much more. It’s being kicked while you’re down; it’s
being sentenced to the worst struggles imaginable, every day of your life. And
when a crisis (like this pandemic) hits, you have nothing to fall back on - no
rainy-day savings, no overdraft, no access to a bank loan that you can pay off
from your monthly salary and no wealthy relatives to help you through your
rough patch. Life is one endless, relentless, humiliating rough patch. I firmly believe that, without the refuge and
sense of hope (of a problem-free, perfect life after death) that religion
brings, poor people would be a lot more ready to rise up against the system
keeping them poor and voiceless. No surprise, then, that places of worship were
also given permission to hold services with up to 50 people, under Level 3. It’s
like giving a crying baby a dummy. To my relief, many religious groups stated
publicly that they would not risk people’s lives by resuming gatherings
yet.
Yes, I am capable of immersing
myself in activities that take my mind off those things, but for only a little
while. And then the chaos and the
feeling of helplessness start again.
I know I’m not the only one going
through this, but I’m obviously writing from my personal perspective.
All I can do is control what I
can, and do my best with what I can’t; I go to bed every night believing that
tomorrow could be a better day, and hoping that people who have expectations of
me realise that what we’re living through demands a lot more flexibility than
ever before.
Signs of new life, after recent rains.
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