INTO THE WORLD OF VIRUSES AND MEN; CORRESPONDING CORONA
For the past eight weeks I've lived a recluse. The government's stay-at-home directive has made it so. As the introvertish type, being in reclusion is actually not a novelty (compared to the novel virus) for me. I socially isolate from time to time. Now however, there's a twist to it. Now, my social isolation is also a solitary confinement imposed upon me by the government. It is, now, both a free choice and a commandment, a desired duty.
Ever since the rampaging SARS-CoV 2 was taken seriously by those who fill up the positions of authority in Nigerian, every other person and not just me have also been forced into reclusion. Until recently, the whole city of Lagos, where I live, has been on total lockdown. Except for those rendering essential services, not one single soul was allowable outside, at least not around major public spaces. There were no hasty commuters stuck in traffic, no angrybirds to cuss and honk on the highways, no bells and summons to bend and select. On weekends, there were no alleluias and allahu-akbars, no TGIFs to the clubs and no clubs to watch, every football fan "walked alone". Lagos, the boisterous borough was stilled.
No human, in his ordinary wonder, wildest dreams or moments of ecstasy could have envisaged a quiet Lagos. No Oracle (not even the African Magic types) could have foretold it, it couldn't have been revealed to any of the "prophets" in synagogues. No ancient legend held it and neither was it readable from the stars. Well, the unimaginable and unpredictable has now become past reality, and as such, tales for tomorrow.
What would it be like to tell the tale?
Today, Friday of the second week of the lockdown relaxation, I stepped outside. I stepped outside my haven, my home and into the world of Viruses and Men.
The night before I'd asked on my WhatsApp Status:
"Destination tomorrow: Ikeja
What are the safest routes away from Viruses and Men?"
As you may have guessed, I got no consoling answer. Someone in fact sarcastically asked if I could fly. I answered, "I'm not a witch, but believe I can. I'll take some red bull just in case". If our witches were really as crafty and as real as Nollywood make them to be, we would probably have the means to make us appear and disappear to and from any place of choice. Something similar to the Floo network in Harry Potter, or perhaps more sophisticated. That would have helped a lot in curbing the spread. But witchcraft is real only in books and TVs, not as real as reality itself. Or are they?
Today, I stepped out. With a surgical mask plastered to my face (making me look like a low budget ninja), a hand sanitizer in hand (courtesy, my ever cautious father, the "family physician" and leading "prevention is better than cure" advocate), and an attitude of "God is my father, Orunmila is my ancestor", I was ready to venture yonder. The sun was scorching so I had to put on a face cap. Shyly and admittedly, I also had to use the face cap to cover my poorly kempt and overgrown hair (pretend you didn't just read that please).
The bus stop was overcrowded as expected, with no physical distancing whatsoever. People were either just being cavalier about it, or the use of face masks (many of which were sub-par) gave them a false sense of security. I waited idly for an Oshodi bus for nearly five minutes before remembering that the buses had a specific parking lot. It seems that after many weeks of staying indoors, my automatic pilot had also quarantined. The Nigerian in me was ready to push and hop my way through and into a moving Danfo. So in a civilized and atypically Nigerian manner, I boarded the bus.
The bus fare was double the price it was before Corona (BC). Covid-19 had become Covid-419. As those at the top continue to embezzle the funds donated to them by several bodies, those below cannot resist the temptation to follow suit. Somehow we forget that we're all going through this together and that our shared humanity decrees that an injustice to one is an injustice to all. Solidarity is for soaking garri, the word makes no sense to us. Anyway, although it was nothing near optimal, social distancing was observed in the bus. Three passengers (rather than four, or sometimes five) were allotted to a pew, with backs facing one another the traditional way. The distance between each passenger laterally and longitudinally was barely half a metre. I guess "danfolized" Coronaviruses do not travel farther than that.
When all the seats were taken and we were just about to move, the driver did a quick inspection and called out to a passenger without a face mask on. I thought the act was something admirable for a typical Nigerian bus driver until he commented saying "bros, e wo maski yin, awon olopa wan waju" (please wear your mask, police officers are up ahead). Turns out he was concerned about the mask, not because it was right to be, but because he feared police harassment.
The culprit wasn't actually with any mask. Puzzled, he brought out his dirty hanky, made a triangular fold and tied it around his face. Guaranteed that that sufficed, we began our journey to Oshodi. The driver requested for the fare and the naira notes were passed from one passenger to another till it reached him in front. Hopefully the virus was not passed along with the notes. The passenger seated in the middle of the bus, pretending to be busy on his phone, consistently dodged touching the passing notes. I myself did not have to touch any. I was seated at the back, on the far right corner, with enough change in hand to avoid social contact. Whether out of fear or precaution, my analytic self had calculated in advance the probable points of entry and made provisions to block them all.
Halfway through the journey, past the police checkpoints and past our well-behavedness, masks started to come off faces. While the majority of us religiously kept it on, even adjusting it from time to time to ensure proper coverage, some rebelled. Some wearers pulled theirs off because the masks were too thick they made breathing difficult, some wearers had to eat and so pulled it off, and still some others I can make no reasonable excuse for. To be honest, I never expected #MaskUpLagos to be effective anyway.
I alighted along the way and boarded another bus going to Ikeja. In this bus, the driver allotted a pew to just two passengers. As much as I would like to commend his actions, I cannot help but suspect it's genuineness. The closer you were to the elite it seemed to me, the wider the social distance apart. Ikeja, being the capital of the state obviously had more enforcements in place to ensure proper social distancing. The driver most probably had no choice but to comply.
Ikeja was rowdy, but not as rowdy as usual. As much as I tried to avoid personal contact, I still got body bumps and checks here and there. Strangely though, there were no deliberate pulls and pull-ups by those who wished to either scam you or sell you all sorts of gadgets and whatever else it is they were selling. Everyone was masked up too. It was rumoured that the police patrolled frequently, arresting those who were without masks. Anyway, I got out as soon as I got in and got what I wanted. I know viruses won't agree with me, but if you don't want to get caught, then you had better be out as soon as you can, when infiltrating enemy camp. I also didn't want to get stuck in the regular evening traffic jam or worse off, get stranded outside when the curfew began.
The journey back home was pretty much the same away from home, but in reverse order. I really didn't want to eat on the bus, but I had to take my meds. So yes, I pulled off the mask for a while, sanitized my hands (for the umpteenth time) and ate. I slept for most of the rest of the journey home. Except for one last happening involving a Keke Napep, there was nothing novel anymore to take note of. The driver of the Keke Napep, carried a passenger beside him on the driver's sit. I was seated at the back with one other passenger headed home. I protested, but who listens to Jeremiahs? Left to his own means he may have carried passengers to full capacity.
On getting home, the immediate thing I did was to go have a wash. Before that, I isolated the items I brought back home with me and ensured I had no personal contact with anything and anyone.
And so my journey into the world of men and viruses ended. Hopefully no virus journeyed back home with me. Reading through, one may conclude that my thoughts and actions were tending towards naivety. In this era however, the fear of Coronavirus is the beginning of wisdom. And to think that I'm being naive, may in fact be naive. In the end, it's not just about me getting or not getting infected, it's also about those who get to be infected or uninfected because of me. I think of my cautiousness not just as a self concerning attitude, but also as a great act of justice and charity to others.
By Ogunkoya Oluwamuyia David
Member of NIMELSSA EDITORIAL TEAM 19/20
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Kudos!