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How Covid-19 Impacted our Lives Forever!
#WritcoStoryPrompt51 #CovidStories
2020 and 2021 have been difficult times for everyone in the world.
Sitting on the top of an overgrown plush hill near my home in Mpigi District, reading a crumpled moth-eaten PC magazine, I gazed down and saw my small red-roofed house standing in the eucalyptus valley like a lone sentry. I smiled as I gazed at the tiny figures playing among the raised gardens. A charcoal grey puppy chased after them. I couldn't hear their giggles, but I sensed their joy.
The sun had sunk quietly on the horizon, leaving dark silvery clouds floating lazily in the sky. It was a chilly evening, and the darkness had descended now. The scorched grass was getting dump with evening dew. However, I was in no hurry to descent my favourite granite hilltop.
A lanky dark-skinned herdsman passed above me, holding stuff behind his shoulders, whistling at the stray herd of underfed cows and goats descending the hill, looking hungrier than ever. Then, a small green-yellowish frog jumped across the worn-out path and startled a black kid chewing lazily at the scorched pasture. It galloped back to its all-knowing mother for protection. My mind flashed back to the beginning of 2020 when the first wave of the covid-19 pandemic began.
It had all began with the news of a new disease from China that causes breathlessness, coughing and kills within days. A few years earlier, we had been greeted with the outbreak of swine flu, again from Asia. The virus had spread across the globe, hopping freely on the crowded air and train terminals. The international governments had halted all air transport in a bid to circumvent its rapid spread. Global trade grinded to a standstill. Everyone held their breath!
Now, another mysterious pandemic was unfolding. Most people in Uganda did not take this outbreak seriously. One group slugged their shoulders and moved on with their business, while others shrieked with joy as they anticipated more business. Most people didn't care. How wrong they were!
The first cases had finally reached Kampala, the capital city of Uganda. Patients began dying after few days in hospitals. Covid-19 infections multiplied, and more cases reached staggering figures. These numbers shocked the country, as more bedridden patients died of covid-19 rather than the cases they had. Fear escalated like a wildfire on the dry savanna grasslands. The covid-19 pandemic had finally reached the shores of Africa, the land most forgotten by the outsiders.
One sunny morning, as I pushed my red Bajaj motorcycle out of the shed to go to work, I heard loud wails from one of my neighbours, a secondary school teacher. My children ran out of the house and hugged me tightly. Calmly, I soothed them, telling them everything will be fine. I couldn't convince Kate, my nine-year-old daughter, her siblings shrugged their shoulders and moved back into the cosy warm kitchen to complete their breakfast.
I removed my dark olive helmet in a hurry. I walked briskly for a few metres to my neighbour's house. Without asking, I knew James' earthly journey was over. His wife wailed while sitting on a dusty floor, holding her chest tightly. In the corner of their sitting room, her children hugged together and sobbed. The sight was devastating.
Then, I saw two health workers suited up in their white overalls and blue gumboots. They wore their masks tightly around their faces. There's an air of fear.
They stepped outside the house, one of them shouted hoarsely, "Stay where you are! Now, this place is quarantined! No one is allowed to access this home, and there is no public meeting or burial". In the distance, the sound of a police siren moved closer to the house.
I stood helplessly as other neighbours dissolved back to their homes. The tragic news of my neighbour's death sipped into my numb brain slowly.
Earlier, at our village pub, Master James had complained of severe chest pains and loss of breath. His friends had instead bought him more chilled Nile Special beers, hoping to calm him down. How wrong they were again!
No one knew that this was one of the earliest covid-19 cases in Uganda. The next day, he had collapsed, and an ambulance transferred him to a hospital for treatment. My mind whirred incessantly like a million bulbs had gone on. How many people had he come in contact with?
Tears flowed down my haggard cheeks. Last month, we had celebrated his youngest daughter's birthday. Josephine had turned two years. Who was going to look after his family now? There were many questions but few answers.
I jumped onto my old, red Bajaj motorcycle and rode twenty-five kilometres to work. I wondered how James' family would cope with this loss. No one will be present at his burial except his family, but they would be few metres away.
Soon, more covid-19 cases emerged, straining our already inadequate health care system. The few ICU centres flooded with patients, oxygen tanks run out. Patients crowded many hospital verandas. The Ministry of Health was overwhelmed now. They had failed to prepare in time. Shamingly, the Ministry of Disaster Preparedness stood aloof. There were no grains in the government silos. Then, the chaos began!
The government halted all transportation and declared an immediate lockdown and curfew starting at 6 pm for more than three months.
Life became unpleasant as the workplaces, markets, and malls ground to a close.
Then came a rush to stock foods, medicines, drinking water, dry cereals, and other essentials. Prices soared to the roof as the unscrupulous middlemen hoarded dry foods, sugar and cooking oil for a quick buck. The country stood on a volcano, just minutes away from an implosion!
For the first time since 1986, essential foods became scarce and costly as the cross border trade ceased. My wife and I rationed foods at home, but my three girls and two boys rubbed salt into my wounds every morning when they demanded fried eggs, milk and toasted bread. Meat and chicken had now become a luxury.
Deep in my heart, I knew I had to come up with a quick solution. I had been a Do-it-yourself person over the years. I had become complacent, buying foodstuffs off the supermarket shelves and farmers' markets. Every Saturday, I walked with Kate, my daughter shopping for fruits, meat, vegetables, and bread. I loved this weekend hobby.
However, when the covid-19 pandemic spread in the townships, all food reserves ran out. The foodstuffs in my pantry dried up after few weeks of the lockdown, and with the soaring prices, a solution had to be found soonest.
Now redundant at home and hungry, I stood quietly in the corner of my dingy house and decided life had to move on. It was now time to shine my farming implements I kept in a tiny old ant-eaten shed.
Like a drill sergeant, I called out my wife and children. As they assembled, I instructed them on what to do. We all began digging up the grassy compound. We needed spaces to construct raised boxes for vegetables and potatoes.
Luckily, we had a few chickens and pigs. We had composted the manure behind the kitchen. We ferried and mixed with the topsoil and watered it.
We bought seedlings from the agricultural stores and transplanting them in the raised boxes and black polyurethane bags. We planted tomatoes, spinach, herbs such as thyme, rosemary, mint, oregano, lavender, turmeric, ginger, spring onions, cabbage, sukuma wiki, another call it kale. Later, we planted beans, Irish potatoes and corn.
I had never had a team working together before. Of course, few seedlings dried up and withered away but my children and wife were determined to see better outcomes.
After this hard work, we also bought more chicken and ducks to raise for meat and eggs. We ate healthier, organic foods now. I grew closer with my wife. Over the years, our relationship had tumulted. She stopped drinking, and we prayed to God more and grew more intimate.
Our young children also realised the positive change in us and became more cooperative. They had become withdrawn after our incessant quarrels and bickering.
Now, I read more on my kindle. Every morning, I ran up and down the granite hilltop, toning down my flabby body. In the evenings, I walked four kilometres sightseeing the vast swampland and bird watching. Occasionally, my children trekked with me, picking wild flowers and purple berries, followed by their charcoal grey puppy. I used such time to teach my children the true meaning of life. We did holiday work together. I trained them on how to grow their food and caring for the birds and the pigs.
Months later, covid-19 eased up a bit, the neighbours visited us and requested some tips on how to grow their food. We donated fresh vegetables, potatoes and sold off some eggs and pork.
I vowed to work closely at my home. I am lucky that I had grasped this new technology of Microsoft meeting point and Zoom. I scheduled meetings with my fellow workers and our employer, did many projects remotely with the clients. All this happened last year in 2020.
When the second wave of covid-19 variants started in India and Brazil in 2021, it strained the already fragile world economies. This second coming brought more death, infections and devastation. Once again, my country reacted late and failed the litmus test. The first wave had been a total disaster. The government technocrats had learnt some lessons. They were able to control few variables well, but the old problems persisted. Corruption and embezzlement!
My family and I had prepared well this time. We had learnt our lessons first-hand. The second lockdown of 42 days was just a walk in the park.
It's better to learn from your mistakes and move on rather than blaming others for your troubles. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. As a family, we took this step and moved a distance, so can you.
© All Rights Reserved
2020 and 2021 have been difficult times for everyone in the world.
Sitting on the top of an overgrown plush hill near my home in Mpigi District, reading a crumpled moth-eaten PC magazine, I gazed down and saw my small red-roofed house standing in the eucalyptus valley like a lone sentry. I smiled as I gazed at the tiny figures playing among the raised gardens. A charcoal grey puppy chased after them. I couldn't hear their giggles, but I sensed their joy.
The sun had sunk quietly on the horizon, leaving dark silvery clouds floating lazily in the sky. It was a chilly evening, and the darkness had descended now. The scorched grass was getting dump with evening dew. However, I was in no hurry to descent my favourite granite hilltop.
A lanky dark-skinned herdsman passed above me, holding stuff behind his shoulders, whistling at the stray herd of underfed cows and goats descending the hill, looking hungrier than ever. Then, a small green-yellowish frog jumped across the worn-out path and startled a black kid chewing lazily at the scorched pasture. It galloped back to its all-knowing mother for protection. My mind flashed back to the beginning of 2020 when the first wave of the covid-19 pandemic began.
It had all began with the news of a new disease from China that causes breathlessness, coughing and kills within days. A few years earlier, we had been greeted with the outbreak of swine flu, again from Asia. The virus had spread across the globe, hopping freely on the crowded air and train terminals. The international governments had halted all air transport in a bid to circumvent its rapid spread. Global trade grinded to a standstill. Everyone held their breath!
Now, another mysterious pandemic was unfolding. Most people in Uganda did not take this outbreak seriously. One group slugged their shoulders and moved on with their business, while others shrieked with joy as they anticipated more business. Most people didn't care. How wrong they were!
The first cases had finally reached Kampala, the capital city of Uganda. Patients began dying after few days in hospitals. Covid-19 infections multiplied, and more cases reached staggering figures. These numbers shocked the country, as more bedridden patients died of covid-19 rather than the cases they had. Fear escalated like a wildfire on the dry savanna grasslands. The covid-19 pandemic had finally reached the shores of Africa, the land most forgotten by the outsiders.
One sunny morning, as I pushed my red Bajaj motorcycle out of the shed to go to work, I heard loud wails from one of my neighbours, a secondary school teacher. My children ran out of the house and hugged me tightly. Calmly, I soothed them, telling them everything will be fine. I couldn't convince Kate, my nine-year-old daughter, her siblings shrugged their shoulders and moved back into the cosy warm kitchen to complete their breakfast.
I removed my dark olive helmet in a hurry. I walked briskly for a few metres to my neighbour's house. Without asking, I knew James' earthly journey was over. His wife wailed while sitting on a dusty floor, holding her chest tightly. In the corner of their sitting room, her children hugged together and sobbed. The sight was devastating.
Then, I saw two health workers suited up in their white overalls and blue gumboots. They wore their masks tightly around their faces. There's an air of fear.
They stepped outside the house, one of them shouted hoarsely, "Stay where you are! Now, this place is quarantined! No one is allowed to access this home, and there is no public meeting or burial". In the distance, the sound of a police siren moved closer to the house.
I stood helplessly as other neighbours dissolved back to their homes. The tragic news of my neighbour's death sipped into my numb brain slowly.
Earlier, at our village pub, Master James had complained of severe chest pains and loss of breath. His friends had instead bought him more chilled Nile Special beers, hoping to calm him down. How wrong they were again!
No one knew that this was one of the earliest covid-19 cases in Uganda. The next day, he had collapsed, and an ambulance transferred him to a hospital for treatment. My mind whirred incessantly like a million bulbs had gone on. How many people had he come in contact with?
Tears flowed down my haggard cheeks. Last month, we had celebrated his youngest daughter's birthday. Josephine had turned two years. Who was going to look after his family now? There were many questions but few answers.
I jumped onto my old, red Bajaj motorcycle and rode twenty-five kilometres to work. I wondered how James' family would cope with this loss. No one will be present at his burial except his family, but they would be few metres away.
Soon, more covid-19 cases emerged, straining our already inadequate health care system. The few ICU centres flooded with patients, oxygen tanks run out. Patients crowded many hospital verandas. The Ministry of Health was overwhelmed now. They had failed to prepare in time. Shamingly, the Ministry of Disaster Preparedness stood aloof. There were no grains in the government silos. Then, the chaos began!
The government halted all transportation and declared an immediate lockdown and curfew starting at 6 pm for more than three months.
Life became unpleasant as the workplaces, markets, and malls ground to a close.
Then came a rush to stock foods, medicines, drinking water, dry cereals, and other essentials. Prices soared to the roof as the unscrupulous middlemen hoarded dry foods, sugar and cooking oil for a quick buck. The country stood on a volcano, just minutes away from an implosion!
For the first time since 1986, essential foods became scarce and costly as the cross border trade ceased. My wife and I rationed foods at home, but my three girls and two boys rubbed salt into my wounds every morning when they demanded fried eggs, milk and toasted bread. Meat and chicken had now become a luxury.
Deep in my heart, I knew I had to come up with a quick solution. I had been a Do-it-yourself person over the years. I had become complacent, buying foodstuffs off the supermarket shelves and farmers' markets. Every Saturday, I walked with Kate, my daughter shopping for fruits, meat, vegetables, and bread. I loved this weekend hobby.
However, when the covid-19 pandemic spread in the townships, all food reserves ran out. The foodstuffs in my pantry dried up after few weeks of the lockdown, and with the soaring prices, a solution had to be found soonest.
Now redundant at home and hungry, I stood quietly in the corner of my dingy house and decided life had to move on. It was now time to shine my farming implements I kept in a tiny old ant-eaten shed.
Like a drill sergeant, I called out my wife and children. As they assembled, I instructed them on what to do. We all began digging up the grassy compound. We needed spaces to construct raised boxes for vegetables and potatoes.
Luckily, we had a few chickens and pigs. We had composted the manure behind the kitchen. We ferried and mixed with the topsoil and watered it.
We bought seedlings from the agricultural stores and transplanting them in the raised boxes and black polyurethane bags. We planted tomatoes, spinach, herbs such as thyme, rosemary, mint, oregano, lavender, turmeric, ginger, spring onions, cabbage, sukuma wiki, another call it kale. Later, we planted beans, Irish potatoes and corn.
I had never had a team working together before. Of course, few seedlings dried up and withered away but my children and wife were determined to see better outcomes.
After this hard work, we also bought more chicken and ducks to raise for meat and eggs. We ate healthier, organic foods now. I grew closer with my wife. Over the years, our relationship had tumulted. She stopped drinking, and we prayed to God more and grew more intimate.
Our young children also realised the positive change in us and became more cooperative. They had become withdrawn after our incessant quarrels and bickering.
Now, I read more on my kindle. Every morning, I ran up and down the granite hilltop, toning down my flabby body. In the evenings, I walked four kilometres sightseeing the vast swampland and bird watching. Occasionally, my children trekked with me, picking wild flowers and purple berries, followed by their charcoal grey puppy. I used such time to teach my children the true meaning of life. We did holiday work together. I trained them on how to grow their food and caring for the birds and the pigs.
Months later, covid-19 eased up a bit, the neighbours visited us and requested some tips on how to grow their food. We donated fresh vegetables, potatoes and sold off some eggs and pork.
I vowed to work closely at my home. I am lucky that I had grasped this new technology of Microsoft meeting point and Zoom. I scheduled meetings with my fellow workers and our employer, did many projects remotely with the clients. All this happened last year in 2020.
When the second wave of covid-19 variants started in India and Brazil in 2021, it strained the already fragile world economies. This second coming brought more death, infections and devastation. Once again, my country reacted late and failed the litmus test. The first wave had been a total disaster. The government technocrats had learnt some lessons. They were able to control few variables well, but the old problems persisted. Corruption and embezzlement!
My family and I had prepared well this time. We had learnt our lessons first-hand. The second lockdown of 42 days was just a walk in the park.
It's better to learn from your mistakes and move on rather than blaming others for your troubles. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. As a family, we took this step and moved a distance, so can you.
© All Rights Reserved
