#LifeChangingContest

The impact of Covid-19

I ensconced myself on top of an overgrown plush hill near my home in Mpigi District. As I read a story of child soldiers in Sierra Leone on my piano-black kindle, I gazed down the hill. I glimpsed my tiny red-roofed house in the eucalyptus valley, standing like a lone sentry. My face lit up, seeing the tiny figures playing among the raised gardens. A charcoal grey puppy chased after them. I couldn't hear the giggles, but I sensed their joy. These were my worldly beauties!

The sun had sunk on the horizon, leaving dark silvery clouds floating in the sky. It was a chilly evening, and the darkness had descended now. The scorched grass was dumped with evening dew. But I was in no hurry to descend from my favourite granite hilltop.

A lanky, dark herdsman passed below me, holding a shepherd staff behind his shoulders. He whistled at the stray herd of underfed cows and goats descending the hill. The animals appeared hungrier than ever. A small green-yellowish frog jumped across the worn-out path and startled a black kid. 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.

The news of another viral disease from China reached our ears. Its victims suffer from breathlessness and coughing, and kills within days. Years earlier, the outbreak of swine flu had sizzled to our shores again from Asia.

The new virus strain called covid-19 hopped on crowded air, road, and train terminals. In a matter of days, it spread to the far-outposts of the world. International governments halted all air transport to circumvent its rapid spread. Global trade ground to a standstill. Everyone held their breath!

Most people in Uganda ignored this outbreak. They thought it would pass. Most slugged it off and moved on with their business. Others shrieked with joy as they anticipated lots of business. Most people didn't care. How wrong they were!

The first cases of covid-19 had at last reached Kampala, the capital city. Patients died after days in hospitals. Covid-19 infections multiplied, and the cases reached staggering figures. These numbers shocked the country, as many bedridden patients died of covid-19. Hospitals were now the dying zones, even of patients admitted with other ailments. Fear escalated like a wildfire on the dry savanna grasslands. The pandemic had reached the shores of Africa, the land most forgotten by the outsiders.

One bright morning, as I pushed my turquoise Bajaj motorcycle out of the shed to go to work, I heard loud wails. The wailing was from one neighbour's residence, a secondary school teacher. My children bolted out of the kitchen and hugged me. I soothed them, telling them everything will be fine. I couldn't convince Kate, my nine-year-old daughter. Her siblings returned to the cosy warm kitchen to finish the breakfast.

I removed my dark olive helmet in a hurry. I galloped twenty metres to my neighbour's house. Without inquiring, I knew James' journey was over. James’s wife wailed whilst perched on a dusty floor, holding her chest. In the corner of the sitting room, her children hugged together and sobbed. The sight was devastating.

I observed two health workers suited up in the white overalls and blue gumboots. They wore the masks around their faces. There's an air of trepidation.

They stepped outside, and one of them bellowed out,

"Stay where you are! This house is now quarantined! There will be no public mourning or burial".

I watched as the neighbours dissolved back to their homes. The tragic news of my neighbour's death sipped into my numb brain.

In the distance, the sound of a police siren inched closer. Everyone moved off.

A week earlier, at our village pub, Master James had complained of severe chest pains and loss of breath. His friends had instead bought him few chilled Nile Special beers to cheer him up. How wrong they were!

No one knew this was one of the earliest covid-19 cases in Uganda. The next day, he had collapsed, and an ambulance transferred him to a referral hospital for treatment. My mind whirred like a million bulbs had gone on. How many people had he encountered?

Warm, saline tears ploughed down my haggard, sunken cheeks. Last month, we had celebrated his youngest daughter's birthday. Josephine had turned two years. Who would look after his family now? There were many questions but no answers.

I hopped on to my old, trusted 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 close family, but they would be metres away.

Soon, covid-19 cases emerged, straining our already inadequate health care system. The small number of ICU centres flooded with patients; oxygen tanks run out. Poverty-stricken patients were switched off life support.

Others crowded many hospital corridors, verandas, and in outside tents. The numbers overwhelmed the fragile and incompetent Ministry of Health personnel. They had failed to prepare in time. To compound it all, the Ministry of Disaster Preparedness stood aloof. There were no grains in the government silos. Then, the chaos began!

The government halted all public transportation and declared an immediate lockdown. The police imposed a stringent curfew starting at 6 pm to 6 am for the next three months.

Life became unpleasant as the workplaces, markets, and the shopping malls ground to a close.

Everyone rushed to stock foods, medicines, drinking water, dry cereals. The prices soared as the unscrupulous middlemen hoarded essential items for quick profits. The country stood on a volcano, minutes away from an implosion!

For the first time since 1986, essential foods became scarce and costly. All cross-border trade ceased. My wife and I rationed foods at home, but my three girls and four boys rubbed salt into my wounds every morning. 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 bought foodstuffs off the supermarket shelves and farmers' markets. My daughter, Kate, was my weekend guide. We shopped for fruits, meat, vegetables, and bread. I loved this hobby.

When the pandemic spread in the townships, all food reserves ran out. The foodstuffs in my pantry dried up after some weeks of the lockdown. And with the soaring prices, we had to find a solution or we would be hungry.

Now redundant at home and hungry, I hunched myself in the corner of my dingy residence and decided life had to move on. It was now time to shine my old farming implements I kept in a tiny ant-eaten shed.

Like a drill sergeant, I woke my wife and children one morning. As they assembled, I instructed them on setting a garden in the backyard. We all dug up the grassy compound. We needed spaces to construct raised boxes for vegetables and potatoes.

We kept chickens and pigs. We had composted the manure behind the kitchen. We ferried and mixed with the topsoil and watered it.

We purchased seedlings from the agricultural stores and transplanted in the raised boxes. We also set up a wooden rack and pressed black polyurethane bags. We planted tomatoes, spinach, herbs such as thyme, rosemary, mint, oregano, lavender. Later, we added turmeric, ginger, spring onions, cabbage, kale. Also, we planted beans, Irish potatoes, and corn.

I had never had a team working together before. Some seedlings dried up and withered away. But my children and wife, Jane, were determined to see better outcomes.

After the hard work, we added chicken and ducks to raise for meat and eggs. Our foods were healthier and organic now. My wife and I grew closer than before. Over the years, our relationship had tumulted. She stopped drinking, and we prayed to God and grew more intimate. On some afternoons, we disappeared into the hills to romance and make love. It was a wonderful homecoming.

Our children also noted the positive change in us and became cooperative. They had become withdrawn after our incessant quarrels and bickering.

Now, I read lots of eBooks on my kindle. Every morning, I jogged up and down the granite hilltop, toning my flabby body. Some days, I walked four kilometres with my children, sightseeing the vast swampland. They loved watching the flamingos and crested cranes swimming in the small river.

The children trekked, picking wildflowers and purple berries. Primo, the charcoal grey puppy followed them, sniffing cow dung and small anthills. I used such moments to teach my children the true meaning of life. We did holiday work together. I trained them on how to grow organic food and caring for the birds and the pigs.

Months later, covid-19 eased up, the neighbours visited us and requested tips on how to grow the food. We donated fresh vegetables, potatoes and sold off some eggs and pork.

I vowed to work 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. We did many projects with the clients.

The second wave of covid variants started in India and Brazil in 2021. It strained the already fragile world economies. This second coming brought massive death, infections, and devastation. Once again, my country reacted late and failed the litmus test. The government technocrats had learnt and forgot lessons. They controlled variables, but the old problems persisted. Corruption and embezzlement!

My family had prepared well this time. We had learnt our lessons firsthand in 2020. The second lockdown of 42 days was a walk in the park.

© Mwebe Morgan