You are sited on a chair in your kitchen sipping hot tea, it is twilight and the wind is flowing through the grids of your window blowing the long chiffon curtain your way, its train is almost touching your face, you stand up and try to fasten it under the heavy flower vase so that it stays in place, the wind blows again hitting the white of your eyes, making them water because of the chill, you blink to warm them up. You silently thank the heavens that the virus is not carried by moving winds; otherwise it would be a frenzy of banging doors and windows across the neighbourhood every time someone went out or came in, not to mention the Beak-doctor-costume worn by plague doctors in The West a century ago.
You go back to your seat and think about your husband, an essential worker. He is still out working overtime because of the reduction of workforce in his company, people have been fired; the economy is crushing and the government isn’t in a stable monetary position to cushion every individual household. Regardless of this you are still safe because he is earning, moreover you have been using the weekly allowance he gives you to buy foodstuffs for families in the village three kilometers from where you are so at least you have something to do that gives you hope.
You hear the front door open and proceed to the living room, he has arrived, he walks in and takes off his coat, hangs it on the nail driven into the wall. You cannot hug, he has to shower first. He takes off his masks and puts it on the table, all this while you are looking at each other, no need to say a word, the distancing has deepened your fondness to each other and improved your communication on a spiritual level. As he walks to the bedroom you pick up the mask and place it on the shelf above the television. A sadness perches itself on your soul; it would be beautiful to gently yell at a son or daughter not to touch daddy’s mask; you let out a sigh and follow your husband to the room. He is already set for a shower so you smile at him and stand aside to let him pass. He smiles back.
You feel a sneeze building up in your nose; it comes with a tingle that you cannot scratch. You had told your husband about it the day before but he dismissed it as common cold; the mood was light as you discussed it, furthermore, he could be right, it was cold and raining and you always wore your mask and gloves when outside, always carried a hand sanitizer and never made contact with anyone, not even the people you helped. You fold your hand at the elbow and sneeze on it.
That night as you lay, cocooned under your blanket, you feel hot and uncomfortable. There is a weakness similar to that of pneumonia stitching itself all over your upper body. You nudge your husband who is deep asleep to wake up. He asks you what the matter is. You tell him you are tired and feel sick, he stands from the bed, puts on his sandals and flip flops into the kitchen, after around ten minutes he comes back with hot lemon water and helps you gulp it down. It soothes your throat while passing over it but leaves it dry again, you want to reach down there and scratch it but you cannot.
It is early morning and the husband has decided to take you to the clinic, a nurse yells from across the hall, any case regarding testing for corona virus please do not approach, write down your symptoms and wait to be called in. You and your husband lightly laugh but you remember the advert on television that warned you against visiting a specialist before calling. You do as told and submit your paper. Later on you are called in and a nurse tests you by inserting a swab applicator inside your nasal cavity, it is horrifying. You are told after a week that the results will come in. You go home and wait.
The phone rings and you receive it. It is the nurse; she tells you your status and directs you on what to do then she hangs up the phone. You inform your husband who hugs you and assures you that all will be well. All will be well.
Ambunya Angatia is a 26 year old aspiring writer and poet. She has been engaging in online forums for writers and poets with the intention of polishing her skills and benefiting from other creative works. She holds a passion for writing as a creative outlet and believes it can be a way of nurturing a younger generation, especially the girl child, to escape into a world where dreams are fulfilled and perspectives are nurtured. She was a student at Kenyatta University with a degree in Finance and is currently living in Mombasa, Kenya.
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