I

“Who can think of kissing a stranger, jumping on to a bus or sending their child to school without feeling real fear? Who can think of ordinary pleasure and not assess its risk? Who among us is not a quack epidemiologist, virologist, statistician and prophet? Which scientist or doctor is not secretly praying for a miracle? Which priest is not — secretly, at least — submitting to science?” – Arundhati, Roy

Sometime in February, the world as we know it shudders to a stop. For the most part, there had a long, protracted forewarning that what had been killing people by the hundred in Wuhan, would take root elsewhere in the world.

On January 3o, there are more than 7000 cases reported in China and 170 deaths. By February 2, the virus inevitably makes a mockery of our borders and is reported in Russia, Philippines, Sweden, Germany and Vietnam.

By the end of April, there have been more than three million cases, two hundred deaths and the virus that invents new ways to confound our brightest scientific minds is set to continue claiming more lives.

The road has been long and deadly but most still can’t help but feel we fell asleep one night and woke up having inherited a new world.

More than the raw fear that follows in its wake, the virus strips away the freedom to move as and how one chooses. 

As lockdowns strengthen, so a third of the world stays confined to their houses, unwilling to go back into public, lest a hug, a brushing of the shoulder turns deadly. Streets empty out. Sidewalks remain unoccupied. Tacked onto a row of street lamps, flanking the main road, a barrage of newspaper headlines announce our worst fears: “extended lockdown”, “dead being ferried”, “travel restrictions set to continue”, “South Africans urged to social distance”.

Read the full article on Arts24