My Nose Was Swabbed Within an Inch of Its Life
I hope you all are making it through this weird time! I'm sure you're chock full of COVID information. I know that I am. It's getting to that point where I have to turn away and run the opposite direction when I see the news being put on the TV. Run of course meaning go to another room in the house. Because there - is - nowhere - else - to - go.
South Africa has gone in an interesting direction with this whole thing. Instead of using reason and logic to guide their decisions, they have gone down a path that many have paved before. Total arbitrary control. From on high, they tell us their decision with each passing few weeks, and it's enough to send everyone to the cavern of despair.
We arrived here on March 17. It is now May 24. The country has pretty much been on lockdown since we arrived. They told us it was going to be for three weeks. Then it was another two weeks. Then it turned into a level system and we were at level 5 with hopes of a level 4. We're in level 4 now with hardly any hopes of moving into level 3 any time soon.
To give you an idea of what occurs at each level, here's a breakdown, or a sort of breakdown because we don't know what each of the levels means...not a lot of explanation going on here.
Level 5 - You can only go to the grocery store. Get this into your minds. You cannot go anywhere else. Nowhere else. Nowhere else. I keep telling people this, but they still don't believe me. You cannot walk outside. You cannot purchase alcohol. You cannot travel.
Level 4 (our current position) - Everything's the same BUT you can walk outside from 6 to 9 am!!!! And you can buy winter clothes. Don't you dare touch that short-sleeved shirt on the rack, you criminal! Don't even think about crossing the tape barrier around the home improvement items. No alcohol or cigarette purchases. Total Prohibition-style. I do like the 1920's. Always a silver lining.
Level 3 - The stuff that dreams are made of: alcohol purchases, interprovincial travel. Hello beach house?
Level 2 - I think you can fly domestically? Who knows? But wouldn't it be wonderful to sit in a plane and feel yourself being propelled towards ANOTHER location?
Level 1 - an ideal world? Dreams and goals can be fulfilled. Happiness can be achieved. One can fly back to their homeland and drink and smoke as much as they wish. I know. Lancaster County would be ashamed of such statements. Blame lockdown!
We're watching this TV series taking place in WWII, and there are so many parallels, it's uncanny! It's called Foyle's War, and I highly recommend it. In the series, as they go through the war, they often say things like, "I hope there's light at the end of the tunnel" or "no one expected such times" or "we just have to get through it." Not totally encouraging, I suppose, but it's interesting to think that others in the past have gone through something similar (in terms of the rationing). We only know a fraction of what they had to endure, since the war lasted for years, but it sometimes helps to put things in perspective.
One has to be morbidly humorous about COVID now. There's no other way to live. I prefer to pack my anger, frustration, and despair that we cannot yet return home into one day. No one can be sad every day. Too draining. Too much energy. So I have coined these anguish-filled days "despair days". All sadness packed into 24 hours, and then it floats away. Compared to other gloom and doomers, I'm looking like a pretty good lockdown partner, aren't I? (Consider me for your next lockdown).
In positive news (hmm...what's that?), we are considering taking a repatriation flight back to Malawi. Of course it comes with red tape and paperwork, but this could be our chance to get out! Very Berlin Wall. In order to do so, one of the things we had to do was take a COVID test. At first, I thought it was a blood test, but then I heard it was a throat swab. Not ideal but doable.
Then we arrived at the testing center, and they came to our car window with smiles on and holding insanely long Q-tips. They were tempting us with their smiles and human interaction opportunities while wielding a dangerous weapon! I'm appalled. Instead of a throat swab, we were told that the Q-tip must descend into the naval cavity, slowly twisting its way to our throat passage before being pulled out again.
You can imagine my horror. I am a self-professed hypochondriac and a very teary person. This was not a good combo. I saw the Q-tip descend its full length into James' nose, and waited as a person on Death Row. They came around to my side, and continued to smile (how dare they?!) and then proceeded to plunge it into my nose. It twisted in, and I was like yeah, no problem, it's a normal feeling. But then it got deep. So deep, I could feel it in my throat as well as a sharp burning pain. I had to clutch onto James for support, and I uttered something akin to a whimper.
Thank God the smiley nurse had mercy upon me and removed the horrible probing tool. It was over. I was relieved, but I felt like a hole had been bored into me, and I stewed about it for the rest of the way home. A few days later, we learned that the flight had been delayed, and that we would have to redo the COVID test. I cried. (as was expected).
Well, at least I am full to the brim of stories from this time. I know what it's like to take a COVID test. I know how to do a "despair day", and I know that WWII eventually ended. So that leaves us some hope, right?
Best of luck to you all!
South Africa has gone in an interesting direction with this whole thing. Instead of using reason and logic to guide their decisions, they have gone down a path that many have paved before. Total arbitrary control. From on high, they tell us their decision with each passing few weeks, and it's enough to send everyone to the cavern of despair.
We arrived here on March 17. It is now May 24. The country has pretty much been on lockdown since we arrived. They told us it was going to be for three weeks. Then it was another two weeks. Then it turned into a level system and we were at level 5 with hopes of a level 4. We're in level 4 now with hardly any hopes of moving into level 3 any time soon.
To give you an idea of what occurs at each level, here's a breakdown, or a sort of breakdown because we don't know what each of the levels means...not a lot of explanation going on here.
Level 5 - You can only go to the grocery store. Get this into your minds. You cannot go anywhere else. Nowhere else. Nowhere else. I keep telling people this, but they still don't believe me. You cannot walk outside. You cannot purchase alcohol. You cannot travel.
Level 4 (our current position) - Everything's the same BUT you can walk outside from 6 to 9 am!!!! And you can buy winter clothes. Don't you dare touch that short-sleeved shirt on the rack, you criminal! Don't even think about crossing the tape barrier around the home improvement items. No alcohol or cigarette purchases. Total Prohibition-style. I do like the 1920's. Always a silver lining.
Level 3 - The stuff that dreams are made of: alcohol purchases, interprovincial travel. Hello beach house?
Level 2 - I think you can fly domestically? Who knows? But wouldn't it be wonderful to sit in a plane and feel yourself being propelled towards ANOTHER location?
Level 1 - an ideal world? Dreams and goals can be fulfilled. Happiness can be achieved. One can fly back to their homeland and drink and smoke as much as they wish. I know. Lancaster County would be ashamed of such statements. Blame lockdown!
We're watching this TV series taking place in WWII, and there are so many parallels, it's uncanny! It's called Foyle's War, and I highly recommend it. In the series, as they go through the war, they often say things like, "I hope there's light at the end of the tunnel" or "no one expected such times" or "we just have to get through it." Not totally encouraging, I suppose, but it's interesting to think that others in the past have gone through something similar (in terms of the rationing). We only know a fraction of what they had to endure, since the war lasted for years, but it sometimes helps to put things in perspective.
One has to be morbidly humorous about COVID now. There's no other way to live. I prefer to pack my anger, frustration, and despair that we cannot yet return home into one day. No one can be sad every day. Too draining. Too much energy. So I have coined these anguish-filled days "despair days". All sadness packed into 24 hours, and then it floats away. Compared to other gloom and doomers, I'm looking like a pretty good lockdown partner, aren't I? (Consider me for your next lockdown).
In positive news (hmm...what's that?), we are considering taking a repatriation flight back to Malawi. Of course it comes with red tape and paperwork, but this could be our chance to get out! Very Berlin Wall. In order to do so, one of the things we had to do was take a COVID test. At first, I thought it was a blood test, but then I heard it was a throat swab. Not ideal but doable.
Then we arrived at the testing center, and they came to our car window with smiles on and holding insanely long Q-tips. They were tempting us with their smiles and human interaction opportunities while wielding a dangerous weapon! I'm appalled. Instead of a throat swab, we were told that the Q-tip must descend into the naval cavity, slowly twisting its way to our throat passage before being pulled out again.
You can imagine my horror. I am a self-professed hypochondriac and a very teary person. This was not a good combo. I saw the Q-tip descend its full length into James' nose, and waited as a person on Death Row. They came around to my side, and continued to smile (how dare they?!) and then proceeded to plunge it into my nose. It twisted in, and I was like yeah, no problem, it's a normal feeling. But then it got deep. So deep, I could feel it in my throat as well as a sharp burning pain. I had to clutch onto James for support, and I uttered something akin to a whimper.
Thank God the smiley nurse had mercy upon me and removed the horrible probing tool. It was over. I was relieved, but I felt like a hole had been bored into me, and I stewed about it for the rest of the way home. A few days later, we learned that the flight had been delayed, and that we would have to redo the COVID test. I cried. (as was expected).
Well, at least I am full to the brim of stories from this time. I know what it's like to take a COVID test. I know how to do a "despair day", and I know that WWII eventually ended. So that leaves us some hope, right?
Best of luck to you all!
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