Kamhlaba and COVID-19

At the end of my last year at Waterford, I collaborated with two friends on a devised theatre piece. It told the story of three friends from three different contexts, who experienced an unspecified, dramatic event that forced them to leave one another. It followed them through their separated lives through a series of monologues. While we were creating the piece we discussed what the catalyst should be, before deciding to leave it to the audience. We represented it by the audio of an explosion, and simply referred to it as 'The Move.' 'The Move,' we decided, could represent climate crisis, financial crash, war, natural disaster, and more. I don't think we ever talked about a pandemic. Each of our characters had different reactions to the move, each of them could only do so much, each was limited by her context. During the workshopping process, we had long talks about how we would feel if we ever had to leave Waterford, if we were forced out. I thought a lot about the climate crisis and the refugees at the camp that I visit.

On Saturday night, the school called an emergency assembly to tell us that they reccomended we all stay in the country for term break. I decided to stay. I wasn't going to give up my diploma. They started talking about limiting town visits. On Monday morning, we were told we still had community service on Tuesday afternoon. By Monday afternoon, the school was closed and we were told we should leave the next morning. I spent the time between tossing things haphazardly in spare bags to stash in the storage room, as we were told to entirely pack up our rooms. The accumulated debris of one and a half years is bigger than I would have thought. It still doesn't feel quite real. Some of my friends are trapped, with no flights going to their countries. Others aren't financially able to leave. Some have decided to hunker down and wait it out. Some of my friends who are trying to leave say that even if the school reopens, they won't return because flights back are too expensive, or they don't feel able to sit IB exams if school is out for too long. I wasn't able to say goodbye to everyone because people have been getting out of the country any way they can, because South Africa will likely close their borders soon. The earliest flight I was able to get out was Sunday morning, so I'll be in Johannesburg for the week.

Leaving eSwatini felt like fleeing; everyone racing to beat border closures and flight cancellations. As we drove through the townships on the outskirts of Joburg, I couldn't stop thinking about how quickly the virus would burn through the small corrugated metal shacks. At the airport, I sat with my friends as they boarded their planes one by one. Many travellers wore dust masks on their faces. Eventually, I caught a shuttle to my hotel, where I locked the door and cried in the shower. If this blogpost is disjointed, forgive me. Situations have been changing quickly, I miss my friends, I'm by myself. I know it'll be fine. Sending love to everyone out there; may the gods of hand sanitiser bless you.