Stay home and shut up: thoughts from self-isolation

Leaving South Africa felt like giving up. It felt like a personal weakness, a concession. It was a misty morning and the airport was so empty I felt as if I had managed to wander in by mistake past the 'closed' signs. This week has been interesting. There's been so much support from friends all around the world - friendly messages, offers of homes to stay in and introductions to be made. I appreciate all of it so much - if I've been poor at responding to messages, I'm sorry. It's just been a bit overwhelming. It looks like all of my friends have made it home safely, for which I'm deeply grateful. I'm also incredibly grateful to the airport and airline staff who have continued to work, and are making it possible for me and heaps of other people to get home.

In the gate for my first flight, the crisis was more visible to me that it had been before. There were families swathed in plastic ponchos and wearing laboratory goggles. One couple had donned white protective suits and gloves. It would be laughable if everyone didn't look so serious. One woman pushed a stroller with a baby, who began to cough. "She's alright!" The mother reassured everyone in the vicinity. "I've taken her to the doctor - she's fine." She smiled nervously at the other passengers. Most had taken several hasty steps away. "She really is alright," the woman said half under her breath, almost apologetically. "How old is she?" I asked. "Fourteen months."

The flight wasn't full. Everyone was wearing masks. There were no magazines in the seat compartments. The air smelled medicinal. I miss my empty hotel room with a view of the green lawn. I miss the mountain that's my home. I don't want to be leaving, I don't want to be here. I've been leaving places for most of my life and at a certain point you get sick of it, especially when you think you've found a place to stay.

I remain privileged. Context will always play a role in determining what moves you can make in a particular circumstance. I have the luck to be financially stable, I come from a country with good healthcare and a strong response to COVID-19. I am lucky.

I'm worried for eSwatini. I've been thinking about the school that I visited every week last year to teach English at, and the students there. I've been thinking about Mpaka refugee camp and the people there that I spend time with. I've been thinking about the makes and babes on campus - the people who makes it possible for Waterford to run. The day the school closed, Make Lungile, who cleans the corridor I live in, hugged me tightly and told me I mustn't cry. She told me she would see me soon. I see her every day. She tells me about her children. I helped her set up her phone once. I'm worried for the children at the school that I volunteer at now - many of the students are orphans. I'm worried for the people left at school - students who stayed are confined to their rooms. The nurse visits to take their temperature once a day. They're not allowed to sit together in the caf. I'm worried for my IB1s who have just started their Waterford journey, only to have it so suddenly interrupted. I feel - illogically - that I ought to have been able to spare them from this. At the end of the day, while I'm sorry for everyone who has to stay home, I'm beginning to get frustrated by the complaints of boredom. Yes, it's irritating. Yes, it's hard. Yes, everyone is entitled to feel what they feel, because it's a difficult situation. But many of you have a home and adequate healthcare. Many of you will be just fine when this is over. Remember why you're staying home. Remember the people that are not as lucky as you. Eswatini has been dealing with the situation very well, thankfully; the country goes into full lockdown this week, and had already put many emergency measures into place. South Africa has done the same. Even though Canada has many more cases than both of these countries, we haven't put in such measures yet. Feel what you feel. Bemoan cancelled trips and dinners with friends. It's tough. It's hard. But if you are as privileged as I am during this situation, please acknowledge that.

Now I'm on my final flight and I have a whole row to myself. The Hong Kong airport was again, very empty. I curled up on a row of seats in the airport for most of my ten hour layover, drifting in and out of sleep. When I descended into Vancouver, I looked out my window at the mountains and the snow and the water and the trees, and I let myself sink into the feeling of homecoming.