In the waiting.

I’m sitting at my computer, waiting for the face of the President of South Africa to appear and begin to speak in my livestream feed.  I’m beginning to regret not getting TV services while here, but my internet is pretty good and I can find most things I’m looking for, including tonight’s Presidential address.

South Africa jumped from 273 to 402 cases in the last day, and I’m 100% sure that the actual infections are wildly un- or under-reported.  We’re ahead of Italy in terms of number of infections for week 2 of the outbreak in this country; not a race I wish on anyone. That could be because there’s more testing here than there was in Italy in the beginning; let’s hope that’s true. 

Most flights in and out have been cancelled. I’m expecting President Ramaphosa to announce even stricter social distancing requirements; which, in my opinion as a public health expert, are necessary and probably too late. Let’s hope not. 

I’m used to living a long way from family and friends; I’ve lived in Africa almost continuously since 2009, but I’ve always known in the back of my head that if things get really bad, I can always go home.  And I have.  I went home on a last minute trip several years ago to say goodbye to a loved one with cancer; I’ve gone home for holidays, for time with family, for just a break from being an expat in a foreign land.  So I’m used to living far away, but this feels a lot more vulnerable, to not be able to leave if I want to.  It’s a bit unsettling.

I could have left and I chose to stay.  Any American staff wanting to leave were able to, before the flight restrictions set in.  But I have a great house here, a dog, a fridge full of food, a pool in my backyard, security guards at my door in minutes, and I just couldn’t imagine trying to deal with quarantine and working somewhere else, in an apartment or hotel room somewhere, alone, abandoning my dog, no car, etc.  And I’m a low risk individual, so I’ve chosen to stay.  I’m gonna hunker down like everyone else in the world, and hope this blows over sooner rather than later. 

I wonder what the President is going to say, waiting here for him to start speaking. Some speculate that he’ll call on the military to enforce stay-at-home orders.  South Africa has the highest population of people living with HIV/AIDS in the world; every one of them immunocompromised, meaning if the outbreak continues to spread, we’re likely to have a high mortality rate.  It’s so much unknown. 

It’s 7:45 and the 7:30 address hasn’t started; this is pretty common here.  Waiting.  When I go through some cross cultural learning sessions with Volunteers and their South African counterparts, I give them the following scenario:

A meeting is scheduled to start at 9am. 

And then I ask: when will the meeting start?

My American Volunteers all say 9am.  Their South African counterparts laugh and say anytime between 9 and the end of the day, or maybe tomorrow. They are used to waiting.

The uncertainty is unsettling, but makes me think about how confident we usually are in our everyday lives that tomorrow will look just like yesterday.  I have no idea what tomorrow looks like now, and in reality, we never do; how is this changing my outlook on my days, my hours, the inhale and exhale of life in my lungs right here, right now?

I’m not sure.  Things to think about.  I think I’ll have a lot of time for thinking in the coming days.  For now, I’m breathing in, breathing out, thankful for another breath, and hoping that somehow we see this through to the other side and emerge from the shadows stronger, more centered, more grateful versions of ourselves.  In the meantime, I'll try to get comfortable in the waiting.  

Jay is patiently waiting for some food to drop... He's better at waiting than I am.