Returning to Wuhan that has gone eerily silent

THE coronavirus epidemic caught wide public attention only after January 19-20, and it was on January 21 that I set out from Shanghai for my hometown, Huanggang in Hubei Province, for the Chinese New Year holiday.

At Shanghai Hongqiao Railway Station, people were wearing all kinds of masks and looking cautious. I was no exception. I had packed masks and disinfection products days before my trip home.

My train arrived at Hankou Train Station in Wuhan. I had asked my father who was picking me up not to wait in the arrival hall but at the parking lot. On arrival, I found that more people were wearing masks than usual and they seemed to be in a hurry.

Just like last year, my father and I went shopping in a large supermarket for the holiday. We found the crab, shrimp and wine we were looking for, but the mask and hand sanitizer were missing from the shelves.

However, fellow shoppers in the mall were all in a holiday mood — not expecting a sudden outbreak of the epidemic.

The second day after I returned to home, I was assigned to report the epidemic in Wuhan. That evening, I returned to the city with my father and met colleagues to discuss our reporting assignments for the next day.

The atmosphere in the city was still festive, but the hotel we checked into was already on high alert. I had my temperature taken when I entered, and was surprised when it showed 37.6 degrees Celsius, which means I had a slight fever. Either it was the wine I drank for dinner or the device had a glitch. Because of that, the hotel staff were quite wary of me. Fortunately, I got checked in at last — by accepting to have my temperature measured once every hour.

I couldn’t sleep until 2am, but soon after, the sound of rapid knocking on the door woke me up. I thought it was the temperature guy again, but at the door was my colleague with his suitcase.

“What were you doing? You didn’t pick up the phone. The city is going to be closed and we have to run!” he said.

I was a bit confused and he shouted at me: “Lockdown! From 10am!”

Finally I realized what was going on. In a hurry I packed up to go, so quickly that I left my AirPods earphones and toiletries in the hotel.

At 4am, we purchased our train tickets at a packed railway station.

The next day, I was back home in Huanggang, but then decided to return to Wuhan for my work as a journalist.

It was January 24, Chinese New Year eve. I entered Wuhan again by driving through a check station at 3am. At that time, they still let in people, but only if they promised not to leave the city again. In the city, the lonely and quiet streets were a stark contrast with the previous morning. Many hotels were no longer open but they had plenty of rooms.

Clamoring city

That day, I greeted my parents over the phone before checking out the construction site of Huoshenshan Hospital, a new hospital designed for coronavirus patients, work for which had started the previous evening.

The busy construction site gave me an illusion of the return of that clamoring city of Wuhan.

That evening, my colleagues and I got a call for help saying that doctors at the No. 4 People’s Hospital were running out of protective outfits. Considering that we had six such outfits at that time and could expect to be supplied with more, we immediately took our stuff to a doctor surnamed Zhou from the hospital.

When we met Zhou, he had only a mask, a disposable surgical gown and a pair of protective goggles, too shabby for doctors on such a mission. He told us that some colleagues had already been infected with coronavirus and had to stop working.

At 8pm, we went for an interview at the ICU ward at Zhongnan Hospital of Wuhan University.

Surprisingly, the doctors working there were not looking despondent at all. Although they were all overwrought, they remained calm. Once they put on the thick protective outfits with three layers, they had to stay in them for hours, which meant they couldn’t eat, drink or go to the toilet in the meantime. Working in the “pollution zone,” they would have to remove the outfits once they left it. Protective outfits were still a luxury to the doctors in Wuhan at that time.

The night before New Year means cheer and celebration. While social networks were flooded with joyful moments, this ICU ward was in a heavy silence.

As the holiday went on, Wuhan became quieter and quieter. The once sizzling metropolis had hardly any heat. We don’t know when this silence will be broken.

(Translated by Chen Huizhi)