Losing the life I know

The coronavirus has brought new meaning to Elizabeth Bishop’s classic poem ‘One Art’. As she says: “I lost two cities, lovely ones.”

Joburg and Cape Town are not the same. Losing the life I know has been hard to accept. You never get used to losing things. It’s the simplest gestures I miss the most.

The whole family eating from the same bowl. Sharing an apple with a friend. No hugs to greet missed relatives at family dinners, or watching live soccer matches with friends. To see a beautiful smile in a stranger. Taking walks in Kirstenbosch gardens. Sitting in a crowded restaurant in Vilakazi Street in Soweto. Swimming at a beach in East London. Visiting a farmers’ market in Sedgefield.

I miss having the freedom to buy what I want, when I want to, not waiting for a government grocery list. Things I took for granted are now lost. Life has lost its spontaneity. Everything is clinical and must be planned.

But not everything from the past needs to be kept. I don’t miss the selfishness of humans towards nature. I don’t miss the filth of Joburg. Racism. Poverty. Violence. Corruption. The empty promises of politicians. Hopefully that is all history. In the age of masks, safety comes first.

Every person I meet is a potential carrier. I must protect myself and my loved ones. I must protect others from me. All you see are the eyes. They never lie. The mask is now part of my identity. I am told it is the new norm.

Via e-mail Dr Lucas Ntyintyane