SPRAY IT, DON’T SAY IT

“The desperation, the insurmountable grief, is heart-rending.”

The focus will be on providing chicken stew and samp and beans, which are high in carbohydrates, to supplement Gift of the Givers meal parcels.

Using a pressure cooker, the meat is evenly cooked in its own gravy at 120oC, and no preservatives – only flavouring – are added for maximum nutritional benefit.

The sterilised cooked product is packed into multilayer packaging, which means each meal is shelf stable without refrigeration for six months.

The first phase of this initiative has raised more than R1.2

million, with the initial order of 35 000 meals being dispatched on Friday, 24 April.

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Freedom day: I’m walking out of quarantine today, straight into my husband’s arms after a long, long eight weeks. And I just can’t wait anymore. First it was six weeks before I could get on a mercy flight from Down Under back to sunny South Africa, then a looong 14 days quarantine in a hotel on the outskirts on Joburg.

But I came to love my little 3m x 6m prison, locked away from humans here in Jozi.

You learn to appreciate every smiling face you see – and they are few and far between: the laundry lady who brings you your clean sheets on a Saturday (“no, I can’t make your bed, it’s up to you”), the smiler delivering your three meals from a distance every day; even the laboratory woman who comes to take my coronavirus swab at long last on Monday (no, I don’t have it).

Those are little moments of respite from the boredom.

Not that I didn’t keep busy, especially after my travel mate Ella was given the green light to self-quarantine the final week in a flatlet attached to her home.

Not having a mansion myself, I was still stuck in our hotel room for the last days.

TV? No thank you.

If I hear one more word about Covid-19… So I got out my adult colouring book and I coloured. And coloured. And I read. Ferociously.

And I cleaned: the green rag and green spray bottle is for the toilet; the red ones for the bath and shower.

And did I scrub that shower: all those little coronas right out of the corners.

I even surprised myself and hand-washed my clothes, literally working my fingers to the bone.

I rested on Sunday: it was Mother’s Day and I was swamped with video calls and even a song from my youngest Down Under.

But enough now.

My phone hasn’t stopped since I opened my eyes this morning, with me calling whoever is willing to listen, asking when the doctor is coming to sign my “parole” papers.

Because I need to get out of here and face my new normal: a deserted office with little people to organise; no more lift club to work because of social distancing.

But at least I’ll be home again… So forgive me as I put on my dancing shoes and waltz out of here, singing “I’m walking on sunshine” at the top of my voice.