COVID-19: In My City Nairobi-Kenya

 

When Njeri and her husband Kim entered the gate carrying their ‘last-meal’ groceries, their jaws dropped to their chests; the landlord had acted on his threats and now their two-bedroom house did not have any door and half of the roof was gone. When Kim couldn’t pay the rent for the second month, due to his job-loss and inability to meet all his bills, the landlord had grown tired of asking for the rent.

“What a heartless human being! The government asked the landlords to reduce or waive rent until this pandemic is over. What are we going to do now? We can barely feed ourselves. My cousin Sam is lending me some money tomorrow for your transport, I want you and the children to go home,” Kim said.

Before COVID-19-19, Njeri rarely saw her husband during the day because of the nature of his work; a teacher in a private school (as if teachers didn’t work from 8 to 5 like everyone else in the country). However, since COVID-19 happened, Kim, who used to get in the house just before his family retired to bed, was now home 24/7. Even during weekends, which he previously disappeared on Fridays to God-knows-where, only to reappear on Sunday. Since his job-loss, he had been glued to the TV, managing the remote, every hour, Monday to Monday; and now Njeri and the children could not follow Maria, their favorite program. As if his presence was not sickening enough, he was nagging Njeri all the time by acting a commander of the house, as if she didn’t know how to run her house before. He was asking for this and that every damn minute: “Bring me coffee,” “Fry me an egg,” “Get me some cold water from the fridge,” “This food is cold, please warm it AGAIN,” “Why are there bread crumbs on the floor?” “The windows are covered with dust, do something about it,” “Njeri! Get the child she is driving me crazy with her cries!”

Kim was left behind guarding their things, until the landlord took them as his rent compensation. Then, with a few clothes, he moved in with Sam.

The virus was so bad and the numbers of infections were quickly approaching the 100 mark. If the curve didn’t flatten, the president would close the borders and apply strict measures to curb the spread. Kim had to act fast to bring his family back, so, Sam helped him get some manual work at his workplace in the city. One day, while he was busy at work, the president effected the 7 PM to 4 AM curfew. All of a sudden, as he was going to catch a matatu to his home, in Umoja Estate, there were police all over, chasing and beating people. He managed to run and hide behind a trash can; spent the night in the cold, his mask still over his nose and mouth, because if he was caught without one, he would be forcefully quarantined (at his own cost), or pay a fine of 20,000 KES. There were no matatus in the city until the curfew hours were over.

After the cases hit 303, Nairobi, Mombasa and Mandera were on total lockdown (no coming in or leaving). The ‘manual-jobs’ employers, like many other employers, were laying people off, and closing down. Kim and Sam lost their jobs. Some people were lucky to be still employed; most worked from home. Churches, bars, campaigns, schools, hotels, clubs, and any forms of gatherings were prohibited. If someone happened to die of COVID-19, they would be buried as though they had a plague, very unceremoniously, disregarding any culture and traditions. There would be people covered from head to toe, blatantly violating the dignity of the dead,with no say for kin or time to mourn their loved one, being buried in the night so hurriedly like a thief. There was a stigma on the families of COVID-19 victims. Some people, who could afford it, streamed the burial process LIVE, so that their loved ones that didn’t make to the fifteen people allowed, could watch.

“Life has become unbearable back here,” Kim said over the phone as he walked along Jogoo Road towards Umoja, in haste to beat the curfew.

“Your mom was suggesting I bring you some maize, beans, potatoes and maize flour, so that you can share with your sister Joan and Sam,” Njeri said.

“That would be lovely. When will you be coming?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

The conductor of the Nakuru-Nairobi Matatu loaded Njeri’s bags in the boot, and she took a seat at the back. Unlike in the past, only seven passengers were allowed in a 14-seaterMatatu, having sanitized their hands at the door and their masks over their mouths and noses, to avoid spreading or contracting the virus. The Matatu too, was heavily sanitized, with the pungent smell of the sanitizer finding its way through her mask. It would take her a few hours to get to Nairobi, and Kim would be waiting at the bus stop, to help her with the bags.

At Limuru, a few kilometres to the city, there was a heavy traffic, and everyone got out of their vehicles to find out what the problem was.

“The president has imposed a Nairobi lockdown, there is no getting in or out of the City,” said one guy, selling boiled maize and cold bottled water by the roadside.

“Madam, there will be no food, buy your maize and water,” he continued, persuading Njeri to buy so that she would beat the cold, because they were most likely going to spend the night there.

People spent the night in the vehicles and went back to where they had come from the following day, after curfew hours were over. After a few days, Joan, a nurse, figured she could use her medical personnel roadblock pass, to leave the city and go home to bring the food. But first, she needed to visit her boyfriend in Nakuru and spend a few steamy nights with him; take a break from work, and quench her thirst for human touch.

Joan was still cuddling with her boyfriend, when suddenly a commotion at their door woke them up. Still in his towel, her boyfriend went to open the door, only to be shocked by the multitude of people from media and neighbourhood, shouting; “He’s hiding a stranger from Nairobi,” “She has come with the virus,” “We have children and we don’t want them to be infected,” “Quarantine them,” “Take her away,” “Sanitize the whole building,” “She pretended to be a nurse so she could come have sex.” Joan, her boyfriend, and everybody that lived in that building, were taken away and quarantined for 14 days.

For months, Sam’s TV had;COVID-19 briefing, COVID-19 news, COVID-19 Breaking-News, COVID-19 numbers, COVID-19, COVID-19..... Then there wereCOVID-19 scandals, the Ministry of health stolen billions, government officials stealing millions of dollars of vital medical supplies, the lost Jack Ma’s donations, the NMGCOVID-19 Millionaires investigation exposé, other stolen donations and grants, among other scandals. Then there was nothing. Sam, Kim and many Kenyans couldn’t afford to watch the TV, the little money they had, they bought food, and nothing was left for electricity. Many families were broken, many separated, and many, like Kim, moved to the countryside when the borders were opened.

One weekend, in his rural home, where life was cheaper and where they didn’t own a TV or had electricity, Kim went to the local center to watch news from a TV in a supermarket, while pretending to shop. The new anchor, said thatCOVID-19 cases had hit the 20,000 mark, that there was an increase in domestic violence and mental health cases, that the directive to close liquor stores and bars was still in effect, that there should be no religious or political gatherings of more than 100 people, and that learning institutions would not open until 2021.

Mr. Kim, with his degree in the house, and his teaching skills at heart, decided to start small-scale farming, in a small portion of the land his father gave him. Njeri joined a women’s group funded by the Nakuru women’s representative to educate the community on ways of keeping the virus away, through proper hygiene, and social distancing, among others. The women were supplied with food stuffs, sanitizers, masks, and soaps, to distribute to the people in the community. There were designated places for hand-washing in public places, like markets, bus stops, churches, and in every business premise. As Kim perfected his farming skills, Njeri discovered that her calling was to serve the people.

“I will vie for a women’s representative position in 2022,” she said to Kim, while serving him a piece of the delicious chicken she had cooked.

“Eeh,” he chuckled.