Estado de emergência

State of emergency.

This was to be my original departure date from the UK and it has been impossible to reach the airline (Etihad) to understand the cancellation procedure. Eventually I received an automated message advising that the company has grounded its fleet and I should wait for more information and that calling would achieve nothing due to the volume they’re dealing with. I’ve resigned myself to sticking around for at least an additional 12 weeks, although it could be more depending on what happens with containment of coronavirus and opening up of international travel.

Mozambique has this evening declared a state of emergency following an announcement by the President. Its official case number remains low but the country is frightened of uncontrolled spread as resilience is low and health services weak. This isn’t yet an official lockdown situation but I am still concerned about the volatility of how law enforcers will interpret the message and execute it through harsh treatment of the poor, who have few choices other than to carry on surviving as normal. I’ve seen clips from South Africa, which is on day 2 of its 21-day lockdown, of beatings by the military, and use of excessive force.

I checked the weather and by next week we will hopefully see even nighttime temperatures in double figures. I also checked sunset times to decide on my daily walk, and realised I had the luxury of an extra hour of light. What joy. The cold and the deserted conditions felt quite bleak around Cambridge, which is arguably usually one of the UK’s less bleak places. I don’t know how barren some of our towns and cities are feeling right now. I did a loop to clear the mind of work stresses and made the strange decision to skirt the allotments next to my flat, being rented by my colleague and his wife. I could see them and others in the block moving around post switching on the lights but pre drawing the curtains. It reminded me of the strangeness of my limbo situation, as since I left for Mozambique in 2018 I haven’t felt particularly homesick for it until now. I’m hoping the next 12 weeks (or however many: it’s complete guesswork) pass quickly.

This cherry blossom tree was the least bleak element of the evening’s walk, and I also managed a five-minute conversation with my friend Nelson who leaned out of his first floor flat window to chat as I passed.