Waiting for Covid-19 results turns camp dwellers into zombies

Anxiety should be added to the 1,000 ways to die in a quarantine camp, especially when waiting for Covid-19 results. It is the ultimate test of endurance.

I had been easy with the camp regulations. That night, I borrowed a knife to cut some lemons. Whether I cleaned it or sanitised my door handle after that, I don’t know. I slept.

Some 24 hours later, the doctor in charge appeared. She was followed by two security men. Most of us were out basking in the sun. They walked round the camp like detectives. They had our numbers and made calls.

Any unknown number would mean Covid-19-positive. I almost switched off my phone as the anxiety grew.

We knew that some people would have to be evacuated before Health Cabinet Secretary Mutahi Kagwe addressed the nation. Who among us would it be? Nobody looked sick. Our temperatures had been normal, save for one Pakistani who had hit 38 degrees Celsius but claimed to have some stomach infection.

Another young man, whom we later nicknamed Raila Jr, said even Jesus would not save anyone at this point.

“The the son of the carpenter has nothing to do with your two legs keeping distance or your two hands washing each other,” he said.

The camp was deathly quiet. Who were the carriers of bad news calling? We would know in due course. But the tension was enough to set everyone on a symptomatic state. Then came the adrenaline rush.

It was the first time one of us would be moved to isolation or Mbagathi Hospital. Losing any of us would not be easy as we had become a family.

Inasmuch as no one wanted to be the infected one, we cared for one another. Yet, the bearer of the bad news had arrived.

I felt the health workers’ weight. The doctor in charge had the list. Her duty was to inform the patients first before the CS made it public.

I felt her dilemma but someone had to perform the task.

As we scattered in a bid to show the doctors how disciplined we were in maintaining social distance, a drunkard started shouting over the fence: “Nyinyi watu wa corona mtakufa … kufeni kabisaa (You corona people will die. Your should die!)

Some of the quarantined people dashed to the fence and yelled, though knowing we could not reach him. It was the only way to release pressure. Luckily, police officers guarding us were alert. They got hold of the man and beat him before letting him go.

The health workers did not leave with anyone. They informed the affected people by phone, leaving us to speculate.

Mr Kagwe confirmed our fears at the three o’clock press conference. Four of our comrades were on the list — a Pakistani and three Kenyans. There were eight Pakistanis in the group. Two Kenyans had travel history from Malawi. At least 30 of the quarantined had travelled from that southern African country.

With that, I knew I was safe. But my Bible study friend “Kofi Annan” was one of the 30. Then something saved the situation when the minister said the infected were between 34 and 44 years old. I relaxed and went on to look for him. Still, no one was seen leaving the camp.

We later learned that the patients had been requested to move to isolation in the same camp until the following day. They then quietly left with hand luggage to Kenyatta University or Mbagathi.

They were moved out in the most decent manner. Their close contacts were allowed to escort them.

The ministry handled the issue professionally. Those remaining did not feel the trauma of being positive after seeing how calm the victims were.

They must have been counselled. I realised that the health workers were doing their best — going an extra mile physically and emotionally.

Finally, every official in a white coat or protective gear was gone. The guards and cleaners were our new bosses.

The mood in camp suddenly changed. There was excitement but without hugs. Dinner was served and we ate everything. We thought we would be leaving the government facility in a few days.

Tomorrow: Will our leaving plans be thwarted — and by who?