Perceptors | November 2021
This is a collection of our reflections on receiving the Covid-19 vaccine. They reflect our diversity of experiences and views and styles (satire, poetry, advocacy), but also share a common grappling with the issues of our time, a need for sense-making, a sensitivity for our context, a curiosity about the experiences of others.
Voorbarig – Carmen Cloete
During my matric year, I fell three times. In front of the entire class. Actually, one of the falls had a wider audience. Once in Biology class I was unconsciously doing a balancing act on the stool I was sitting on, moving back and forth on its three legs, and for some odd reason the stool slowly just started to fall backward, my hands grasping at air. Another time the Afrikaans teacher, Juffrou Mina, asked for a volunteer to hand out the latest essay or test results and of course I leaped at the chance because it would give me something to do other than sitting there waiting to receive my blessed mark. During the leap, my foot caught in the strap of someone’s backpack, and I landed on my side in between the benches. Nicholas Jantjies covered his face with his hand, shook his head in dismay and said: “Alweer?” (Again?). The fall that was witnessed by a wider audience was when for a reason I will never comprehend, I thought I could run (me? run?) and perform a smooth slide down the corridor during break time. Of course, I slid, slipped and landed on my hip. A whole deputy head girl. Fascinating.
Anyway, all this just to say that somewhere inside my uncoordinated, clumsy body, it may seem that sometimes and only sometimes, I am a tiny bit voorbarig. I’ve always found Afrikaans to be such a wonderfully expressive language. To translate the word to English would lose some of its oomph. It kinda sorta means forward? Google translate says premature, rash, untimely. But that’s not what the word means to me.
You see, I also didn’t mind going first to present my mondeling (oral presentation), or read during class readings, etc. Not because I particularly liked going first, but because all you could hear were crickets when the teacher asked who would like to present first and I just wanted to get it over and done with! (Yes, I only found out at the very ripe age of 30something that I’ve actually been an anxious kid all my life, just didn’t have the words for it shem).
So, why then, was I not being voorbarig to get the vaccine? Why was I waiting for someone else to go before me so I can see what happens to them first?
Man, I think the short answer is fear of the unknown. As much as I wanted to enter these streets again, I wanted to enter them with all my uncoordinated limbs intact.
But boy, once me and my anxiety watched the other people go and return okay-ish, we also went. And it wasn’t all that bad.
Firstly, I was super impressed with government! So very much on top of things. I registered seamlessly (online nogal! system not down) and received my date and location to get vaccinated. Even received reminders via SMS, imagine! I was like, who dis?!
And of course, I made sure I documented my experience on the socials, telling everyone, “Look, the process is so cool. The side-effects not so much.”
In conversation with one of the people assisting at the vaccination site, I sympathized with him. He told me how tired he was, the long hours they are working. But also, how amazing it was that so many young people have gotten vaccinated since it opened to the youth.
The whole process made me question why government is not so on top of things when it comes to other functions that require this country to work for everyone. But then I realized, there were also a whole host of volunteers involved, social media warriors (not that I would count as one, but there was some work done), and a collective effort from so many people who are just.so.over.
It’s been a harrowing time and at least once a month I catch myself asking either myself or anyone nearby: “Are we really living through a pandemic? Like this is real?” (Yes, Nicholas Jantjies, “Alweer?”)
But it’s also been a time showcasing the best parts of humanity. And my clumsy limbs cannot help but hold onto that. I just have to.
Apocalypse? No thanks. – Shivani Ranchod
In December 2020, my husband, my son and I all contracted Covid. My son and I recovered within the expected period, but 10 days into my husband’s infection he took a turn for the worse. Late on Saturday, December 19th, his temperature spiked and his SATS began falling. The medical advice was clear: get him to a hospital emergency room. I made the call to let him get some sleep and to go to the hospital in the morning. Our closest private hospital was pretty overwhelmed by that stage – normal wards had been shut down and they had set up a tent for emergency Covid patients in the parking lot. I wasn’t able to go in with my husband, who was at this stage short on oxygen and very weak. My son and I waiting in the parking lot for him, not knowing that it would take 4 hours for him to be assessed. In those 4 hours, we watched a steady stream of ambulances arrive at the parking lot, offloading seriously-ill Covid patients. It was apocalyptic.
The decision was made to admit him when blood tests revealed clotting in addition to low oxygen saturation levels. We said our goodbyes in the parking lot – neither of us knowing what would happen next. It took 9 hours from our arrival at the hospital to him being in a hospital bed.
We were lucky – he got a bed, he had amazing doctors, he responded to treatment and he was home before Christmas.
Fast forward to May 2021 and having the opportunity to be vaccinated as part of the Sisonke Trial. We both queued at Groote Schuur and despite arriving at different times and going through different processes, we emerged from the process together. The gratitude I feel for him being vaccinated is difficult to describe. Being vaccinated was life-affirming and joyous.
We, humans, struggle with counterfactuals for our decisions. It is tempting to think about the vaccine, with possible side effects, in comparison to no vaccine, with no side effects. This isn’t the right comparison. The choice is between the vaccine, with possible side effects, and the apocalypse.
My choice? Apocalypse? No thanks.
A drop of hope – Aisha Moolla
“The word “dhonnobad” in Bangla
Is near-to untranslateable
The closest to a meaning in English might be
“I acknowledge your goodness
and speak my blessings upon you.”
As I sit with the life fluttering within me
Afraid for us both and helpless
I am calm too in this knowing
That each of you will keep us safe.
That means more than I have English words to say.
So
To each of you standing in the queue,
Waiting for the shot in your arm,
From me and my unborn child:
ধন্যবাদ
To each of you who have walked past here
On your precious hour of calm,
From me and my unborn child:
ধন্যবাদ
To each of you within these walls
Gentling the afraid, your kindness a balm
From me and my unborn child:
ধন্যবাদ
To each of you within the labs
Searching for ways to keep us from harm
From me and my unborn child:
ধন্যবাদ
To each of you who made the hardest choices
Setting aside your qualms
From me and my unborn child:
ধন্যবাদ
To each of you
Placing a drop of hope
Into this bitter ocean of fear and pain
It is your
single
drop
That will turn it sweetly salt again
And me and my unborn child
Reach out from our hearts with this refrain:
ধন্যবাদ.
It means the world.”
– Nazneen Ahmed
My covid experience – Amiena Moerat
I had my Covid vaccination on Thursday, 13 May 2021 – the last day of the fast and the day before Eid. I took 2 days of leave to do the necessary Eid preparations. Little did I know that one of those days would be to prepare myself emotionally, mentally and physically for the Covid jab!
On Thursday morning, I left home very early and arrived at Groote Schuur Hospital. I’ve never seen so many people at this hospital before, and all for the same purpose. The last time I had this experience was during my holy pilgrimage. There were queues and queues of people. The crowds were jovial, however, some looked nervous, anxious and confused. This put me slightly at ease since I’m sure I had the very same expression even though my face was hiding behind the veil.
I stook in the queue for just over 4 hours until it was my turn. The Groote Schuur staff were extremely kind and helpful. I was impressed by the efficiency of their system in managing the crowds.
Injections and I are not good friends, and I get so anxious when I need to get it! My anxiety was at an all-time high since I was recently diagnosed with diabetes and I was unsure of the vaccine aftereffects. The nurse was so kind and gentle, and I was so appreciative that she took the time to explain the process. Being a diabetic meant that I was requested to wait for at least 30mins before leaving which gave me a sense of relief and surety that I was in really good hands!
The aftereffects of the vaccine were not pleasant – extreme fatigue and body aches, however, with the support and help of my husband and kids, we managed to pull off the Eid preps in style and had the most amazing Eid day 😊.
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