My life was perfect until Coronavirus came into the country. I am a young journalist and I thrive in working with the community to tell the world their stories. I meet different people from different walks of life on a day to day basis, they let me into their personal space for me to tell their stories.
Now, life is different. I am seated in front of my desktop struggling to put my thoughts together to deliver something today for my audience. I can no longer go out to meet my sources one-on-one because you never know who carries this deadly virus.
So, I am stuck in my tiny bedroom as I ponder how to go about the next few weeks or months of working from home.
It is day one, I have a lot of hours with me which I’m not sure what I'll do with. 8 a.m is my magic hour while working from the office. After the daily meeting, I settle in on my desk and plan my ideas from the top.
- 1 Kenya to receive first Covid-19 vaccine consignment next week
- 2 104 Covid cases reported amid fears of new variants
- 3 Is this what awaits Kenyans in the summit?
- 4 12 people die of Covid-19 as 544 more test positive
It's 30 minutes past my magic hour. I feel sleepy which is quite unusual. My desktop screen stares back awaiting my command.
I am blank.
My sheets are inviting. I’m struggling with the thought of writing an article or finishing up my sleep before everyone else wakes up.
I resolve to go back to sleep for an hour.
Two hours later... I hear something like my ringtone in the background. Maybe am dreaming. The sound doesn't stop. I wake up grunting and alas it's my boss calling.
The word page I had opened on my desktop is still blank and no idea is forthcoming even after the nap.
The call subsides and a text comes through.
I need the article ASAP!
That is my boss, so cool right.
So I have a few hours to the deadline I have to jog my memory.
A few days before I had a conversation with my grandfather. He's a staunch Muslim and despite his old age he prefers to perform his prayers from the mosque which is nearby.
So, today I will tell you about my grandfather. He is a cool champ, very knowledgeable, absolutely loving and a poet.
But for the last couple of days since the government banned public gatherings he's a sad man. He tells me that he heard the virus attacks the old chaps more and since he doesn't want me to live without a grandpa he will remain indoors for my sake.
On a condition, I pass his message. He thinks COVID 19 was a time bomb. It didn't just come out of nowhere, probably it was manufactured for political fights between giant countries.
He understands the rivalry between the superpowers. He tells me that it could be possible that this virus was made in China to fight the U.S because God can't send a plague to all nations.
I want to argue with him, his thoughts are valid. China and the US have had a beef quite some time but he has no evidence.
He gets tired and goes to sleep as I ponder on his words. It is an hour to the next prayer so I prepare for him his praying mat and water for ablution.
I carry out his duties of selling confectionery to his beloved customers. I feel an urge to engage the people who walk into his shop to ask them what they think and understand about this Coronavirus but I think otherwise.
As the clock strikes 11 a.m. my article is ready and my boss should be happy. I need a plan to survive to make rounds between the kitchen, my bedroom, toilet and balcony.
The television is not an option unless I am ready to fight a bunch of teenagers in my house over who has the right over the remote, so for now, my blanket is my haven as my desktop is my reminder that I am still at work although at home.