We are beginning our twelfth week of teleworking. Our twelfth week of homeschooling. Our twelfth week without our nanny. Our twelfth week of dragging C into the Embassy with me when I need to go in. The twelfth week since the President of Malawi declared a State of Disaster.

It has been a long three months.

Tonight I learned South Africa does not plan to re-open to international tourists until February 2021. And one of my South African cable channels aired the movie Outbreak. Well, certainly an interesting choice television executive, very interesting. Though perhaps a wee bit too soon?

It is after all only early June. Perhaps there might still be a slowing to this pandemic sometime soon? I would really like to think so, but it sure feels as though there is no end in sight. When I last wrote on May 20, Malawi had only 72 confirmed COVID-19 cases. But two and a half weeks later the count is up to 409. That number pales in comparison to most other nations around the world and still is in the lowest third of countries on the African continent. But it is rising. Many of the recent cases have been undocumented deportees from South Africa, the hardest hit country in Africa. Most were packed on to buses for the two day journey back to Malawi and then consigned to a stadium in Blantyre for quarantine and testing. And promptly some 400 escaped. I wish I could say I am surprised. But nope.

There is presumably an election in approximately two weeks. A re-run, or as the Malawian media likes to call it a “fresh” election, ordered by the Constitutional Court, which nullified last May’s presidential election. And yet the pandemic continues. These two events do not make a great combination. For one, many Malawians love to get out to political rallies to see their preferred candidates. And two, many Malawians have been outright ignoring the government’s COVID-19 guidelines. In the political rally advertisement above, one can maybe just make-out the fine print (circled by yours truly) that states “All COVID-19 measures apply.” However, the second picture (not mine) demonstrates how simply stating COVID-19 measures apply does not in fact translate into reality.

I am also not surprised by this. After the Malawian government attempted in mid-April to impose a lockdown, similar to that of South Africa but without the same coordinated finesse, it was met by informal sector protests and a court injunction halting its execution (up til today). The President himself has been out on the campaign trail without a mask and surrounded by thousands of supporters. It is thus little wonder that many Malawians are opting to continue ignoring government guidance.

There are those who are following the rules or at least giving a solid “A” for effort. But even those who have tried are becoming tired, so very tired, of the isolation and loss of income. Restaurants that had previously closed or were allowing only pick-up or providing new delivery services are slowly re-opening to dine-in. A few days ago, for the first time in 11 weeks, C and I headed out to our favorite restaurant, a small Italian place located in a residential neighborhood, owned and managed by an Italian with over a decade living in Malawi. We were the only customers and the wait-staff wore masks. I made a move to grab our own masks from my handbag, but quickly realized the ridiculousness of trying to eat with them on.

At the Chinese restaurant at the Golden Peacock Hotel, masked staff looked incredibly hopeful when we arrived. Although we opted for take-out, we were still required to have our temperatures checked before entering. This reminded me of my days in Singapore during SARS, though it was the first time any establishment in Malawi has done this. And when the thermometer malfunctioned while taking C’s temperature, after three tries the hostess just waved us inside.

Hotels, too, are re-opening, with some claiming, as in the colorful newspaper insert above, to have “serious” coronavirus precautions, clearly in contrast to the many who are not taking it quite so. The supermarkets remain open, but have upped their COVID-19 game with more stringent hand-washing stations, social distancing floor markers, and all staff wearing masks, including some with full plastic facial shields.

Studies indicate that it can take an average of 66 days to form a new habit. So, after 11 weeks, we should be used to all of this. I suppose in some ways it is easier than when this all began, but I am far from accustomed or comfortable with the situation. I cannot sleep. My insomnia is moving from acute into the realm of chronic. And I am not alone. I regularly receive messages and emails from colleagues and friends who also find themselves up at odd hours. I do not want this to be the new normal.

There are bright moments. Our community has tried its best to come together. One of our colleagues, who loves to cook, has opened up a “Quarantine Kitchen,” providing delicious meals every Friday for order. C and I once made cupcakes, with our own delectable homemade buttercream frosting, and then drove around our housing areas delivering them them to other persons in the mission. Without the lockdown, I have been able to continue my tennis lessons, and they are a highlight of each and every week. C and I often take walks together. Cargo flights have been reinstated, and thus our State Department mail has as well.

And there is still our beautiful yard. Last Friday, I was exhausted and stressed. My insomnia had kept me up until 3 AM, but unlike in previous days and weeks, I did not get any work done in those wee hours while C slept. I did nothing. Not the restful kind of nothing either. But on Friday afternoon I took a meditative walk around my yard. A slow stroll taking in the birdsong and the colors and textures of the incredible variety of flora my yard offers. From pink and yellow roses and deep red poinsettia in full bloom to the unidentified green pods bursting from small red branches that resemble coral and a split, decaying pomegranate fruit. The nearly perfect emerald green leaf with its a few carefully chewed insect holes, the deep glossy striated burgundy of fallen banana petals, a curled, desiccated leaf, and a cluster of small violet buds. These sights rejuvenated me.

I do not know how much longer this will last, but I try to stay hopeful it will be on the sooner end than the later. It is what calms me during the coronavirus crazy.