Cape Town – When a hard lockdown was implemented in South Africa at midnight on March 26, 2020, in an effort to halt the spread of the Covid-19 pandemic my nerves were cracked.
A million things were racing through my mind.
I feared for my family, my friends, my health and my job.
I sighed with relief knowing I was designated an essential worker, however, what did this mean for me?
At the time, I was working at a local tabloid and our jobs were always on the road. We rarely stayed in the office.
The Cape Flats was our playground where we found the most heartfelt and gruesome stories, but I lived for it.
Being an essential worker meant I had to get a permit. Which was weird.
Heading out to the streets of Manenberg was like something out of the movies.
It was a ghost town.
Manenberg Avenue, always bursting with life, music and children playing in the road, was silent. One could hear a pin drop.
While on the road, seated in the back seat of the company vehicle with my photographer at the wheel, we were frequently stopped by law enforcement agencies.
Hoards of police vehicles, nowhere in sight when needed by communities held hostage by gangsters, were now stationed at every turn, just waiting to nab someone who was breaking the rules.
When stopped, we were told to get out of the vehicle. It was searched. Our permits were checked.
At times my heart was pounding. What if my permit was incorrect?
We had to provide our identification cards along with our press cards.
It was chaos.
However, while the country stood at a standstill, crime did not stop.
Although our interaction with residents was curbed, we still got the job done, conducting interviews through windows, from pavements and even staircases.
Daily, we produced the best content we could.
When the homeless people in Cape Town were being moved to isolation camps, I was there.
It was at this time that my privilege hit me like a brick in the face.
Many of those being relocated had no idea why, or what was happening.
You see, privilege does not always relate to colour. Just knowing what is happening in the world around you, having a roof over your head and food (no matter how little) on the table will seem like the world’s riches to others.
The pandemic brought along isolation which hit hard.
From seeing my colleagues daily, from Sunday to Thursdays, to only communicating via our WhatsApp group dealt me a heavy blow.
These were the people who understood when I’d cry after a gruesome crime scene, or could just vent when feeling frustrated.
Even though as time went by some restrictions were lifted, it was never the same.
The smiling faces, laughs, drama and all-round office craziness I grew to know and love became a beautiful memory.
IOL