The Doctors of Rumours.
28th of March 2020
Two weeks ago, the only dilemma I had was what to wear during the two weeks warning strike that Asuu had just declared. The break in school then, was the only dark cloud that hovered over my happiness. A week later, I was lying flat on my bed trying my best to keep my thoughts from exploding as my body itched from small pox. I placed my thoughts in pockets that my eyes couldn’t see through so that I could escape from the torture of my present pain. Then, that was the only pain that caused lines to stretch across my forehead. Pain has made that time seem like ages ago. A time when we had simple issues that required complex solutions. When we lived life in the bliss that ignorance provided and didn't look for hidden answers in the cracked walls of our beliefs. Things are different now. Yesterday, I slept with the news of seventy confirmed corona cases in Nigeria. This morning I woke up to eighty one cases. I felt a chill tear out my spine, colder than pox and longer than a two week break.
Our generation didn’t experience the war, a revolution, and a turning point in religion or the first coming of a messiah. We were born in the shadows of the history that had already been written and mapped out for us. We were born into a pyramid of experience, built from the lips of the ones before us. We read about the exploits, the fears, the miracles, and the uncertainties that happened before us and we struggled to place our consciousness in a memory that never existed. To us, it was just a brush of genius. Nothing more. Till now. There is no memory as real now as the pandemic that the world now faces. Now, we are faced with a reality that will forever alter our virgin memory.
As of the date of this journal entry, there are currently a confirmed case of 600,859 cases, 133,383 recoveries and 27,417 deaths. The virus has kept countries on their knees. On January 30th 2020, The World health organisation declared the corona virus a global pandemic. Before the virus crossed the Nigerian border, its presence was regarded as a distant truth that was stored in the walls of ignorance. We talked, painted and sat on this wall and doubt there would be repercussions. The rumours that heralded the virus kept people in a very blank and confident states. There were rumours that it was only a virus for the rich, black people were immune, and the virus couldn’t survive in places with hot weather conditions. This was much easier to believe than trying to acknowledge an episode where the country would be in a state of lockdown because of the virus. On the 28th of February 2020, the minister of Health announced a confirmed state of the Corona virus pandemic in Lagos state, Nigeria. The case, which was confirmed on the 27th of February, was the first case to be reported in Nigeria since the beginning of the outbreak in China. Days later, rumour escaped from its cave and hovered across the country, excreting droplets of truth, lies, fear and doubt. Market women said the reported case was a lie and the government only sought to increase the price of foodstuff and make more money. There were stories of a rich man with pot belly who lived in Banana Island and refused to subject himself to testing. They said he was ashamed. Opposition political parties said it was a ploy by the government to install panic and control forced loyalty that stemmed from fear. Chinese in Lagos, in the days to come suffered abuse and stigmatization. There were reports of people avoiding places and companies that belonged to the Chinese. It was my first time witnessing a level of racism in black Nigerian society. Once, my mom came home with the rumours circulating around her work place. She said “They said the Chinese owned the virus and were spreading it to the other nations as a bio weapon tool to enslave the world.
In the early days of March 2020, rumours and fear kept people in line more than the actual virus did. Rumours reigned over the headlines of our discussions. There were pictures on social media displaying an alarming number of people infected with the disease. They called it a ploy by the government to hide the truth. Across hundreds of group chats on WhatsApp, they were voice notes with warnings and sinister voices preaching of conspiracies and the biological effects of the virus. I remember one of them. His voice was pleading but his crooked voice fuelled my doubts and caused a thin smile to spread across my lips. He said “The information I am peddling is dangerous. I am putting my life at risk as I am speaking currently. We have over five thousand people already infected with the disease. The government is hiding the real number to control panic and fear...” if rumours peddling was a commercial venture, people would have made millions by then. Or perhaps they did. I often wondered why people would climb the ladders of success to pull down fear and spread it in graphic form on people’s faces. Some people believed. Some didn’t. The religious extremists said that this was God’s judgement on the world for our trillions of sins. Imams said this was Allah’s way of bringing the earth to her knees. People’s voice ignited whenever they spoke about the end time and people who hadn't found God listened with broken confidence and swollen eyes. My neighbour’s mom held more morning devotions and her voice tore through the walls and threatened to cause an earthquake. A week later, I saw her slithering to her house with gallons of anointing oil. The weight laid heavy hands on her waist and made her drag her legs. I was so lost in the trail of oil she left as she dragged herself that I forgot to offer assistance. Freethinkers and atheist on twitter, made fun of the ignorant religious people. It was the war of philosophies. While everyone threw points and swallowed insults on Twitter, I slept on the fence. Social media was a mad house and people sought distraction even in the questions they already knew the answers to. It appeared there was also a battle between the optimistic and the pessimistic. It affected everything, our religion, our faith, and most importantly, us. In the days to come, Twitter would become our solace for the uncertainty the future held. There, we found jokes, sarcasm, truth, mirror of lies and most important of all, distraction. Twitter was a war front and everyone wrestled with their philosophies. It was a street where everyone bore their own address of knowledge. Each man's knowledge was his own universal truth and it was only when he uttered his truth that his real character is exposed. That is only when we can identify the tribalist, ritualist, ignorant, the extremist, the feminist, the atheist, the rapist, the patriarchal and the psychopathic. If I close my eyes tightly shut for a long time, I can still perceive the pessimism that we decorated our WhatsApp status with. We all planted seeds of negativity on each other's mind and we couldn't handle the harvest of nightmare that swallowed us whole. If I stretch out my tongue, I can still taste the depression that lounged on our faces. It was our new fashion. The uncertainty that the future held kept the depression in place and kept it from falling. I can still hear the thoughts on mind. Answers that held the same marks that the questions had. It was a present of a blank page and an empty ink and no one could paint the future in this condition.
On the 8th of March 2020, the second case of Corona virus was confirmed in Nigeria. The 3rd case was announced on the 17th of March. Five new cases were announced on the 18th of March, bringing the total to 8. A total of 12 was announced on the 19th of March. Schools were shut and the academic staff union of Nigerian universities threw the keys into the sinking hole of uncertainty by going on strike. Pastors sent their flocks home and markets were shut. It felt like the war. The future was unpredictable and they was a struggle between the forces of hope and hopelessness. On the 27th of March, Nigeria recorded the first death of Corona Virus. A 67 year old man with underlying medical conditions. Among the herds of philosophers that sprang during the year of the mask, none other were more successful than the rumour peddlers. The doctors of rumours. For they alone were able to steal their shadows into our consciousness and bury they lies into our integrity. They moonwalked on our fears and caused rain to burn our thoughts. In the days to come, they ruled our lives and thoughts until we hoped that their truth would become our reality