Valli : Personal Journal of Valli Pillay, a Living Dead Pandemic Survivor

Entry 13

I asked Fergie today why they took so long to declare a state of emergency. Why didn't the United Nations, the World Health Organization, and all the other organizations make the call? He didn't have an answer. He told me it was because they did not know what they were dealing with at the time. Nobody did. Except maybe those bastards at Le Pen Industries. He said most countries did not want to cause mass panic. They were trying to contain the situation. Much good that did.

"The Global Council is not going to let this happen again. Which is why, should you wish to do so, sharing your journal will be insightful and even helpful."

I told him I wasn't at the sharing stage yet. To be honest it's the last thing on my mind. My days are filled with getting work done, whatever is expected of me, and when I'm done I look forward to my free time, to writing this journal.

I hadn't thought about Mam and Nalina in a while. The previous journal entry changed that. Mam was your typical grandma, spoiling Vani, Nalina and me whenever she had a chance. When we stayed with her, Mam made sure our days were not idle, whether it was going out to the shopping mall or visiting family and friends. Evenings were spent preparing dinner and watching Indian or Brazilian soap operas. Although Vani, Nalina, and I thought the shows were lame, we didn't tell Mam. We sat with her through the shows. Simpler days.

Whilst the authorities in Mauritius and everywhere else were figuring out what to do, I was online reading, watching videos, trying to stay ahead of events. The official name the WHO had given the virus was F12, because F stands for France where the disease originated, 1 for you first die, and 2 you live again. Everyone else was calling it Le Virus du Mort Vivant, the Living Dead Virus, which is the official name now. F12 was scrapped a long time ago. Call it what it is. There are other names: zombies, fiends, the infected, the sick, the damned, the returnees. I've always called them the living dead or mort vivants which is basically the same thing, because that's what they are; dead yet somehow, they are living, if you can call that living.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the WHO called it a global pandemic and medical emergency. It also said it was working on finding a cure. In the meantime, countries were on their own. They would have to deal with the outbreak themselves as resources were stretched. They sent out a series of guidelines to follow, which were updated as they got more information on the virus. Among them it said the dead were to be cremated to stop the disease from spreading. A lot of people in Mauritius, simply ignored the government decree that the dead should be cremated, instead they buried their loved ones illegally. Those who were caught doing it were arrested and if the bodies were found they were immediately sent for cremation.

At the same time, the business people who were trying to rent the cruise ships had managed the impossible. A fleet of over a dozen ships headed to Mauritius. Thousands of people sold whatever they had to raise enough money to get on board. Australia or Indonesia had their own problems, and although they had not given a clear yes or no answer, many decided to risk it. What started with a few families leaving, turned into a mass exodus when the ships docked in Port Louis.

Dad's friend and our neighbour, Uncle Arun came by a few days before leaving. His daughter Yolanda was a year younger than me. She used to come over to our place after school if her parents were working late.

"Are you sure about this, Arun?" Dad asked him. "Leaving on one of these boats?"

"I'm doing it for Yolanda," Uncle Arun said. "We hope it's the right choice." Uncle Arun did not sound all that convincing to me. But what did I know? I was just a kid.

"It's not too late for you to join us," he said to Dad.

"We're going to stay here. Hopefully things get better."

"I hope so too. Listen, Mani, I want to give you a spare key to our house." Uncle Arun gave Dad a set of keys. "Please keep an eye on it."

"I'll do my best." Dad took the keys. "I'm going to see you again?"

"Of course." He held his hand out to Dad. "Man U forever?"

"Manchester United forever, brother." Dad and he shook hands.

When they were ready to leave, we went over to say good bye. Even Mom came. It was emotional for all of us. We had lived next door to one another ever since we came back from Australia. Dad knew Uncle Arun from when they were boys at the New Grove Primary School where Mom taught. It was like saying good bye to family.

Later that day I went to Sakinah's house. Her whole extended family had bought passage on one of the cruise ships. Her family was all packed. Sakinah and I spent most of the remainder of the day together. I hugged her tight when I left. We were both crying. We had no idea what the future held. It was a lot to deal with. We had been friends since Form 1.

Within a few days, over a hundred and fifty thousand people left Mauritius. Many managed to take family members who had been put into quarantine with them. The MBC news showed the cars, buses, and trucks left behind in Port Louis where people went to board the ships that looked like floating cities. I don't know how many ships came to Mauritius. But on the day the last ship left, the island felt sad and heavy.

I found out years later not all the paasengers made it. The virus quickly spread aboard the ships. When they managed to make landfall, somewhere in Somalia, the virus had taken over the world. I never saw Sakinah or Uncle Arun again. But Yolanda survived, and she tracked me down. She's in Djibouti. We talk or chat every once in a while. We don't talk about what happened. We talk about our life before the outbreak and what lies ahead. I hope to see her one day. That would be nice.