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

Entry 15

I haven't written in almost a month. I know what I need to write. I want to write, but it will be so difficult. Instead I've been concentrating on work. Putting together solar panels and charging kits for survivors, day in and day out this past month, has allowed me to escape from what I need to do. I also spent time reading all the previous entries and rereading them again. I've been trying to summon up the strength to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. I even went to see Fergie about it and told him I wanted to stop. The writing has had its intended effect of helping me deal with my baggage. If I continue, it will make things worse. Fergie told me to stop if I felt it wasn't working, but he asked me to think about it first.

I did, and I realised I don't want to stop. I'm going to keep writing. I'm going to try now. As I write the words, there is a big ball on my chest. My legs feel heavy, especially my thighs, and I feel like there's a dark veil draped over my eyes. Yet outside a brilliant African sun shines in a blue sky.

When the government declared the north of Mauritius quarantined, Dad went into survival mode, he bought a lot of food, water, batteries, gas canister, and whatever he thought we might need, which he kept at our house and in Uncle Arun's house. He was also stocking up at the shed on our plantation. He had moved two mattresses there, a small gas unit and big torches with lots of batteries. Most of the supermarkets were still functioning even though they were fast running out of stock. Mauritius imported almost everything, and ships had slowed down to a trickle if any, leading to less fuel and less of everything else. Dad told us not to worry; we could live off the land.

"It's all about surviving, kids," he said to Vani and me. "Surviving."

Mom's mood was up and down, sometimes she seemed like her old self and other times she was out of it. We still had electricity and the internet. She turned on Skype several times a day and tried to connect with Paris, but there was no one there to accept her call, finally Dad deleted the Skype app, telling her there was no point. She seemed to accept it.

One day, Dad, came home in a truck, with the logo Patel Pharmacy, in bright red letters on the side. It was full of medicine and medical equipment.

"Where did you find that, Mani?" Mom asked. "Did you steal it?"

"I didn't technically steal it," Dad said sheepishly. "I went to the Patel Pharmacy, someone had broken in already. I took some things we might need okay?"

"You can't take things just like that, Mani! The police! They'll arrest you."

"Honey, the police have their hands full." Dad grabbed Mom's shoulders. "I'll keep it in Arun's garage."

Dad's brother Uncle Nevin showed up at the same time. He went straight to the truck.

"Did you steal this, Mani? What the hell?" he asked.

"Nevin, we might need this stuff okay? Can't you see the world is going to shit?" Dad answered.

"Don't curse in front of the children!" Mom said.

"I'm sorry," Dad opened the back of the truck and took out some medicine, antibiotics, and some painkillers. "Take these." He gave them to Uncle Nevin. "You might need them."

"Where are you going, Uncle Nevin?" I asked.

"I'm going to take Tata and Tati with me," he said. "We're going to my place in Flic-en-Flac." He got back into his car.

"For how long?" I asked.

"Until this whole thing is over," Uncle Nevin said. "I am sure they'll have it under control. I better get going."