Horn of Africa: Social Distancing as a Lifestyle
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Gerry (right) and a colleague just before the pandemic hit their area.
As part of the humanitarian agency, Gerry is in charge of an office that delivers food assistance in emergencies and works with local communities to develop their nutritional capabilities. It sounds straightforward enough until you realize that parts of the Horn of Africa are not exactly tourist destinations. Certain areas are prone to terror attacks and kidnappings with government officials, foreigners, and humanitarian workers as likely targets of such crimes. To Gerry and his mixed team of expats and locals, though, this is a reality that simply comes with the territory and, after years of working under such conditions, a perpetual lockdown within their work compound is just part of their daily routine.
Fast forward to 2020 and the COVID-19 pandemic grips the world in its claws. While contemporary societies appear to be on the verge of breakdown in nations like the United States of America, Spain, Italy, India, China, and South Korea, life goes on in Gerry’s patch of earth in the Horn of Africa. Long before the pandemic-induced cries for social distancing, shelter in place, and stay-at-home orders, personnel like Gerry have already grown accustomed to keeping their movements small and inconspicuous. Much as the extrovert Gerry would like to mix and mingle extensively with the masses outside his work, he must refrain from doing so in order not to endanger his life and the lives of his colleagues. Even a request to run an errand for, say, a quick purchase of fresh vegetables down the road must come with a security detail.
Sharing a light moment with the doctor in charge of the clinic in their work compound
Thankfully, Gerry’s employers are mindful of their workers’ well-being, so they provide adequate facilities to keep the physical, mental, emotional, and social health of their personnel intact. Prior to the pandemic, they had regular karaoke nights every Thursday, which also coincided with their weekly film showings. You don’t need to stretch your imagination to figure out where Gerry would more often be during such nights. While one of only three Filipinos within the work compound, Gerry can hold his own with mic in one hand and a beer in another. Just like home, which, in his case, is La Carlota City in Negros Occidental.
Gerry also enjoys eating lunch with his colleagues at the common mess hall, catered by a European company that always laid out an international cuisine for everyone. Sometimes, the Filipino adobo would make an appearance in the food line. Even when it doesn’t, Gerry never has a difficult time finding its ingredients available in a commissary or the local market, so he can cook himself a batch at home. The work compound also has a bar, where Gerry could toast the nuptials of his son together with work friends, who also celebrated their respective families’ milestones with him—families in distant lands but always near and dear to them.
But the days of partying and socializing in Gerry’s work compound are on hold in the current crisis. With its headquarters located in one of the most badly stricken countries, Gerry’s agency was one of the first to respond decisively to contain the spread of the virus, as soon as it became very clear that the curve was going to be on an ascent for a very long time. Because of how essential their presence is in a place like the Horn of Africa, Gerry’s organization had already made sure that it could carry on, with technology and other support in place for Gerry and his team to access. Every day, Gerry is still able to phone his family in the Philippines because satellite communications and the Internet are well established as basic utilities. He is more worried about their situation than his, considering that they have greater risk of exposure to the virus. The infrastructure he needs to survive the almost global lockdown is something he has learned to live with in a volatile context like the Horn of Africa.
As of this writing, both domestic and international flights are banned in Gerry’s location, except for cargo, including the precious goods that his agency has to distribute with or without the virus threat. Before the pandemic, local personnel were still allowed into the work compound, but they have now been forbidden to do so, leaving Gerry, with mask on, to conduct video conferences online with his staff. It is business as usual for them. They have barely missed a beat because the problems they seek to alleviate have already been in existence long before the virus ever came to be in Wuhan.
With social gatherings now taboo within the work compound and with even the gym out of bounds, Gerry is relegated to reading whatever text he can get his hands on, which often turns out to be work-related documents. Any required R&R time for his job (which he spends on frequent visits to the Philippines to be with his wife and kids) is now forfeit, and he has no idea when he would get to see his family in the flesh again.
Business as usual because the need for food security is forever.
But Gerry constantly reminds me of this: working with his humanitarian organization has always put him on high alert, on emergency mode. While these pandemic difficulties have added a few more restrictions to his work and personal life, they are no more challenging than how it has always been for him in the Horn of Africa all these years. The life-and-death emergencies they deal with on the ground out there are daily. They may be on pandemic lockdown right now, but they still constantly address food security issues, which are far older than the COVID-19 crisis and will likely continue even after this season of the novel coronavirus ends.
[Ed note: For security reasons, we are not naming the subject's organization and exact country location.]
Agatha Verdadero
Agatha Verdadero is back to her passions of writing, teaching, publishing, and the outdoors, after a long hiatus. She has returned home to Kenya with her beloved poodle mix, Sam.
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