Lockdown Diaries: Paroled and waltzing into a new reality

Freedom day: I’m walking out of quarantine today, straight into my husband’s arms after a long, long eight weeks.

And I just can’t wait anymore. First it was six weeks before I could get on a mercy flight from Down Under back to sunny South Africa, then a looong 14 days quarantine in a hotel on the outskirts of Joburg.

But I came to love my little 3m x 6m “prison”, locked away from humans here in Jozi.

You learn to appreciate every smiling face you see – and they are few and far between: the laundry girl who brings you your clean sheets on a Saturday (“no, I can’t make your bed, it’s up to you”), the smiler delivering your three meals from a distance every day; even the laboratory woman who comes to take my coronavirus swab at long last on Monday (no, I don’t have IT).

Those are little moments of respite from the boredom.

Not that I didn’t keep busy, especially after my travel mate Ella was given the green light to self-quarantine the last week in a flatlet attached to her home.

Not having a mansion myself, I was still stuck in our hotel room for the last days.

TV? No thank you.

If I hear one more word about Covid-19… So I got out my adult colouring book and I coloured. And coloured. And I read. Ferociously.

And I cleaned: the green rag and green spray bottle is for the toilet; the red ones for the bath and shower.

And did I scrub that shower: all those little coronas right out of the corners.

I even surprised myself and hand washed my clothes, literally working my fingers to the bone.

I rested on Sunday: it was Mother’s Day and I was swamped with video calls and even a song from my youngest Down Under.

But enough now.

My phone hasn’t stopped since I opened my eyes this morning with me calling whoever is willing to listen asking when the doctor is coming to sign my “parole” papers.

Because I need to get out of here and face my new normal: a deserted office with little people to organise; no more lift club to work because of social distancing.

But at least I’ll be home again…

So forgive me as I put on my dancing shoes and waltz out of here, singing I’m walking on sunshine at the top of my voice.

Yvonne le Roux.

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