“When my dad passed away, I was so broken. That was on February 9.
His illness took such a toll on me that I suffered anxiety and physical pain. Family and friends saw the agony I was going through and offered tremendous support.
All along, I had planned a visit to Spain on the invitation of a friend, Becky, who worked in Madrid. I had kept postponing this trip, but after my father died, Becky called.
She had seen it on social media. She insisted that I go to the Spanish embassy for a visa appointment. Previously, I had booked such an appointment and cancelled.
Now, dad was no more. I didn’t even have the energy to comprehend going for such an interview. But I said, ‘yes’.
I was dad’s favourite girl. He always accorded me special treatment. Then we buried him and my world started crumbling.
I went to the interview before we laid dad to rest and on March 1, even before Kenya had recorded any coronavirus incident, I left for Madrid on Ethiopian Airlines. It was on a Sunday at 5.30pm.
It was perhaps the best decision I’d made for, soon after, airlines started to cancel flights. But Ethiopian Airlines continued to fly.
On arrival, Becky was so happy to see me. It was a cold Monday morning. We hugged.
The Uber driver took us to her very dignified residence, all this time oblivious of the Covid-19 cloud that was hanging over Spain.
The next day, we went on a tour of Madrid. The spectacular tourist spots were teeming with people, young and old Spaniards walking around, holding hands.
It was business as usual in Madrid. We found some musicians performing and tourists cheering on. I knew I’d have fun and heal.
By this time, there were just a few cases reported in Spain — about 65. In Madrid, the residents were following the news on TV and online sites.
Were they rattled? No. Actually, no one took it seriously and my host reassured me that the Spanish government was always prepared unlike the Kenyan government. We went out to the parks. No one seemed to care.
Then on Friday, the number climbed to slightly over 200. We were not petrified. Actually, we were to visit the museum but postponed to Sunday hoping the spread would be contained.
That’s how much faith my host had in the Spanish system. But instead, the same government allowed over 9,000 women to demonstrate on the streets.
Then, boom! By Monday, the numbers shot to over 1,000. Then panic set in, albeit slowly. That weekend, the government asked residents to buy enough food and toiletries.
There was panic-buying and supermarkets were restocking. But only few people took precaution.
Football matches were still going on. The bars and parks were packed, with people going on with their lives with careless abandon.
I was not worried at all. Inasmuch as the world news were highlighting the rapid rise in numbers, people were calm. We visited shopping malls, did shopping, and had fun.
It was only after Spain ordered schools closed that it hit me. This is going to be awful. Although I got more depressed, people went about their daily business.
There were fun parks everywhere, with residents walking their kids and dogs. I walked with them and felt relieved.
No one was masked. There is a day I walked for three hours and had to take a bus home. I never saw anyone with gloves or hand sanitisers.
Although people were advised to work from home, no one was controlling movements. By Monday morning, there were around 1,800 new infections in Madrid alone.
People started driving out to other northern towns where the pandemic was less pronounced. For the first time, the media announced that there was traffic jam, which, I was told, was rare in Spain.
People were moving their families out in cars, but no testing was being done in the mad rush.
Then there was this big match, where 3,000 football fans travelled from Madrid to Liverpool.
Indeed, there was a public outcry as to why the authorities allowed it amid all the chaos. Even after announcing a lockdown on March 7. By now the cases had reached over 5,000.
Then my ticket back to Nairobi was cancelled! I started getting scared. I just wanted to leave.
Family and friends were now calling me … enquiring on my safety and urging me to get back home asap! I hoped the situation would improve. I hadn’t even seen the city, nor shopped enough.
I rebooked my ticket but it was cancelled again. Then I went into prayer and fasting, telling God to show me a way out.
The updates were scary. More people were getting infected. Then came the deaths. Ambulances that were collecting bodies in the wee hours of the morning raced in the streets.
The chilling cold and fear that I would be trapped in Madrid got so intense, I could hardly sleep. I opted to watch Netflix all night and sleep in the morning.
By the second week, the fright started taking a toll on me. I went on my knees and cried to God. I couldn’t understand why this terrible virus would attack when I was grieving and in a foreign country.
I visited the Ethiopian Airline offices for a flight booking, but found the offices closed. Desperate, I decided to skip world news for three days.
Now, I was getting nervous and traumatised. The sirens as medics collected bodies of those who succumbed in their homes kept me awake. The nightmare was real and, somehow, I knew I had to find a way out.”
