OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

The day started with a ruse, all calm and solitude. After taking out the bin, Glinka and I had coffee on the stoep and listened to the human and car traffic outside our property, and I understood that I will have to wait for rain to enjoy a safe morning walk-outing again.

Today is Star Wars Day. A few years ago, I got this amazing BB8 artwork as a gift from my super-talented friend Roland.

And, quite fittingly, me beeps, I had to go on a ‘galactic’ mission today. An essential worker needed assistance in performing an essential level four task and needed a driver; I was asked to assist. All my documents were filled in and signed and I was able to travel all across Cape Town and back with my permits. It was marvellous. I never got out of the car, and I had no desire to, but just the drive itself was beautiful. Nearly empty streets, glorious weather, and the people I saw on the way were mostly wearing masks. I waved to the Mountain from the other side and saw the harbour and the sea from the distance… The road signs on the N2 were flashing: NO NON-ESSENTIAL DRIVING. But I was doing essential driving and was happy to be of help. I wore my mask and washed my hands and did not endanger anyone. But for a few minutes I stood outside a shop that was open for business and in that short period only I observed people fiddling with their masks all the time, pulling them down to talk to others and to answer their phone, not keeping much distance between themselves and others. Watching, I just shrivelled inside and knew that we have a long, tough journey ahead of us. And it is only going to get harder.

I returned home with an even firmer resolution that to keep sane among this madness, I will follow the safety rules and regulations that are meant to keep us from spreading Covid-19, even if my tiny contribution is perhaps a drop in the ocean of other careless actions.

The rest of the day was spent in front of the computer, working. Because printers are back at work under level four regulations, we can send one manuscript into the final stages of production. I still don’t know anything about the logistics of what will follow, but at least we will have a new Karavan Press title sometime in the near future. I could send another manuscript that needs to be read for a reader’s report to the printer in my neighbourhood – as I usually do (I try to read everything on paper that I can) – as they have instituted very good safety measures for collections and I will be able to get the printed and bound copy without fearing for anyone’s health. An author phoned for some advice and we had a good chat. Emails had to be written. Notes had to be prepared for an electronic meeting of a board I am a member of. And before I knew it, the evening had arrived and my cousin phoned on Skype to catch up. I had two-minute noodles for dinner because I was not interested in food. And then, just because I was unusually quiet on Twitter throughout the busy afternoon, a dear friend sent a text message to my phone (which I didn’t hear) and when I did not reply for a while, she phoned to inquire whether I was okay. I really, truly love my Friends. Thank you! Beep. Boop. Happiness.

I am exhausted tonight. In the words – or rather images – of Damien Kempf, the medieval manuscripts explorer:

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

Rain. The Rondebosch Common was mine this morning – the nearest people passing about fifty meters away, if not more. Only a few dedicated runners and cyclists. And the humans I saw in the distance on the Common were nearly all walking their dogs. I though, “Good for you, you really care for these animals, sunshine or rain.”

Walking in these empty spaces, I remembered a thought I had when climbing the pyramids in the Yucatan jungle: perhaps they were build because they allowed people to experience vast spaces above the dense treetops; it was the only way to see beyond a few meters of forest. Being on top of a pyramid, I felt a freedom impossible to experience among the flora below. Remembering that sensation, it was great to walk carelessly in an empty space this morning, rain and all. I also recalled one of my grandfather’s sayings: “Karina, you are sweet, but not made out of sugar; you will not melt in the rain.”

Nearly all alone in the middle of the Common, I encountered this area and sign and wanted a sign like this for myself: “Karina Rehab In Progress” – please do not disturb. It was soul-restoring.

After the liberating walk, I got back into bed with coffee and breakfast. Today, a real treat: honey bacon from Richard Bosman, fried egg sprinkled with my own coriander from the garden. Food heaven.

In bed, I read Getaway magazine (April issue features a place I have been dreaming of for months now…) and The Mermaid’s Call and many enlightening articles online. I also had a wonderful phone conversation with my HAIR anthology co-editor and dear friend, Joanne Hichens. We are hoping to work on another anthology together, and it was just freeing to dream and to talk books and the future.

And just when I thought that my breakfast would be the culinary highlight of my day, my lovely neighbours offered to share their Sunday lunch with me. It arrived over our wall, packaged in containers, hot and ready to enjoy. I sat alone at the table on my stoep, but with every mouthful I felt that I was part of a family Sunday lunch and it was impossible to feel lonely. I just adore my neighbours. They are the real deal: good people.

And they can cook! Ooooh, it was delicious. And the food care package included these divine biscuits that I dipped into coffee for dessert.

After lunch, inspired by my love who reported that he was in his domestic goddess mode in his own home this Sunday (the man cooks, cleans, washes up etc. without any prompting), I decided to tackle the “chaos room” in my house. For many, many months, I have been dumping just about anything that I couldn’t immediately deal with into one room at the back of the house. And eventually, I began to dread going in there. But for days now, I have been thinking that I need to clean it up and use it again like all the other spaces in the house and not as a garbage heap and storage room all rolled into one. It took a few hours, and maybe it wasn’t the best idea for my fragile back, but the room is an ordinary room again (and my garbage bin is full for tomorrow’s collection).

Throughout the day, however, Salieri decided that she will stick to her lazy Sunday routines… She just moved between the different beds, because she likes being close to me even when I am working around the house…

We had a Skype dinner date with our Domestic Goddess, Salieri on my lap and one of my partner’s Furry Ones on his. Love in the era of Covid-19.

The numbers are rising as we knew they would: 447 new confirmed infections (most of them in the Western Cape), eight new deaths. More level four businesses will open tomorrow. In my secular way, I pray that they will follow the safety regulations and consider the health of their employees and clients ahead of anything else. I also pray that all of us will support these efforts in responsible and caring ways.

Walking today, I was always far away from people, but every time I glimpsed a mask on someone’s face, I thought: thank you for caring for me, dear stranger.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home (unless you are a level four essential worker or can be safely outdoors for leisure between 6 and 9am).

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

I hardly got out of bed today. I never got out of my PJs. After chatting to my friend Michela in Vienna for three hours until 1am on Skype last night, I actually fell asleep in the late morning and in the late afternoon again (for quite a while) – highly unusual for me to sleep during the day, I often feel groggy and grumpy afterwards, and I did feel both after the long afternoon nap, but a dinner Skype chat with my love cheered me up. I did brush my teeth and hair sometime during the day, though, and read, and wrote a long email to an author who needed advice, and made pizza (simple and nice).

Throughout this shockingly lethargic day, the Furry Ones kept me company at all times.

A man rang my doorbell in the early afternoon, but because I’d spoken to him a few days ago when he was begging for food and, as instructed by the social worker in our area, I’d already informed him of the feeding scheme she runs for people in need, I did not engage further. On the intercom I watched him pee in my driveway.

Thankfully, it’s raining tonight.

While still in bed this morning, I heard one of the neighbours shouting to someone going out: “Sanatise, sanatise, sanatise! Especially when coming out of the shop.”

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

Fog. It was almost as if this side of the Mountain was saying, “There’s nothing to see here, go back home. Stay safe.”

I should have known that Rondebosch Common would not be a good idea. The few steps I attempted felt like walking an obstacle course. I started counting people in the street the moment I left home, but I soon lost count.

I have always found Cape Town a very walkable city. So I know my neighbourhood well. In the olden days, I had even walked from my home to faraway places like the Book Lounge for a launch, or to the Avis office in town to pick up a rental, or to Cavendish to shop, or the Vineyard Hotel to meet a friend for a drink in the afternoon. I love walking, and it was relatively easy this morning after the initial stumble to find more secluded streets to enjoy at least part of my excursion without having to deal with the masses out there. I was grateful for every single g’morning, side-step, mask, smiling pair of eyes. And I was delighted for the happy doggies. But. But…

Seeing all these people carelessly interact with one another (often without masks and/or distance) as if there was no tomorrow, I felt that I want it – the tomorrow. I want my tomorrow. And the day after. And the many years that will hopefully follow. I will be selfish this way. I love my life; I want to have the opportunity to live it for a long time to come. And I repeat after Pakora: “We really love you, mate. Maybe you should reconsider. This looks really dangerous.”

There is so much we do not know about Covid-19 yet, but we know that there is one sure way of not spreading or getting it, possibly becoming really ill, ending up in ICU (sans vibrators), and never returning home. So forgive me, but I am staying in my egg tray for as much as I possibly can.

I saw this quote by Naguib Mahfouz today: “Home is not where you were born. Home is where all your attempts to escape cease.” I have no need to escape.

The last time someone carelessly endangered my life and my health suffered irreparably, I promised myself that I would never knowingly put myself in a position where this could happen again. And I refuse to do to others what was done to me.

I also don’t want to face the death of a loved one once more if there is something, anything!, I can do about it. I just can’t do this again. Not if I can help it!

The layers of loss, grief, trauma, illness, violation are too deeply embedded under my skin to allow me to take the pandemic lightly. I understand the frustration of others who have had different experiences and have to confront different realities, but I also know what it means to be at the end of careless and willful disregard of personal agreements and, on a much larger scale, social contracts. Someone gets hurt. I don’t want it to be me again.

This time, I’d rather err on the side of caution and take the responsibilities I have towards myself and others seriously. My trust has been broken too often.

165 new infections in the Western Cape alone over the past 24h. I don’t want to be part of this particular statistic. Thank you, but no thank you. No official NICD figures for the entire country yet tonight.

There were many things that I have missed in the last five weeks, but even during level five a lot was possible via delivery that gave me joy and made this strange new reality more bearable. Like my favourite coffee. I understand my privilege, and it allows me to stay in the egg tray as much as possible and by this simple act I might be saving a life.

Nespresso in an Austrian porcelain cup my friend Charlotte brought for me from Vienna.

No takeaway coffee can match this – sorry – even if I have to make it myself.

Because of safe and excellent delivery services, a lot can be enjoyed in the comfort of one’s home in level four. And if one is already privileged enough to be able to make use of such possibilities, then why not simply do it? I want to concentrate on what is responsibly possible, support other businesses and institutions that are not open to the public in whatever way I can, and wait – patiently.

The last time I was at a restaurant, my love invited me for a romantic dinner at FYN. It was mid-March and we had an incredibly memorable feast.

When I heard that restaurants would open for home deliveries in level four, I thought immediately of FYN because of that unforgettable meal, and of my favourite restaurant close to home, HARU. I couldn’t get hold of HARU, nor find out whether they have survived the lockdown, but I will continue trying to find out on Monday. For tonight, I managed to order from FYN… Another professional, safe and punctual delivery. With the super easy instructions provided, within twenty minutes I had a FYN FROM HOME feast that tasted like heaven.

I can happily return to pasta and baked beans for a while again now :)

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home. Keep calm and wear a mask.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

Harbinger of death. I did not watch Wild Earth for long this morning, and this is what I got.

Much sweeter was the Bing.com image today, and another ridiculous bird name. Hoary redpoll? Really? Very cosy-looking nest though, perfect for oysterhood.

A stranger with the most wonderful voice phoned today and inquired – very kindly – whether I would be interested in reading the Bible together with him. He was quite intrigued when I – very kindly – explained that I did not believe in God but read the Bible occasionally, on my own. We spoke briefly about my favourite passage from the holy book. He asked whether he could give me a reference to another passage I might find inspiring during these difficult times. Yes, of course, I said. I made a note, thanked him, but declined when asked whether he could phone again. I am almost sorry; he sounded so nice. But I absolutely hate talking on the phone to people I don’t know – it’s pure torture, no matter how lovely they sound. I did look up the passage, though. The first verse did nothing for me, but the second did move me. The kind stranger’s number did register on my phone… But, sadly perhaps, the depth of my religion is limited to following The Tweet of God on Twitter. True belief would mean following the one person God follows on Twitter, and my faith is not strong enough for such a challenge.

Other reading material arrived just as surprisingly on my doorstep this morning – the first thing in my postbox for a month, I think.

I loved reading the article about how the newly established Baxter Radio is assisting with education and entertainment during the pandemic. And these words by Lara Foot captured my love for the medium and made me understand why the whole streaming things is not intuitively my cup of tea:

I’m not a fan of live-streaming because I believe that theatre doesn’t exist without the special connection between actor and audience. To distil theatre through a screen is what I call anti-theatre. However, the old and trusted medium of radio asks the audience to listen and engage, which is comparable to the form of theatre.

But the Baxter is my cup of coffee!

A different kind of reading all together today was the Western Cape’s Covid-19 dashboard:

The Cats and I live in one of the heart of the pandemic in South Africa. No wonder I am seeing vultures and people are trying to save my soul before it’s too late.

Most challenging read of the day? Glinka and I decided to face and study the Regulation Gazette No. 43258, 29 April 2020, Vol. 658 No. 11098. ‘Risk Adjustment’. These two words are the ones that stick with me. This particular risk is not going anywhere soon. But to survive financially we need to adjust. Between a rock and a hard place. Or, between a pandemic and financial ruin. Impossible choices.

The last day of the lockdown, level five. Maybe.

I am monstrual and my back pain got to the stage where I can no longer move a millimeter without pain, so my judgement is clouded. No decisions should be taken in such a state. The body speaks a simple language; it makes its own demands. ‘Listen to your body, it never lies.’

It helped to do my garden loop walk today (no rewards, just my favourite Austrian radio station for company for half an hour), hopefully the last garden loop walk for a while… Although a return to level five in the Western Cape, or at least Cape Town, is probably imminent. Please, please! let me be wrong…

What keeps me going? My potatoes! They are growing. And my coriander. And lemons. I now just have to convince the Cats that the feline gods of ancient Egypt ate potatoes sprinkled with fresh coriander and drank lemon water – and we will live happily ever after while the world continues to find a balance between greed and kindness…

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

PS Did you know that YouTube can play your favourite song of the moment on repeat for an hour? Oh, joy! Blinded by the Lights.

PPS If you want to read a beautiful plea for book deliveries (all books) to readers, click here: Helen Moffett. Thank you, Dr M.

PPPS: Do you know what ‘MACS J1149+2223 Lensed Star 1’ is? If not, ask Ms Google. All I will say is that it comes in my favourite colour.

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

It feels counter-intuitive: 354 new cases, the highest daily increase since the beginning of the lockdown, death toll also rising by ten people, and on the same evening these announcements are made we contemplate and debate the move to level four. Yes, the details of the regulations hurt in all sorts of ways, they are also partly confusing, and they will have dire consequences for many sectors of the economy, but the bottom line is that no one is doing this to destroy the economy. This is an attempt to save as many lives and as many livelihoods as possible under impossible circumstances. And, I suppose, anyone who had been under the illusion that it is going to get easier from now on should have known better, because we have been aware for quite a while now that this pandemic is a PANDEMIC and that it is spreading fast and it is only a matter of time until it hits us with full force. It’s coming, slower than elsewhere because of our lockdown, but it’s coming. And it ain’t gonna be pretty. If we’ve learned anything from other countries around the world, it is that, in order to prevent massacres, we need to act fast and create as much time as possible between the beginning and peak of the infection rate to save as many lives as possible. Flatten the curve. That’s it. We might not like the finer details (I’m deeply sorry for all my friends who will be forced to buy cigarettes on the black market, but I will not fight for the legal sale of cigarettes now – c’mon! – this can’t be the most serious matter under the circumstances – there must be better ways to invest our energies in the near future…); they – the finer details – might be so much more than an inconvenience, but at the heart of all of this is scientific knowledge and the only virus-proof prevention measure we know: physical distancing.

I promised myself not to cry tonight. I am thinking about books, of course, educational and otherwise – my cigarettes. I will study the regulations very carefully and see whether I can legally use the postal and/or courier services to get Karavan Press books and books I have (co)authored or (co)edited to eager readers out there (most of the stock is with distributors who are probably not allowed to distribute anything apart from “educational books”, by which I am almost certain the government means “text/academic books”; but I do have some stock of novels etc. in my home…). Just in case you, Dear Reader, are interested in buying books directly from me, and the regulations allow me to send them to you, please place your pre-orders in the comments below or contact me directly. (I promise to consult with relevant parties that bind me contractually to the book industry before I make a sale this way. And Karavan Press authors will receive all their due royalties, of course.) Let’s see tomorrow what the fine print of the published level four regulations will say and how it can be interpreted legally.

Whether I can or can’t sale books, I will continue reading and writing them and supporting the book industry in any way I still possibly can.

However, and this has been clear to me from the start: during a pandemic of such proportions, I will NOT risk anyone’s health or life for a book. “I would prefer not to”, in the words of Bartleby, the Scrivener…

~~~

It seems like this day, before the evening addresses and announcements, ended not only a few hours ago but a few years ago. It was a good day despite back pain. The day began with kitschy skies and the cutest cheetah cubs.

With Salieri’s catssistance (a word that Penny Haw taught me – thank you), I finished reading Katherine Stansfield’s third novel The Magpie Tree and started her fourth, The Mermaid’s Call. Historical fantasy/crime fiction – purest escapism, written by a novelist with a poet’s sensitivity. Loving it.

I had a lovely Skype chat with my Mom and she showed me Myszka, her new kitchen (installed very professionally according to physical distancing rules this morning) and her tulips.

Myszka was not amused, but it made me very happy to see these two ladies today.

I ate pickled waterblommetjies for lunch. A taste of the season.

Before I sat down to work at my computer, I sat on the stoep with Glinka for a while and thought of all my friends who usually sit at my red stoep table to work or read or just relax when they visit. There was a moment in the day when my whole feline family was on the stoep with me today and I felt at peace.

The sun was so soothing today, especially since the nights are getting colder and the house is gradually cooling down. It turns into a fridge in winter. I need to fill up with mild sunshine until then.

I spent most of today wrapped in the wrap that my love bought for me at Oudrif. I need the comfort and magic of objects to sustain me through this time of transformation, loss and longing.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

“Physical distancing remains one of the key strategies to curb this pandemic.”

— NICD

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

My baby-kitten is fourteen years old today! Happy Birthday, Mr Mozart. All day long, he has been his usual elusive self, but he came into the kitchen when I was preparing dinner and I gave him a special treat for his birthday.

This is his mom, Gienia, with Mozart’s sisters, Myszka and Anya (Mozart is the kitten on the right) soon after they were born. Myszka still lives with my Mom. Happy Birthday, Myszka! A few months after giving birth, Gienia decided to move in with the neighbours, and she still lives there, happily. My Mom and the neighbours became friends because of her resettlement.

Mozart and Anya came to live in Cape Town in September 2006. Anya was killed by a passing car on 27 January 2007. Mozart and she were extremely close (Myszka was the runt of the litter and would not have survived without my parents’ intervention). When Anya died, Mozart didn’t know what to do with himself. But then, Salieri and Glinka came to live with us and we are a family now. But I still miss beautiful Anya, and knowing Mozart’s incredible memory, I think he probably does too.

My heart melts looking at all the kitten photos that I have of them all…

~~~

Today, writers and readers took a stand for books to be delivered to our homes under the level four regulations.

I signed the letter wholeheartedly because of the delivery aspect. After everything that I have witnessed in food shops during lockdown, I think that we are already abusing the current shopping regulations under level five, and we will probably abuse them even more if more shops are allowed to open. But I happily support a professional and safe home delivery of any products, especially books. In this respect, my experience has been very encouraging. Even today, I received another coffee delivery and I never felt that I was threatening the safety of the delivery person or he mine during the brief (non)interaction. I will happily pay extra for this service: so much safer for both parties.

Otherwise, the day was quiet, filled for a while with good quiet work in the afternoon.

Morning

Afternoon

My back is still sore, but I now have a proper hot-water-bottle to make sitting at the computer bearable.

Evening

Dearest Sally, I did try to tune in to your launch on FB, even though after attending just one, I promised myself that I would not attend another virtual book launch, but the thing would not play on my cell phone and I couldn’t leave the fire unattended to try other options.

I never got beyond this point :( It just wouldn’t load…?

But I am certain that you were brilliant – you always are – and I have placed an order for a copy of the book. Such a beautiful cover and the story promises to be amazing! You are unequivocally the Queen of YA Fiction in this land and I can’t wait to read your latest.

Dear All, For an excerpt of Sally’s novel, click here: Sea Star Summer by Sally Partridge

Another drawing came to me while I was thinking about the open letter to the President today. I posted it on the Karavan Press Instagram and Twitter accounts, just adding “Still dreaming…”

I am not giving up hope that it will all work out somehow. How? I don’t know. But I believe in magic.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

Good night.

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

Monday. The usual: Bin, orchid bath, watering of stoep plants, laundry & other household duties. On my way back from the great outdoors beyond my gate where I left the bin for collection this morning, I saw my bedside light illuminating a corner of my bed through the window, and the scene looked so cosy, I was overcome by gratitude for all the blessings in my life. (Just a pity about the burglar bars, but one can almost, almost, unsee them.)

Coffee, Wild Earth, a little bit of reading. Poor focus today.

27 April. I know exactly what I was doing on 27 April 1994: celebrating my best friend’s birthday in Austria. We were still in high school, having met two years earlier and becoming inseparable. One of the many traditions we started way back then was me delivering tulips from my Mom’s garden to Isabella on her birthday. There were always strawberries, too. I messaged her early this morning and she responded, saying she thinks of me. And when my Mom phoned a few days ago, she told me about the tulips in her garden and that she was so sorry I wouldn’t be taking them to Isi.

With Isi in Linz, 2014

Today is also Mary Wollstonecraft’s birthday. I love the fact that these two incredibly important women in my life share a birthday. Alles Liebe zum Geburtstag, liebe Isabella. And happy birthday, dear Ms Wollstonecraft. Where would I be without you two? Thank you for showing me the path.

And, of course, Freedom Day. Happy Freedom Day, dear South Africans. Thank you for allowing me to know your stories, for making me feel at home in this remarkable country!

A dear friend sent me the 1994 video of Evita and Cyril going trout fishing this morning. It made my day!

And the ICU vibrators. Priceless. Still chuckling. They did use vibrators to treat hysteria in the olden days. Nothing like an orgasm to make one feel better. But the best ones are enjoyed together, and level one seems like a distant dream on hope’s horizon…

And so we bake bread.

I chose the easiest route and bought a half-prepared one last week from Ou Meul that waited patiently in the fridge until this morning when I baked it ready. I had the first slice with butter and honey, the best combination for freshly baked bread – the taste reminds me of childhood outings to a family friend’s farm, where they baked bread and made butter themselves, and they also had beehives. Good memories.

I survived the night on a colour-coordinated-home-concoction of medicine I applied to my poor body to heal the backache. Not sure what worked best, I suspect the hot muti, but I felt much better in the morning, and will apply again tonight.

I survived another shopping excursion today. I ran out of one major essential for the Furry Family and had to brave the shops. I meant to go to only one, but they did not have what I needed, so I had to go to another. While at it, I got some other ‘essential’ stuff like window cleaner, coconut cream (yes, I have rum…), and a hot-water-bottle (among many other more truly essential items). The beautiful wine bottle that has been serving as my temporary hot-water-bottle could not be easily applied to my back last night.

Heart-breaking observations during the excursion: beggars are everywhere & those who do not have to beg have turned shopping into a national sport (the number of people I saw buying only an item or two and the congestion in the aisles were frightening). During the past thirty-two days I have visited four shops, two of them today, during two shopping outings. Anyone who can do the same, please consider it. Please. On my way back home, I heard Africa Melane on CapeTalk discussing the infection clusters around supermarkets in Cape Town. We are so eager for level four, but at this rate, we will be back at level five before we can say a packet of cigarettes.

And then we can say goodbye to most bookshops in the country, among so many other businesses.

I got a copy of Getaway magazine today. I just love the irony of its main story. In the morning, I looked at all the photographs I took while my love and I travelled around Poland exactly two years ago. Reminiscing, I thought: I have no regrets concerning the way we’d embraced life before the lockdown. We travelled near and far at every opportunity we had; we went to the theatre, to festivals, exhibitions, book launches; we treated ourselves to restaurants, even when it was not always financially wise to do so; we entertained friends whenever possible; and we spent so many hours just being in each other’s presence, knowing that the other was near was enough. We lived fully and passionately. And we miss all these things, especially all the occasions that could be enjoyed with family and friends, but we miss them because we lived them and not because we regret not having lived them. And so I will allow the Getaway magazine to take me back to those times of lived possibilities and inspire dreams of the future. Everything will be different for a long time, if not forever, no doubt, but there are places we will go, near and far, again. And that makes me happy.

One of those places will be the bush. Because I have to see ‘greeblings’ (James Hendry of Wild Earth), and…

Until then, I will delight in my Furry Family. Today, Mozart came to visit me on the bed again.

And on my way to the car with all my shopping this afternoon, I found another coin. I did not blow on it for luck (face mask, etc.), but brought it home and disinfected it, then washed my hands a million times. And then I blew on it. We are going to need all the luck we can get.

Time for hot muti.

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home.

OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

These two Wild Earth live safari screenshots encapsulate my life under lockdown. I want to crawl into my home and hide. And even if I do crawl out of my shell, everything is very slow. Carrying a heavy burden around might be the reason why my lower back is also gradually giving up on me. The pain began yesterday and it is getting worse by the hour… Ah, well!

The TV watched me all night long, uninterrupted, until about 5am. I usually have a small cup of coffee in the morning, but today my largest mug came out in support.

I must remember that unwashed, uncombed & unbrushed is the look that my Twitter followers like best. Over fifty little red hearts showing up in my notifications for this picture on my timeline. Or was it the mug?

I spent the early morning in my bedroom bed, reading and watching live safari. And then I fell asleep again, despite all that coffee. A deep, restful sleep.

After the 9am news, Margie Orford co-presented a show on SAfm, speaking about the lockdown, or self-isolation, as “sheltering in place”. I love the concept. One of the guests Margie invited to the show, Daniel Canogar, a visual artist, spoke about “humility” and “surrender” and “compassion” in the time of the pandemic and the words resonated with me in so many ways.

It has become my habit to look out for Cathy Kelly’s daily Instagram posts about her life under lockdown. If I don’t see her update before I fall asleep, I check in the morning. Her voice is gentle, wise and full of compassion. Today, she also posted a brave and beautiful text on her blog: When Love Hurts in Lockdown. May all who need a crimson throw find one to keep them going, to guide them to safety.

Verushka Louw is also posting the most touching photographs and stories on Instagram now:

18 April: “My gran was a midwife in a small town, she raised 6 kids and this is the only drawing that I know of that she ever did. Weekends we would go to thrift stores or markets. Sometimes for inspiration, sometimes looking for specific thing, but always looking for treasure. Lockdown is at my mother’s house. So I thought, let me look here every day for treasure. Let me see things with new eyes. I’m going to try and post something each day. Join me. #krapindiekas Tag me if you find something.”

I look forward to the treasures she finds every day. My whole life can be mapped in objects and I find Verushka’s current adventure fascinating.

Three years ago, Verushka baked a cake that said YOU ARE LOVED for one of my launches. I have been known to show up on her doorstep when seeking refuge in my dreams.

The creativity of these women, among many others – the words, images, ideas, photographs they bring into the world during a difficult time – are sustaining in ways that no food or water can be. They form a lifeline.

I have been struggling to read in the past month (has it really been only a month?), but this afternoon and morning I got lost in two books, in the manuscript I am reading and in The Magpie Tree by Katherine Stansfield. It felt good to just turn the pages.

Raspberries marked my garden loop walk today. Whenever I walk, like so many other writers, I am inspired. With every raspberry disappearing, the idea I had yesterday while swimming developed further into a tangible plan.

This past month has been slow, it has had its really rough patches. More will surely come, but despite despair, insomnia, lethargy, tears, nightmares, sore cheeks and a broken back, there has been so much that kept me going. Especially words, those penned by others, and my own.

Looking over the past few weeks, I can’t help thinking of the great Toni Morrison.

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal.

I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge — even wisdom. Like art.

— Toni Morrison

Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Stay at home. Do language.