Day 75: The Waiting Room

Day 75: June 9, 2020
Global Cases: 7,334,717 Deaths: 413,981
Egypt Cases: 36,829 Deaths: 1,306

Reem Nafie
Adjunct Professor, Department of Journalism and Mass Communication

I woke up early as usual today, but I lay in bed because there’s really no urgency to get up. I hardly get any sleep these days as my mind seems to be working overtime. I can’t pinpoint what I’m thinking about, but every single topic is crammed in there and running around like crazy.

I try to close my eyes and kick back the thoughts, maybe doze off for an extra hour or so. But there’s a bird outside that seems to be chirping right into my ears, so I get up and open the blinds.

There it is, staring at me, perched on the branch beside my windowsill. It seems to be glaring at me silently for a second (or so I think), before it goes about chirping again, frantically looking around, as if waiting for something to happen. I leave it and go to make my coffee.

It’s 9am and my girls have started their online Zoom classes. I listen to their teachers explaining math, science, geography and watch them as they fidget restlessly in front of their computers and iPads. Habiba comes and complains (as she does daily since quarantine started) that she hates online teaching because she can’t see her teachers or her friends. Hannah jumps in to say she doesn’t understand division and mass. She also hates online tutoring.

I try to explain to them that I found it difficult too, but it could be a blessing in disguise. “When I taught this term online, I found a way to fall in love with my students without seeing them. God is giving us a chance to use different senses. Let’s stop relying on our eyes, and start seeing people with our hearts and minds. Let’s listen to their voices and understand how they’re feeling and what they’re trying to say. Get it?”

They both stare at me blankly and I realize they’re too young to understand. I just have to wait for them to get older.

It’s noon and I need to go to the supermarket. I go grocery shopping every Monday and no quarantine will change this ritual.

On the way, I call my mum as I always do when I’m in the car and she’s complaining that my dad’s health is failing and she’s worried she’s taking care of him alone. They’re in Saudi Arabia and want to come back but commercial flights are still suspended. I tell her I’m worried too and soon it will be better and they’ll be back here. We just have to wait till his health is better and flights are back.

“Just wait,” I say.

For The Caravan‘s previous diary entries in Arabic and English go to our COVID-19 Special Coverage page. 

At the supermarket, people are queuing as usual. Since the quarantine started, people have been hoarding food for no apparent reason. I fail to understand it. I put my face mask on and wait in line in the blazing heat. I realized that although I can’t really see people’s faces, their eyes actually say it all. The frustration, nervousness and chaos are evident in the way their pupils move. Half an hour later, I’m in and when I’m done shopping, I wait for another half hour to pay at the till. 

I’m back home just in time for a work meeting on Zoom. I log on a few minutes early and I’m transferred to the “Zoom Waiting Room” until my host is ready. I wait. I’m finally admitted and I listen with half an ear as they speak about layoffs and lack of new opportunities in the market at the moment that could affect all our jobs. The managers are asking employees to be patient and wait until the outlook is clear.

We all agree to wait.

I get lunch ready as I watch Habiba doing Tiktoks, which has become a daily ritual since the kids stayed home. I roll my eyes at how pointless they are and wish I could tell her off, but I decide to wait until the puberty phase wears off.

“I’m just going to wait,” I think to myself. 

I go back to my room, the day is nearly over. The bird is still there chirping even louder than it was in the morning. I don’t know why it’s annoying me so much, I try to shoo it and it looks back at me without moving a muscle.

“What are you waiting for? Go!” I say. It doesn’t move. It waits.

I’ve decided to go out to wiggle the branch. It’s either me or the bird. I stand under the tree and it stares down at me, just before another bird flies onto the branch. They chirp a little conversation and both leave without paying me any attention.

Its wait is now over.

As I look up at the now orange sky, the reality of it all hits me. Earth has been transformed to one large “waiting room”, and we’re all crammed in it awaiting the outcome.

God has put our lives, plans and voices “on hold” until further notice. We all want to be unmuted, heard and seen again. We want to be the bird that flew off when its wait was over.

That’s what my sleepless nights are about, waiting to leave the “waiting room”.