SARS - Living in the Heart of Darkness

President Ramaphosa of South Africa stood before the nation once more and delivered his latest address on the COVID-19 pandemic. Tears sprang to my eyes. Blurring my vision. A deep sadness and silent anxiety flooded my being. Confused by the intensity of my reaction, I sat motionless. I began to recognise and identify this surge of certain emotions.

Then, with a sense of urgency, I flipped through the chapters of my life. Back to a time when each day, for months on end, was filled with dread and sadness. I recalled the suffering en masse. The dark brutal fear that gripped us in its power. The fear of the unknown which held each and every one of us captive. The fear of a killer which we could not see. Or smell. Or taste. That dreaded fear that took our lives and ripped them apart. Stealing everything resembling our normality.

As the newsreader moved on to matters of politics, my heart reached out to the people of the world. Memories of my life in China, witnessing the devastation caused by the Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome (SARS), flooded my thoughts. My own life had been severely impacted by this unseen killer. Little did we know then that SARS may have been the forerunner of bigger things to come …

On the evening of the 27th April 2003, we were confronted with an unidentifiable enemy. Overnight the city plunged into total panic and distress. Because the deadly truth had been deliberately hidden from us, we were totally unprepared and ill-equipped. By the time the official announcement was made, and that, only because the World Health Organisation exposed the authorities, it was too late. The deadly SARS virus had been with us since November 2002. My heart sank at the realisation that both my daughters had spent Christmas with me in Beijing. We had explored every inch of the city – in complete ignorance of the danger lurking in our midst. Within 24 hours, the number of cases in Beijing escalated from 24 to over 760. The people of Beijing went crazy, not with fear only, but with an intense anger towards the government. They felt betrayed.

Within hours of the truth being exposed, the Minister of Health and the Mayor of Beijing were removed from their Communist Party posts. The government cancelled the week-long Labour holiday to restrict travel and contain SARS. Thousands fled the city to seek shelter in the countryside. They took what they could carry and made for the railway stations. Overnight, internal flights were cancelled. Universities closed. Schools closed, affecting 1.7 million children. Entertainment venues, theatres, bars, gyms and restaurants were closed.

The SARS outbreak was a time of perpetual darkness. A time when one’s imagination was fed by misinformation, confusion and deceit. A time when every door handle posed a threat to one’s health and safety. When every person was a potential carrier. A time when buying bread became terrifying for there were no guarantees that I would return home from the store. Suspicious coughing and sneezing often resulted in massive downtown districts suddenly being cordoned off. No warnings given beforehand. The quarantine facilities then awaited your arrival. Special task forces were set up to combat SARS. This scenario had huge implications on my daily life. Decisions were all made based on fear. The haunting fear of being taken away. Of not knowing or understanding the full severity of the situation. In a foreign country.

It was a time when taxis drove at insane speeds along deserted highways with their windows open. Apparently to blast the virus from the car. If you happened to cough in the back seat, you too were out. A belief that ordinary vinegar would prevent the virus mushroomed through the majestic city of Beijing. Every form of transport, objects and structures were suffused with the astringent smell of vinegar. Many people too covered themselves in the liquid. Tragically, a man died from drinking enough vinegar to kill him. Normally a bottle of the liquid sold for 50 cents. The evil that lurks within certain members of humanity sold that same amount for the equivalent of R100 (South African rand). Masks went from 80 cents to R90 each.

In a matter of days, Beijing, my home, as I knew and loved it, had become infiltrated by ‘aliens’ running around in suits and headgear of white. Suits which previously symbolised health and purity, now stood as a symbol of fear. Of being taken away. Of death. Ambulances replaced normal traffic. Their sirens breaking through the deathly hush that had smothered the city. Humans were absent. Hiding behind closed doors. Living in terror. The nine million bicycles of Beijing. All gone. Evidence of life. Gone. A vibrant, international city of crucial financial importance to the world, reduced to hollow emptiness. On every level. It was estimated that China could lose 28 billion USD due to the epidemic.

On a positive note though, I have always said that in times of crisis, I would want to be in China. With the militant attitudes deeply engrained towards everything, the unity and obedience en masse then provide the platform on which to offer emergency services, technical and logistical support. The physical strength and ability of their manpower supersedes the most daunting of challenges. A prime example of this power was evident when in exactly eight days, a 1000-bed SARS hospital was built near my home. It took 7000 builders to construct the Beijing Xiaotangshan Hospital. With a floor space of 25 000 square meters and a medical staff of 1200 available, the hospital became a sanctuary to deal with one of the worst disasters ever.

In order to overcome the SARS epidemic, I needed to remain calm and positive at all times. An intricate game of mind-power played out each day. For to surrender to fear, was never an option. It was not easy. I made peace with the fact that I could only ever see people’s eyes due to the constant wearing of masks. That in itself bred a form of loneliness. But gave rise to the ability to read people’s eyes and see the love, the support and the understanding hidden within.

My loneliness did not last long. Against all advice, my mom boarded a plane in South Africa and headed to Beijing. To be with her child. There were ten passengers on board. Nobody in their right mind was going to China. Everybody was leaving. During the few weeks we shared in Beijing, we made the decision to value every minute there. My concern was that should I leave China due to SARS, would I ever return to the city I loved.

As I still had an excellent job, a home and was healthy, I decided to stay as long as was possible. The time spent with Mom in a deserted Beijing was extraordinary. Surreal. We walked the abandoned streets for hours on end. Exploring the ancient alleyways. We experienced Tiananmen Square on Labour Day without people – never possible one would have thought. We returned a second time only to find a more ominous silence. It was here that the haunting eeriness of a city deserted was crushing. The empty pavements magnified the desperate situation. Sadness made its presence felt in the absence of children flying kites over the square. There were no old men sitting in groups, proudly displaying their caged crickets. Beijing without vendors, without traffic, without the people was a city without life.

Amidst the excursions into a lifeless Beijing, we had fun. Realising that this was a unique situation, we saw the value in the silence. In the space available to just us. After all, who gets to stand in the middle of the famous Chang’an Avenue as it passes The Gate of Heavenly Peace on Tiananmen Square. We celebrated my birthday with a close friend in a deserted restaurant set far back in the hutongs. Our journeys took us to every corner of Beijing. Exposing us to sights and situations which are now buried deep within our minds. To be treasured forever.

Exhausted and emotionally challenged, we celebrated Life with high tea at the one hotel still functioning. The Grand Hyatt on Chang’an Avenue welcomed two weary foreigners into its magnificence.

With the passing of each day, the situation worsened. Bringing with it news of more devastation. Within 24 hours, I saw my Russian friends making a desperate bid to cross the border to safety before it closed. I witnessed people sobbing whilst attempting to withdraw money before banks closed. The most haunting aspect of daily life was the knowledge that things could only get worse. There was no hope. Daily news reported airlines stopping international flights. Fear gripped us. With only one student left in my class, the school closed its doors. It was time to worry. Time to get out. With heavy hearts, we boarded a substitute flight to Kuala Lumpur and bid China farewell. The first of many farewells to that magnificent country.