Thread by @MikocheniReport

Now. For the real story I have been at a loss to tell for too long. #thread.
In March of 2020, the Covid19 pandemic started to rampage throughout the world. It did not spare Tanzania. But in April of 2020 we stopped all public efforts to halt is spread in the country.

The death toll in Tanzania started at least as early as May or June- I forget. Not because I do not know, but because my mind has refused to remember. The first friend to go was a shock. How could someone so full of life just... disappear? We grieved.

Then my sister told me one day: hey, remember the bakery where ee used to get the best goods? She's gone. And after that, it was someone else. People got sick, many recovered, some did not. A classmate from secondary school died. By this time, I was 'incapacitated' by it all.

It kept coming. My country was trying to focus on an election and pushing herbal supplements as a cure for a disease that apparently didn't exist here. More deaths. Friends losing family. Family losing friends. I did not show up. I did not leave the house. I could only write.

And even in writing, I could not write enough. A favorite uncle died. I did not call. A vibrant lady from Southern Africa passed on. A cousin. More. More. We were not allowed to talk about it. I retreated even further. It doesn't hurt if you don't acknowledge it. Anger is...

...better than grief. I did not see my nieces. My nephew became a potential health threat. Everything he catches at school, I catch at home. Neighbors were hospitalized. They died. I did not go. Time started to lose its shape. A new year happened. It felt like more of the same.

"Tanzania Denies Covid! Touts prayer and steaming!" The international press was shrill. Gleeful? Herbal remedies showed up at home. Covidol. NIMR. More people died. I hid. Misery is a familiar friend. I wrote, a bit. Things slipped away. Tanzanians slipped away. Who cared?

Something shifted. Too many funerals? Overwhelmed hospitals? Too much "atypical pneumonia?" It was suddenly okay to wear masks. And distance. Amd wash hands. But Western Medicine remandd suspicious. February was ending. Where was Magifuli? Where? Where? I don't know. I was tired.

Time passed. "Elsie, your Uncle T had a stroke" my mothrr tells me. She knows by now to be gentle. I cannot cope with anything at all. My country is a prison where the inmatds ate always in danger, except the ones I love keep getting hurt or worse. The world wants to know:

Where is Magufuli! I listen. I look around. Uncle T got better, great news. I patse the rumors and ask some friends. I might jave to write about where Magufuli is. Last time I did, the piece got killed. I am cautious. I am quiet. I ask another friend. Ah.

"Elsie, Uncle T has taken a turn for the worse" my mother tells me. But...but we just buried our cousin! And my other uncle is doing better. Hold on. All will be well.

"Elsie, Uncle T..." No. Not another smile gone. I do not open the family group. They posted a picture and I cannot look at it because I have to put one foot in feont of the other every day. Deadline is here. Whrre is Magufuli? I lose a bet. I submit my piece on time. Irreverent.

11:00 pm, March 17 2021. "Elsie, check your phone!" We switch on the tv, a household of people wjth sleeping troubles. Samia Suluhu Hassan is talking. I only hear a buzzing for the most part. I just submitted. I text my editor. He is up. He says take your time. Magufuli is found.

I do not sleep. The piece is written by 7:00 am. Whatsapp has calls and texts. Not completely unexpected. I text, I call back. Appointments. An article commissioned. The day starts. "We are going to send a family wreath" my mother tells me. Of course. Don't think. Work.

The first call: "did he die of Covid19, as was alleged?" Ah. I see. "I cannot confirm that, Ma'am." Yes, he did, but not who you atr talking about. Except, why would you know about my list of people not to think about. Work. Another call. Same question. "Can't confirm, Sir."

He has a widow. My mother is a widow. My aunts are widows. How is the First Lady faring? I...remember Dad's funeral. This year, there are kids without fathers or mothers. Tanzanians. Covid deniers, haha, how primitive to deny science. Anger is easier than grief. A call. Can you?

That depends, I answer. Will you ask me if he died of Covid? Because I want to say something about its effects on my community. "Okay" okay. Uncle T's funeral will be on Saturday, my mother tells me. Okay. The interview goes well, my mother has notes of course. Mothers 😅

At least she is diligent. She has a box of masks. She keeps socially and spiritually active and healthy. She is trying to diet...I have notes 😁. Life seems less heavy, somehow. It is Friday, 10:00 am. I cry. I NEVER cry. I practice writing it: President Hassan. Work tomorrow.

I am up at dawn. I feed the cats, make a cup of tea. The young man has already left for St. Peter's. I think of my mother's relentless prayers for me, for everyone, for spiritual safety. You can leave the Church, but the Church never leaves you. I attend Mass via Twitter.

We can pray to be better. We can pray to leatn to one day forgive. Where more than one of you gathers in My Name...
Uncle T is at their family home now. The layout is crushingly beautiful, if a funeral can be beautiful. Soon, he shall sleep in the soils that receive them when...

...it is time to go home. I can just about bear to look at his picture. He is wearing a fedora 😄. Did he die of Covid19? Everyone gathered there is diligently wearing a mask, most also have a face shield. God, it really is beautiful out there. I can finally think of loss.

I am so so sorry that I just couldn't before, Angels. But you are in my heart. Your particular laughter. How I know you. The inside jokes. When I last saw yoi. Forgive. I love you.

Thank you Uncle T. Sleep well. I hope you have better taste in whiskey mixers in the Great Beyond

"Did he die of Covid19, tho". Yes, he did. And him, and her. And them. Tanzanians. And beyond. But they are not who you want to talk about is it? They are not The Story.

It is. A friend gets in touch. "Can you?" Well...can I make it personal? "Please do."

I will. Tomorrow.