By Katrin Bandel
At first, it seemed bad, but not extremely bad. “Most people are recovering. In Vietnam they had 16 cases, and they all recovered,” one of my colleagues said, reassuring us and himself. We were standing in the corridor, looking out onto the large banyan tree in the middle of our campus yard. I was a bit skeptical, but not too much so. “I don’t think people recover just like that,” I said. “They still need treatment for their symptoms.”
I haven’t been to the campus for almost two weeks now. We do our classes online, like so many other universities and schools all over the world. Our outlook has become a lot darker. There are 790 confirmed cases so far in Indonesia, and already 58 deaths. The health care system is not prepared for this. A lecturer from an other university in my town was one of the first ones to get infected. We shared the news in the faculty WhatsApp group. “I heard that he has almost recovered,” someone posted. Two days ago, I read the news that he has passed away. No one posted anything in our WhatsApp group. The group has been very active on the first days of online teaching, discussing the appropriate steps to be taken in this emergency situation. But no one posts very much there anymore now. Everyone has become quiet and withdrawn.
One night, about a week ago, a close friend from my country of origin, Germany, worriedly sent me WhatsApp message after WhatsApp message, urging me to contact the embassy. Flights have been canceled and Germany has locked down, but it is assisting citizens who are still abroad to return. Germany has much more cases than Indonesia at the moment, but it does have one of the best health care systems of the world. It would probably be better for me to be in Germany, my friend said. Her love and care for me touched my heart. But at the same time her panic startled and stressed me, and I felt cornered. Throughout the next day, I was restless and unsure what do think. Was she right?
Finally, I found back my center. I have been living in Indonesia for about 20 years. This is my home. Yes, I am immunocompromised, and it is a risk to stay here. But at the moment, it would also be a rather large risk to travel to Germany. And where would I stay there? If I stayed with my elderly parents, I would risk their health, too. No, I’m not leaving. I feel that I belong here.
One of the things my friend sent me was a YouTube link to a speech by chancellor Angela Merkel. It probably was a good speech. I believe that the German government has a much clearer and better policy than the Indonesian government. But after the first few minutes, I got bored and stopped watching. I didn’t feel connected. Every time she said “we”, I knew that that formally included me. But I didn’t feel part of it.
I did call the embassy, and put my name on the emergency list provided by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Now I try to go on with my life as usual – or rather, not as usual. Teaching online is not easy, and takes more time to prepare. Teleconferences are not really an option, because they use up too much internet quota. Usually students can use the free campus Wi-Fi, but now they have to study from home. I made my first YouTube video last week, an explanation of the term “civilizing mission” for my Postcolonial Studies class. It felt a bit awkward at first, but then it was rather fun. I probably would have felt embarrassed to upload it in times before the pandemic. But everything is different now. Embarrassment seems irrelevant and unimportant in the current situation. I just try to do what seems to make most sense.
“Your religion probably helps you in these times,” my mom said a few days ago. “Yes, it does, very much so,” I answered. I’m Muslim, a convert of some 9 years. It has always been difficult for my mother to accept my new faith. Now she seems to get a glimpse of what it means to me. “That’s good for you,” she answered back. My parents are not religious, and I don’t know if there is very much they can hold onto in these difficult times. I felt a bit sad, but there is not much I can do.