Forty-eight hours without Internet means 48 hours without easy access to news.
Forty-eight hours without Internet is like a month on a desert island with a can of beans but no can opener.
News blues…
Brief peeks at the news via my cell phone indicate confusion reigns about what is and is not permitted during Lockdown Level 3.Cigarettes? Still banned. Except … cigarettes can be “transported for export” while also “prohibited to be sold, and prohibited to be bought” [sic] and “police have a right to seek the receipt of where you have bought cigarettes….”
If I were a smoker, my brain would fry ….
Work? “An essential or permitted work permit from the employer is required” - or not. No “letter from employer” exists in Level 3 regulations, and a permit is required only for movement across provinces, districts and metro boundaries, or declared hotspots.
Dress code? The confusion regarding “short-sleeved t-shirts as under-garments” reminds me of Woody Allen’s 1970s movie, “Bananas.” The storyline includes an authoritarian leader insisting citizens wear clean underwear. To prove they’re changing underwear regularly and according to law, citizens must wear underwear on the outside.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch…
This morning, soon after sunrise, the upstairs kitchen alarm squawked three different times.Back in February, I installed two small battery-powered fire alarms inside my mother’s large house.
I placed one alarm above her bed. This because, despite my entreaties to the contrary, my mother burns an open candle next to her bed at night – she says its to memorialize her dead partner. Try arguing with that!
I placed the second alarm on the wall above the kitchen stove.
In the past week, soon after sunrise, the kitchen alarm has squawked five times.
Each time, still in pajamas, I slip on shoes, depart my warm room, run through the garden, up the back stairs, along the balcony, and enter the hallway that leads to the kitchen.
Each time, I’ve found no one inside the kitchen while steam rises furiously from a pot filled with dog food bubbling on the stovetop.
Does humans depart the kitchen because a watched pot never boils?
I’ve demonstrated to the staff how to moderate gas flow.
I explained the theory and mechanics of moderating gas flow.
I attempted to raise awareness of the economics of natural gas, even, in desperation, expounded on the politics of fossil fuels and described the impending disasters of climate change.
Other than increasing resentment toward me – and the alarm – there’s no sign of behavior modification.
Soon as I depart the kitchen, the gas is full throttle again.
My mother’s attitude?
Yes, natural gas is expensive, “But,” she claims, “I can’t hear the alarm.”
(Translation: if she can’t hear it, it doesn’t squawk.)
My mother’s solution after today’s three episodes? “We should turn off the alarm.” (Translation: “We” means yours truly.)
Flabbergasted, I departed the kitchen and scuffled along the balcony, down the back stairs, through the garden, and into my warm room.
Still dressed in pajamas, I returned to bed.
I developed a throbbing headache and a fever.
An effective headache capsule convinced me I hadn’t contracted Covid-19. Just to be sure, I (gratefully) self-isolated and spent the day quietly pondering 1) life in general: why opt for live-in staff? And, 2) my life in particular: what the hell am I doing in South Africa?
I could die here.
Lockdown Level 3 decrees no domestic or international flights. I cannot follow my instinct to flee back to California, back to where violent protest against violent police killing innocent Americans makes more sense than disarming an alarm because it works.
Am I a traitor if question why someone who:
- spends her day watching TV spend none of her day watching TV news.
- reads nothing, hasn’t been outside the gate for eight weeks, and pays no attention to official Covid-19 recommendations, believes she’s au courant?
- never insists on staff wearing masks “out there”
- never insists on staff sanitizing their hands after re-entering the property yet when I insist, tells me they wash their hands with “soap”?
***
Symptom of Lockdown Fever: Obsessively tracking cell phone’s battery level. I use an elderly iPhone, model 6. Before departing California, I visited an Apple store to replace the phone battery.
Apple no longer supports iPhone model 6.
I left California with the iPhone battery I have, not the iPhone battery I want.
I purchased a back-up battery charger to counter Eskom’s program of load shedding.
Background: Eskom is South Africa’s state-owned-enterprise that supplies the nation with electricity.
Load shedding is Eskom’s solution to dwindling electrical capacity: it “saves” energy by switching off the electrical grid for wide swathes of the country for anywhere from 6 to 10 hours, sometimes longer, per day.
One upside to the pandemic is Eskom refraining from load shedding for now (although electricity still fails for long minutes).
Lack of availability of energy – coal-generated electricity or electrically charged phone batteries – focuses one’s attention.
I’ve become fascinated with the bar graph displayed by my iPhone’s Last Charge Level.
1) Go to “Settings”Green bars indicate regular battery use. Yellow bars indicate Low Power Mode. Red bars indicate battery charge is dangerously low.
2) Scroll to and select “Battery > ”
3) Scroll to “Last 24 Hours”
4) Examine the graph.
Note: No bars indicate iPhone switched off
If, like me, you’re “arty” and would like to create your own charge pattern, vary your use of Full and Low Power mode. Experiment with creating nice green/yellow/red display patterns.
Such is life under Lockdown Levels 5 and 4. Little indication that Level 3 will change much.
Am I losing my marbles?
I remind myself: lockdown will end.
When it does, I suspect we’ll see a flurry of post-lockdown support groups for people who, like me, showed signs of going bonkers around Day 60.
“Hello, I’m Susan. I’m addicted to checking the bar graphs displayed by my iPhone’s Last Charge Level.”
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