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To the moon and back

Constitution Hill: Lwando Xaso

Lwando Xaso

I once heard that hardly any of the guys who landed on the moon are married to the same people they were married to before they went there. I also once heard that prostitution rose after the great depression as desperate women looked for ways to support themselves. I have no personal experience of neither.

But I have lived through the height of the HIV/AIDS pandemic South Africa. Life changed in its wake, Intimacy changed forever. Pause before passion – relationships now had to be renegotiated. Sobering discussions of sexual history and protection had to be accommodated in the romance of courtship.

Whether you are the one making history or are history’s victim – life changes after big History. In as much as I have lived through big History I never thought that I would be in the grips of history quite in the way we have experienced globally. Never did I anticipate how big history would change not only the big things but the small things. I might not have become a prostitute but life after this global pandemic sometimes feels just as unimaginable. Perceptible and imperceptible changes. In the face of enduring uncertainty, we continue to adapt to the profundity and triviality of change.

What made Covid-19 different is that hit the core of what it meant to be a human being – interconnectedness. It is the separation it caused between families, colleagues, acquaintances and strangers. The separation it caused between us and our cherished spaces and worlds. Solitude was its antidote and still its solitude lingers after its exodus.

As I write this, I have the rare privilege of working from my favourite coffee shop. Before Covid-19 (shall we call it BC) walking into any coffee shop was done without much thought, or much effort or money. A simple pleasure. The cherished space between home and work whose constant buzz and caffeine smell gave me the last push I needed to finish an assignment. It’s the inexplicable energy created in spaces shared with others that all of sudden made the words that eluded me accessible.

BC Friday night dinners with my cousins at our favourite restaurant were a ritual, an anchor and comfort. We laughed, gossiped and lingered over dinner. Glasses clinking at the table next to us. Laughter erupting two tables away of what looked like young bankers erupted in laughter. And a happy birthday chorus rises at another table. It’s amazing how on any given night this was the place a bunch of strangers chose as a setting to their lives. Spaces are meaningless until we gather. We create unreplicable  chemistry.  One night never exactly like the next.

Inasmuch as we loved the vibe and somewhat chaos of our Friday nights, there were times I wished we had the place to ourselves especially when I did not have the energy to shout over the cacophony. On those nights I wished the crowd would disappear. Exclusivity. Renting out the entire restaurant just for the three of us. I used to think that would be the ultimate experience. Distance from others would be the sign that we had made it like the velvet rope that separates the very important from the not.

BC Friday nights did not include masks and sanitisers. Back then I could pinch my cousin’s cheek and rest my head on her shoulder. I could eat from her plate using her fork. Back then any of us could cough or sneeze without feeling culpable.

Life after the Covid-19 quarantine (shall we call it AC) is no longer thoughtless or effortless. Not only are we dealing with our dashed hopes and dreams, we have to also accept how the mundanities of our lives had changed.

Exclusivity that’s what I used to long for. I had it now. Only I have it not through wielding my own power but as an imposed precautionary measure. AC we can no longer spontaneously show up at the coffee shop like we did mindlessly a thousand times before. Now I call 6 weeks in advance. Not to mention the lengthy form I have to fill out before our reservation can be approved. Have I been sick in the last 6 months? What previous illnesses have I had in the course of my life? Is there reason to believe that my immune system may be compromised? Did I previously get tested for Covid-19? Did I have Covid-19? Once cleared an email confirming my reservation followed.

So here I was for the first time AC anticipating my first cup of a double soy cappuccino. Missing the emotional resonance of shared spaces, I showed up. I showed up not only for the coffee but for communion. I showed up for the others I would fill up space with. I showed up to hear the different voices and hues that give texture to spaces. But what I found was an overpriced, regimented, unemotional and lonely experience. Somewhere between quarantine and BC. The melodic chatter that used to fuel me had been quietened.

Only 5 patrons at a time could come in for a maximum of 2 hours for what used to be an accessible pleasure. Outside, pressed against the glass walls were those who had been rejected hoping to get a whiff of the strong caffeine smell or perhaps who longed to be welcomed in. What joy is to be found in what should be a common experience but denied to so many? What joy is to be found in this exclusivity? Just as I was about to sink it total despair, a waiter comes up to me with a smile and sanitiser bottle, generously sprays my hands. It's an act of not just duty but kindness in the midst of this sanitised world.

I once heard that hardly any of the guys who landed on the moon are married to the same people they were married to before they went there. The last couple of months feel like we went to the moon and back- that’s how surreal life has been. As we slowly make our way back I should have known that the grip of history would leave a lasting mark.

About the author

Lwando is an attorney and a writer and founder of @Including_Society exploring the interaction between race, gender, history and popular culture. She is also a trustee of the Constitutional Court Trust and a prime ambassador for social justice causes.


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