It's All Stats Until It's Personal
“News of the pandemic is released in the form of data, illnesses and deaths compiled by countries and counties. But sparks of humanity glow here and there.”
Hello you,
I hope you’re well and still keeping safe in a time like this. I’m not. To an extent, at least. I’ve been struggling since yesterday and I’ll tell you why. But just as a PSA, physical exercise is a drug you shouldn’t sleep on. Skipping has kept me saner than anything else in the past 24 hours.
Let’s dive right into it:
Last week, I was having a conversation with my dad about the situation in the world right now. He said, “You only begin to see how real this thing is when it affects you.” By you, he meant your loved ones.
At the time, I’d thought the statement was too philosophical for someone who was only beginning to engage with the facts — being a Nigerian parent and all. I didn’t know then that his older brother had gotten the virus, so I’d shrugged it off; it was nothing. I agreed or understood only to an extent: in my head, coronavirus was an abstract thing and a set of numbers. There were no people or faces behind those numbers. And where there were, they were far removed from me. Coronavirus only became real when it got to Nigeria, and even at that, it still seemed distant.
You probably already know that my favourite analogy for anything is storytelling. In storytelling, to get your readers or viewers to empathize with your protagonist, you can pull a few tricks: make them display important traits, perhaps something heroic like courage. You can also make them innocent and throw in a pinch of injustice.
In Miracle in Cell no 7, the movie I recommended in my last letter, a mentally challenged man (who has a young daughter) is falsely accused of a crime, arrested and incarcerated. He was going to be executed without the case being heard in court. Me (and other viewers) knew he didn’t do it, but the other characters in the movie didn’t know that — yet — and I couldn’t exactly walk into the television to tell them, so I watched, sitting at the edge of my seat, sad, teary eyed: this is not fair, this is injustice, etc.
Data — statistics — are nice. They help you put things in context, but I’ve never really liked numbers, they don’t do much for me. Storytelling on the other hand, does a lot for me. The story of the protagonist in Miracle in Cell no 7 means more to me than “6% of reported crimes are based on false accusations” because the movie provides a real (albeit fictional) story that paints what false accusations may look like and what injustice is. It paints a grander picture of ‘why’ false accusations are a problem.
Small fact: in the corner of my mind, I cannot believe any of this is real. It feels super surreal. Like I’m watching a really annoying movie I can turn off but whose ending I want to see. Or a dream. One of those annoying dreams with improbable plots.
Here’s the exception (or caveat) to the statement my dad made: with things like Rona, you can’t and shouldn’t wait till it becomes real to take precaution. If Nigeria hadn’t waited, perhaps we wouldn't be here. And in a manner of speaking, maybe not for yourself — just in case you don’t like yourself — but for the innocent people around you, do everything you can to stay safe.
But something else flowed from that conversation with my dad: ‘take an interest in the people behind the numbers; do not wait till it becomes ‘real’ or ‘personal’ to sympathize.’ My uncle died yesterday from Rona. He was diabetic, so the fear was real from the moment I was told. On Sunday, I heard he was getting better and I was hopeful. Yesterday at noon, he died. When his picture was put on the family group chat, I’d said, “I hope uncle is getting better” and next thing, I’d gotten news of his death. I have not been able to do much since then.
While he died in the frontlines — like soldiers do: fighting Rona in his capacity as a medical doctor — his death got me thinking particularly about the 89,931 deaths worldwide. Who were they? What were their dreams? They probably started 2020 with no clue that by April 9, they would be elsewhere. Not all of them were doctors, some were teachers, lawyers, thugs, writers — in fact a few may have been careless, but nobody deserves this.
That’s why I’ve curated a coronavirus nonfiction reading list. I don’t know if this would interest you, but I’ve found reading these better than dreary news updates. Read the stories of real people: from deaths to recoveries. You shouldn’t read these if you’re not in a good mental space, but reading some of them made me hopeful; they helped me contextualise this thing properly and reminded me that behind all those numbers, there are real people:
Now for the stories:
Let’s start here with three stories of surviving Covid-19. In this story, two young women — health care professionals in Wuhan — fell sick from coronavirus. One survived. This one definitely made me cry. This woman’s story started with an earache, and then suddenly, the odds became very slim. Yet, she beat it. Here’s what she said: ‘God sent his angels around me’ — nothing has given me more joy lately.
I’ve always been a fan of obituaries, whether it’s indepth essays in the Nytimes or inside the pamphlets Nigerians share during the funeral of their loved ones. That’s perhaps why I like the New York Times’ ‘Those We’ve Lost’ Column which tells the stories of those we’ve lost to Rona. Here are some of my favourites (so far): the long time teacher who died of Coronavirus, the death of Loretta Mendoza Dionisio, described as ‘outgoing and unstoppable’ — now a statistic in a growing U.S. count, even though her life meant much more. There’s also this story of the woman (aged 108) who survived the 1918 pandemic, but died of the coronavirus.
Read the story of the doctor who worked in the frontlines in the hardest-hit province of China. They worked round the clock and had practically zero time to contact their families. Coronavirus originated in Wuhan, so they had lockdowns before we did. Might be helpful to read the story of Dizi, a Wuhan resident on how she dealt with the lockdown.
Well, that’s all folks. Remember to be kinder to people during this time — especially with Easter here — people don’t have much to celebrate with. Years of tradition are being changed due to the lockdown. It's a difficult time. We have to beat this and we can’t do it alone.