The loud silence of the pandemic war: A journey of fighting, stillness and hope beyond the horizon

Prim K. Tumuramye

The unthinkable was no longer to be read about as a fairy tale. It was not something I heard or read about, not a sensational story making rounds in the age of social media – it was real. The closest I had ever come face to face with war was its spelling. Growing up, it was not unusual to hear bizarre stories about war and what it comes with. Not an experience any right-thinking member of society would ever wish to go through first-hand to understand what it means. Yet here I was, with my kith and kin, right in the middle of the war. There were no gun shots in the air, neither could you see desperate mothers fleeing for safety with their children, yet the writing was on the wall – we were in a silent but deadly war zone. The World Health Organisation declared Covid-19 a global pandemic in March 2020. If our forefathers thought living to tell the story of World War I & II was heroic, here we are, in the twenty first century fighting another global war.

I do not know what tomorrow holds, yet every morning I wake up with hope that I will live to tell the whole war experience, as I saw it.

On May 5, 2020, I plan my day well to be on time to watch the televised presidential address on Covid-19. Knowing that the past addresses have dragged on and on, I alert my household that retiring to bed will be at leisure. The president will be speaking – protocol has it that if you want to excuse yourself from his address, you quietly do so. When I was growing up, I remember hearing countless tales of how the president had the capacity to turn into anything and be anywhere he wanted. I learnt to respect and fear in equal measure anyone with the title president. For those that castigate me about cowardizing, I remind them that those in my category have an opportunity to die many times as the fearless are being lowered into the grave.

The clock slowly ticks away – the television commentators seem unwilling to leave the screen.

‘I thought they told us 8pm!’ I mumble under my breath.

Then I remember that ‘important’ people don’t appear on time as though they were desperate nobodies. I encourage myself to wait – after all, the address is for my good. It benefits people of my ilk – desperate to know how we fare regarding the ongoing war.

After close to half an hour of waiting, the TV station relays the live broadcast from statehouse. The earthly glory and majesty I see being bestowed upon the president reminds me to keep focused on my heavenly goals. You can’t miss such glory while on earth and even in the world to come. That would be double tragedy.

‘Children, I expect you to be silent – the president will be addressing us shortly.’ I announce in a matter of fact tone.

‘But why does the president talk to us every day?’ Deborah, who is known for challenging the status quo asks.

‘Because of coronavirus.’ Akampa volunteers an answer.

I nod in agreement as I signal my clan to be silent. One by one, they wave to me as a sign of good night and in hushed tones go to their bedrooms. I am in the sitting room alone, enduring the not – so good news on the war progress. I hear the president justify the external forces that seem to be sounding the loudest war drums – the truck drivers. He explains their critical importance in economic terms – I listen on, albeit with little interest.

The next morning, my children excitedly ask if the president allowed children to go with their parents again to town, and yes, also back to school.

‘The president told us to stay home for another two weeks. He will be informing us what next in due course.’ I summarize for them the presidential address.

‘But mom, when did the president start telling you what you should and shouldn’t do in your home?’ Deborah asks me.

At this point I know that my assertive five-year old daughter could be charged for treason. Why is she questioning the presidential directives? I call for an urgent meeting in which I caution my clan against yielding to the temptation of questioning both the presidential and family directives. I remind them that this is war, and since I have no war experience, we are learning to wade through the murky waters together. Our role is to keep positive irrespective of the tide.

As I look back on the days, now turned into months in the pandemic warfare, yours truly Dickson Tumuramye is busy with farm work, implementing the presidential directive on food security.

After a long day at the farm, he asks ‘What did the president say?’

Tired of this war-talk I respond, ‘How many banana suckers were you able to plant today?’

With a fading smile, he remembers that he must take some rest.

This is war!

                                                       ©Prim K. Tumuramye

Prim is a Christian, wife, mother and Communications Specialist at Compassion International. She is passionate about reading, writing, youth mentorship and intentional parenting.