Covid-19 quarantine diary: Preparing to go home, and meeting Malik Obama

The results of the second test came and to our astonishment, we had two positive cases! To make matters worse, one of the positive case was a jovial young man in his 20s, who had interacted with almost everyone!

We now knew we were cooked. How now? Everyone was shocked. The young man was a darling to many. He was always smiling, social and exhibited no symptoms. We had exchanged jokes that morning as we queued for the daily temperature check.

Sadness befell the camp. Personally, I cried. Indeed, several people shed tears. This only meant one thing. We would be detained for another 14 days! Life was unfair. Nothing made sense.

A man we had nicknamed ‘Raila Jnr’ was uncontrollable. In fact, he asked loudly whether this quarantine camp was a corona incubation facility. Everyone went berserk!

Did the authorities intend to keep us in here until we all tested positive? What was the essence of quarantine? When we questioned the process, the doctor-in-charge answered that coronavirus was something new to everyone and the government was only doing what seemed right for the country. And that included holding us against our will.

After this, no one cared about the committee anymore. It did not serve any purpose! The chairman declared that he would relinquish his power. No one listened. We had fired him, anyway.

Finally, my case was heard by the medical officers involved and I was released on my 23rd day. I explained to the social workers that I didn’t understand why we were being charged for our stay. Indeed, the doctor-in-charge, who had briefed us on the first day, had said quarantine in this government facility was free.

By now I was feeling so sick! I was disoriented and stressed. Still I didn’t have any medication. Somehow, I started feeling strange. Was I losing my mind? I had to weigh what was important.

Everybody was now plotting their own release or escape — whichever came first. I didn’t care about what they served or provided. All I wanted was to be away from this confusion. I wanted to go home and seek treatment.

Anxiety had hit me hard. After losing my dad, my emotional health had suffered. Then my escape to Spain to enable me to heal had brought with it all this drama; a mental spiral dive. I couldn’t take any chances. My children were waiting for me. I had to make a decision of whether money was more important than my health.

I made one call to my husband and told him to send me Sh28,000 via M-Pesa. Then I went for my release letter, signed it and started packing. This time for good! I didn’t want to speak to anyone. There were three of us leaving the same day.

The previous night, I had sat on my bed wondering how the hell I had found myself in this quagmire. In a previous meeting, I had listened to people airing their grievances and one man caught my attention — he was always in a kanzu and had a deep voice. He spoke slowly but authoritatively. His name was also uncommon. Malik. I got thinking where I had heard that name before. I googled Malik Obama. He was the one. I decided to go and look for him; after all, what is the worst that can happen in this condemned place? I walked up the stairs. I knew he was on the first floor but didn’t know the room. I shouted along the corridor.

 “Malik! Which is Malik’s room?” A guy walking from the communal bathroom in nothing but a towel stared at me amused. He might have thought I was crazy or pulling a practical joke, but I repeated my question.

He just pointed to a room and I knocked. Malik opened and smiled. I walked in and we had a lengthy chat. A very jovial man. And yes, he was Malik … President Obama’s stepbrother. He had packed to leave. He was also very concerned about the young people in the camp. What their future held and what next regarding their mental health.

We were both leaving the following day, having lost a whole three weeks — but testing negative for coronavirus twice. Was the 14-days’ quarantine justified? Perhaps, yes but not the extension. All I needed was to leave. 

The final shock was when I asked for my invoice and the paybill number. I had to pay for all the 23 days I had stayed. A whopping Sh46,000. I was already numb to pain … What next!

Tomorrow: The drama of leaving and why I told no one