Our 1939 moment — Helen Moffett

Pic (taken in the eastern Free State) provided entirely for purposes of morale-boosting.

I’ve just watched the President’s speech in response to the corona virus pandemic, announcing lockdown until 16 April, and am both tearful and proud. I have an inkling of how my grandparents might have felt in 1939, listening to the announcement of war on the radio. You’ll all have watched too, so let me get to the point.

I’ve been wanting to write about the COVID-19 pandemic, mostly thoughts and tips (which I am hoping YOU will supply) on practical ways of building stronger social networks at the same time as we’re required to keep each other at (more than) arms’ length. This will be the basis of my next book, and I find I’ve been mulling almost too furiously to write, especially as we all know so little. I am not a medical doctor, and although I’m reading medical journal articles as fast as I can, I am still stumped by questions like: is it safe for me to make food for others, if it’s something the other party has to boil before eating?

BUT the reason I’m writing this in haste is because I’m worried that in the two and a half days before lockdown starts on Thursday, we might all turn into headless chickens. Forgive my presumption, but may I make some very, very strong practical suggestions.

1) Please DON’T charge into the supermarkets tomorrow brandishing your credit cards and clear the shelves of every possible supply. It’s lockdown for three weeks, not three years. You do NOT need any more toilet paper, and this is not the moment to hoard. THINK OF OTHERS, especially frontline workers and the vulnerable before you snatch up the last six loaves of bread to stick in your huge freezer.

2) Will supermarkets and pharmacies please (and I know you have very little time to prepare) create dedicated tills for the elderly and those with disabilities. Consider asking your security guards (I know your staff are already overwhelmed) to ask everyone coming in if they need special assistance. Lead them to a shelf of basic commodities reserved for the vulnerable (you can put it behind those no-booze grills). Make similar provision for health-care workers and others supplying essential services. LIMIT NUMBERS of items per person, or make discreet enquiries — is someone filling their trolley for four sets of grandparents or a community food drive, or are they just being selfish? Store managers should circulate, keeping a beady eye on the situation.

3) When you hit the shops, observe social distance, for the love of all the gods. On your way out, tip the car guards and trolley pushers as handsomely as you can manage: their only source of income is about to evaporate.

4) If you have the means, switch to online ordering. Yes, it’s all a bit of a muddle right now, and there are delays, but you will get your balsamic vinegar in the end.

5) If you’re rich, for heaven’s sake don’t clear out the baked beans and tinned pilchards and dried lentils. Go buy jasmine rice and quinoa and tinned artichokes instead. Leave essential cheap protein staples for those who really need them. (I promise to write a blog soon on how to cook with the weird and wonderful things at the back of your larder. It will be fun. No, really. Also *breaks out the Blitz pinny* on how to RATION.)

6) Middle-class employers with domestic workers, nannies, gardeners, etc: when you give your staff their wages for a month’s paid leave (which please please PLEASE do if at all humanly possible), give them a food parcel as well. Tinned tuna and all those baked beans I just told you not to buy. As big a sack of maizemeal as they can carry and store (or drop it off for them). A bag of dried samp and beans. A bottle of sunflower oil, some onions and potatoes. Basic hygiene supplies as well, especially a spray bottle if they don’t have running water in their homes. Actually, scratch all that, ASK them what they need: they might have storage and other challenges. They know more about how to keep their homes clean and hygienic under trying conditions than you’ve ever forgotten, so do not patronise — communicate, rather.

7) If you are going shopping, find out if there are vulnerable people near you, especially the immune-suppressed or compromised — someone who’s in the middle of chemo or similar — or those without transport, and add their items to your grocery lists. If you do spot people filling their trolleys with a lot of items, assume the best: they may be shopping for an entire old-age home (a friend who filled her trolley with goods for needy families in Masi this weekend kept getting the stink-eye — no good deed goes unpunished). Ask a manager to have a quiet word if you think someone is taking more than their fair share.

8) Now is absolutely the time to support your small local business, deli or neighbourhood market. They will be scrambling to respond — as the folk at Fish Hoek’s Neighbourhood Farms store told me, “we can’t stop the food growing.” Many of these will have to start delivering; make enquiries and set up eft platforms for paying them. If the supply chain is interrupted and their veg starts to droop or their bread loses its crunch, offer to pay them to drop it off at soup kitchens and similar NPOs. (Something missing from Cyril’s speech was the tricky business of food banks, which I reckon we are going to need urgently, although HOW to manage them with our levels of poverty AND the need for social distance, is a headache for another day.)

Enough for now. Here’s another picture of something beautiful — my parents’ smallholding in happier times. (This time, a cat did sneak in.) The idea is to remind ourselves that this is a beautiful country, with (mostly) splendid people. Good luck everyone, and expect lots of “for-the-duration” posts.