The news hit with varying bangs across the world. In Lagos, it seemed like an unimportant whisper at first: something you heard, and almost forgot long before you could empathise.
It didn’t even hit as hard as the hurricanes or earth quakes we saw in the news sometimes.
Hell, it wasn’t something we could even see.
And then, BOOM! It’s suddenly everywhere: coronavirus.
Toyo was one of the most meticulous people I knew. She was so clean and careful, you’d wonder why she was not a dentist.
Before the airwaves began to peddle precautionary measures to live by, she was weeks ahead. She sanitized her home to begin with, and then propounded a no-visitors-till-further-notice principle which she stuck to like moth to fire.
When Toyo went out to get her groceries and toiletries, she would sterilize every item as soon as she got in. Then she would clean the kitchen, wash the clothes she wore out immediately, take an express bath, and then scrub the bathroom too.
She would then sit in front of her television, tune to any News station, and see how much of the world is still standing.
One evening she developed an itchy throat. A normal person would say it was nothing, but Toyo was the least normal person in Lagos as far as hygiene and pessimism went in the same breath.
A normal person would also say they were being psychosomatic at worst, but the news reports about that Italian man who flew into Lagos with the bug had dealt her sense a clinical knockout.
All she could see was doom.