6 minute read
THE PLACES THAT WERE
Solmaz Daryani and Sabry Khaled
The playground of a school in Aarhus remains empty, 6 days into the lockdown. ‣
Sødalskolen, 6 days into the lockdown. ‣
Lying in bed in my dorm room, I cough with fear and rising fever.
I get lost in anxiety of coping with stress and uncertainty of being affected by the corona virus. It’s just a few days before Denmark’s Prime Minister announces to impose a lockdown against the pandemic.
Gazing at my dark window with great concern and getting caught up in the panic of what might happen, as my body temperature rises, I think of my parents in Iran who haven’t left the house for weeks. Thousands of kilometres away, yet so intensely connected to my people never like before I get worried about my father’s upcoming hospital appointment. He suffers from the Parkinson’s disease. I think of how the world has entered this point and what is the first thing for me to do the following morning?
Amidst doubt and concern I contacted a doctor and made sure I wasn’t affected by the Corona virus. But I decided to go into self-isolation to make sure I don’t spread the flu. During my social distancing, I realized how the pandemic profoundly affects daily life: there is a before and an after.
Recovering from the flu, time like this remind me of the truth that the pandemic isn’t a memory of our pre-industrial yesterday, but a historical moment that raises questions. With complex answers from different government and people’s behaviour throughout the world.
In this pre-apocalyptic new version of the world handguns and toilet papers have become a scarce product, public employees sent home, teaching has become virtual, Friday prayers are cancelled, borders closed, streets and schools are empty. The comfort of being in the presence of others might be replaced by a greater comfort with the absence.
Empty spaces are the new way of being in the world. It is, in fact, a reflection of this special time in which we live. The act of isolating or separating oneself from others that makes this deep-rooted desire of human presence, more felt.
It’s 5 AM in Aarhus, the 20th of March. Holding my phone, I try to call my parents in Iran to hear their voices as they celebrate the Persian new year, or Nowruz - in isolation and far from loved ones. Nowruz means a new time or rebirth, and it is a time of coming together alongside family, friends and loved ones. A chance to rejoice a long and deep history in which Iranians would celebrate this infinite chain of rebirth, renewal and new beginning. Social distancing or not, Nowruz passes, and we move forward with it.
- Solmaz Daryani
On 13:00, no one is seen at Aarhus BSS, 12 days into the lockdown. ‣
People abandoned indoor sports facilities for the frsh air activities, 12 days into the lockdown. ‣
As the walls of the house were closing in, the distance between people became wider every day
The first time I heard about corona since I arrived in Denmark was three weeks ago. I was having breakfast with a friend and the first case was confirmed to be of a man who just came back from a skiing vacation in northern Italy. Despite the alarming news everything continued as normal but there was a growing feeling inside of me that this would change.
My neighborhood in Aarhus has always been quiet but never that quiet, for the first time it was silent that afternoon, so I was wondering where all the afternoon movement had gone? Why aren’t the neighbor’s dogs barking? And no music coming out of any window? I asked myself while I had my afternoon coffee on my tiny balcony.
Quarantine brought my curfew memories from Egypt back. Years ago, I experienced curfews many times whenever the government forces couldn’t control a situation when things got out of hand, which was quite often. Fear was the drive that kept me and others home after 6 pm, fear was seen in the tanks patrolling the streets that smelt like blood, it was also heard in the silence and emptiness of the same streets and in occasional gun fires. an enemy as visible as this changes you, and what changes even more is the fear of something you cannot see.
It’s hard to imagine what will change. It strikes you to observe what has changed when passing the deserted streets, shops, classrooms and parks. This emptiness speaks to how everything may have changed forever. As slow quarantine days were passing, The walls of my Aarhus apartment were closing in, I went out on the wide streets looking for fresh air and momentary company of the few pedestrians, long walks without seeing anyone. For days I walked the streets of the city trying to find traces of the people who were there when I first walked these streets hearing their laughter as a distant sound but disappearing every time I tried to locate it. I saw the empty corners and squares as absent portraits of the people who walked here close to each other a few days earlier with no fear hanging above their heads, trying not to give up to their dignity. And not measuring the distance if they spotted someone coming in their direction.
School, 6 days into the lockdown. Bazar vest, 7 days into lockdown. ‣ ‣
Downtown Aarhus, 7 days into lockdown. Student dorm laundry room 6 days into lockdown,Denmark closed it’s borders for one month and many International students left to their counties. ‣ ‣
The spaces felt meaningless and lonely, the streets were colder than they usually are, and the thoughts running through my mind were heavier than usual, too. And I couldn’t help but think about the future of this, I keep coming to the same questions, Will we recover from this? How we will be able to force everything back to normal?
A sudden nice afternoon wind pushed a dry leaf towards the bushes as I watched the sun set for another day. A beautiful scene disrupted by a whirring helicopter coming from behind my building disappearing slowly into the horizon which made think, this too shall pass.
- Sabry Khaled
6 days into the lockdown, people have been really anxious about the Coronavirus and also worried about everything that it’s standstill.
