THE FIRST TO BE UPROOTED

Nic Antaya

COVID-19 displaced myself and many others. Normal life was no longer normal.

I was living in Aarhus, Denmark studying photojournalism in the spring of 2020. I planned to stay until June. However, my plane was returning to the U.S. In March. Three months early.

My 6:15 morning train from Aarhus to Copenhagen Airport.

“Keep good spirits, bud,” the Kansas man said to me on the plane.

How could I keep good spirits?

I struggled.

I was ready to continue growing as a photojournalist and as a person. I wanted to stay with my friends.

It made me realize how quickly things can change. It’s not the first time I have uprooted my life and returned to my home state of Michigan.

The memories feel so distant and fleeting.

Everything has been disrupted by COVID-19.

The Last Day. March 16, 2020

I wasn’t exactly sure how to process the fact that I was leaving. In the matter of a few moments, I had a return flight home.

The final minutes I spent in Denmark did not feel like they were going to be my last. There was no buildup. It makes me wonder if I could have done something to stay.

But, it was already out of my control. Two friends joined me on a bus around 5:15 that morning toward the train station to make the 6:15 departure. Despite being advised to stay at least 2 meters away from each other, we embraced one another for a final farewell. I boarded the train.

I had an entire row of seats to myself. Not only that, I had the entire train car to myself to sit with my thoughts.

As the train neared the airport, the employees moved me to the front of the train. I joined a cab with a few other passengers spaced apart from each other. I watched their eyes dart around.

It was strange to enter such a large airport with so few people.

As I checked my bag for the flight, the woman assisting me told me of the airport’s slowing traffic.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’ve had better days,” I responded.

“I think we all have,” she replied.

I moved forward to the security line. Empty. Some of the employees were on their phones to pass time. They were bored. I talked with one of them, who said only 144 people had passed through their line in 5 hours.

After passing through security, the sense of fear increased. I began to see more people wearing masks. Echoing off the walls of the airport, a message rang out every few minutes:

Attention all passengers: due to the coronavirus outbreak, passengers are requested to not stand close to each other and not to gather in groups… We thank you for your understanding.

I was curious to know where people were going. I met a fellow American who was studying in Denmark. His parents came to visit. Due to COVID-19, they were leaving together.

We shared a similar disappointment over the situation we found ourselves in.

I met Gillian B. and her daughter, Isabella. Her husband and two other children were walking around looking for toys to get before the flight. Originally, they came to Denmark in January because it felt safer than China. The family was returning to their home in Shanghai, China, where they said it felt safer to be than Denmark.

“It’s where our jobs and lives are right now. We have more hope that we can just resume life there,” Gillian said.

Looking around, half of the stores were closed. The wait for the line of the coffee shop was non-existent.

I was surprised to see the currency exchanges operating. Kashief Saeed said it didn’t bother him that much.

As an employee for 3 years at the exchange, Kashief described COVID-19 as, “a little bit scary because we can not see the germs on the money.” Typically, he would see 10-15 customers an hour. Now, he only gets one.

Working my way toward the gate, I encountered Peter Maack stocking vending machines. He wore rubber gloves while doing so.

“Better safe than sorry,” Peter let out.

“It’s where our jobs and lives are right now. We have more hope that we can just resume life there,” Gillian said about returning home with her family to Shanghai, China.

Hand sanitizer stations were scattered around the airport and used frequently. Sean C, an American traveling home, used one and we talked. He almost went for a handshake.

The plane was nearly empty. I counted 31 passengers on a plane intended for roughly 180 passengers. It surprised me to see people sitting directly next to each other. So much for social distancing.

There was laughter a few seats behind me, despite the strange feeling of the near empty plane.

At that time, I was still processing the fact that I am leaving Denmark indefinitely. Either it hadn’t hit me yet or I’m getting used to moving around so frequently.

I later realized it simply hadn’t hit me yet.

Upon landing in Amsterdam, the loudspeaker announcement added to the eeriness.

“We hope you can be reunited with your loved ones. Stay safe, stay healthy.”

There were even more face masks being worn in Amsterdam than in Copenhagen.

It was finally time to board my flight back to the U.S.

I was so used to being surrounded by the culture of Denmark that being around Americans felt like a culture shock. There was small talk amongst the passengers.

It seemed there was less fear among the Americans, at least from the precautions being taken. A few passengers wore masks.

The long day tired me out. I rested my eyes.

I counted 31 passengers on the plane with roughly 180 seats.

My father picked me up from the Detroit Metro Airport.

I couldn’t help but think, is anyone on my flight infected? It felt like the riskiest place to be was on this flight itself.

I was startled to be poked at and woken up by the man next to me.

“Do you want my ice cream?” The Kansas man asked. I politely declined.

We later talked and exchanged stories as to how we ended up on the flight. I shared the news of my university calling me home due to the pandemic.

I’ll always have my memories but I can never truly go back. I’ll never be the same. Things won’t be the same. The world has changed. All I can do is keep my head up.

To comfort me while my world felt upside down, the Kansas man placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Keep good spirits, bud.”

it wasn’t supposed to be like this

Nobody factored COVID-19 into their plans. That goes for everybody in the world, and it goes for the eight of us. It was March 11, 2020. We had just finished the research phase on our magazine assignment — pitches were due in the morning. Late that night, when most of our presentations were done, texts and calls poured in from sources and fixers telling us to turn on the news and postpone our stories. By midnight, most of us had lost weeks of planning.

Come morning, we came together and pitched a different idea to our professors. Instead of eight stories connected by a one-word them, we would tell one story in multiple parts. It would focus both on the developing reality of COVID-19 and our reactions to it. In our presentation, we phrased it like this:

“We, as visitors to Denmark, are left in a state of limbo. Some of us were asked to come home by our universities. Some of us face worse situations back home than we do in Denmark. Regardless, we knew that we needed to document COVID-19 where we stood in the moment: our temporary home, Aarhus.” Our pitch initially had four chapters: the oncebustling spaces of Aarhus that now sat empty; the people who nevertheless ventured into the streets, either out of a lack of caution or a need for essentials; scenes from nature to remind us that beauty can exist in a not beautiful time; and portraits of those like us — international students stuck in limbo between one home and another. A fifth chapter was added early on, as one of us was forced home almost immediately, and documented his journey for this magazine.

Since then, half of us have been called back to our home countries. As a unit working across time zones, we designed and finalized the magazine while in quarantine. This magazine is both our collective statement on COVID-19’s impact on our lives and a timestamp of Aarhus, Denmark as it went through this challenging period.

This wasn’t the journey we planned. This wasn’t the magazine we planned. These weren’t the stories we planned.

In short, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But this is the story that needed to be told.

Many thanks to

Mathilde Bech Gitte Luk Lars Prevelakis Bai Søren Pagter Mads Greve

Lutfor Rahman

Jacob Moscovitch

Farhana Satu

Maddie Davis

Tristen Rouse Sabry Khaled

Solmaz Daryani

Nic Antaya