This archive report was first published on 17 June 2020.
June 17, 2020
As I sat on my hotel balcony, enjoying the evening breeze, a young woman joined me. Jennifer, a 32-year-old Nigerian interior designer, had just moved to the mainland from the island across, where she grew up. She was waiting for her friends, who had booked two rooms at the hotel for the weekend.
Despite her skepticism about the existence of Covid-19, Jennifer was taking precautions. She had moved to the mainland to be with her uncle and to avoid the island, which she considered the epicenter of the pandemic. Her argument was almost convincing, given the island's reputation as a hub for foreign travelers, who were thought to be carriers of the coronavirus.
However, the reality on the ground was stark. The spread of Covid-19 around the island was a concern, and most of the initial cases in Nigeria could be traced back to the island. Jennifer's denial of the virus's existence was a common sentiment among many young people in Nigeria, who were in denial about the severity of the pandemic.
As we talked, Jennifer shared stories of better days before Covid-19, when she was making good money from her business. She was under pressure to offload what she was going through, and I sensed that she was willing to share her story with me because I was a stranger. Everyone was going through a hard time as the virus raged on.
My concerns about Covid-19, she insisted, were unnecessary, since her neighborhood had yet to report a case. She was convinced that nobody was infected there, and that I should spend more time outdoors, as there was a lot to see. She promised to take me to a place where local herbs were prepared, which would protect me against every imaginable infection.
But little did she know, a tragedy had struck just hours before our conversation. A young man in my local team had died that morning, with symptoms similar to those of Covid-19. He would be buried that day, as per Islamic tradition. It was a sad day for us, and my heart was broken because he was just about my first-born son's age, about 26 years.
As I reflected on the young people in Kenya who were flouting the rules meant to keep them safe, my heart broke. It was a long journey ahead of us with this virus, and sadder still that these young people were in denial about our situation.
