Day 280: Don’t Cry For Me Argentina, I Have Coronavirus.

Act 1.

It seems like everyone I talk to from Europe or North America, is eager to at least mention the Coronavirus.

Act 2.

I was waiting for my bus when a boy slid to a stop on his bike by dragging his feet in the gravel.

Flintstones style.

He was leaning over the handle bars of his bike watching something on his smart phone.

In the middle of the sidewalk.

Initially, I naturally compared him to myself at that age.

How the fuck does that kid have a brand new phone!

I couldn’t get a game gear when I was in grade 7, but this kid is playing Fortnight on a sidewalk in rural Morocco.

This is the only thing I ever wanted from Santa.

Yes, I hated on him.

The Ghost boy in Zagora.

Act 3.

The chicken or the egg?

Is the Coronavirus not a global topic because of technology.

Is our ability to share information, even incorrect, manufactured information not in a way, an infection?

If the outcome is harmful or results in a negative effect on us as individuals then spreads rapidly, inciting a global panic?

Act 4.

Maybe the virus we should be talking about is the phoronavirus, the medium by which people are being infected with what some would call “information” but what I choose to call, fear.

I was infected with information about the Ebola outbreak in Congo, in Uganda.

When people herd I was traveling through Congo they felt compelled to discourage me from going.

But I went.

Right through Beni.

The epicenter of the outbreak.

I didn’t see a single person with Ebola.

I don’t have Ebola.

I’m not suggesting that Ebola is not a serious issue.

Or debating evidence of its existence.

I am however illustrating a comparative between the Ebola outbreak and the Coronavirus.

I was infected with Coronavirus on a bus in Morocco.

The woman sitting next to me asked.

Did you see the picture of the man being quarantined outside the Airport in China?

What?” I asked, why?

The Coronavirus” she said, with a hint of drama.

Within a minute she angled her phone toward me so I could watch a video of a man in a military incubator in a public space.

Speaking another language, I think it was Asian.

Presumably asking if he was going to be late for work

“What’s it called?” I asked

“C O R O N A virus”

Like that. I was infected.

**As A Corollary**

Whatever happened to those pesky Hong Kong protests?

Could the ol’ Coronavirus shuffle be responsible?

Is it a coincidence?

“Do you believe in coincidences, Scully?”

Phoronavirus.