Day 4, 5…who’s counting anymore?

The last few days have brought some interesting developments. As life is busy packing its bags and moving elsewhere, small commerce, human kindness, long queues, hawks, dark humour and exercise flourish.

We first burst out of our houses after days of imprisonment when bread trucks started delivering last Tuesday. Once out, we first blinked at each other in disbelief and awe. I was ecstatic to find that people do exist in flesh and blood and are not only my usual gallery of holograms. I started walking in circles, smiling at policemen, looking at the sky and pretending to look for a bread truck, in all probability looking like a deranged, dusty mass of ill fitting clothes. There must also have been an aura of urgency or hunger to my passionate walk because some people in gardens started calling out and offering food as I made my steady progress towards an invisible truck. I thanked them all profusely and assured everyone I’m actually quite well nourished .

At one point in my journey, I heard someone saying they were dying for a cigarette. Now a spiritual pillar I always abide by is immense solidarity for all fellow addicts so I interrupted my bread circles, went upstairs and got a packet. In exchange, I got an onion. Big fat onion, look:)

The day after my mad circles and onion trading, small shops opened. The queues were huge but the normality of being able to walk to them – priceless. Is that the Mastercard slogan? Vague memories from a previous life.

Anyway, while stumbling around drunk on my newly found freedom, I was stopped by this lady surrounded by her cats. People over 60 are not allowed out of their house. She said she was running out of cat food so my next expedition was Whiskers themed. Yay! Lunch boys and girls!

Curfew day 3: new followers arise

The world is my gym

The novelty of today is that my rooftop aerobics have attracted a small but motivated number of followers stranded on other rooftops. My new class includes a father with 3 children and a nice belly, a bearded chain-smoking hipster and a middle-aged veiled lady. They all started following my (rather mild) workout with various degrees of success. The enthusiasm prize goes to the portly father, though he was summoned home quite briskly during the stretching session of our class. The veiled lady definitely has the best smile. The bearded hipster was not so stellar on technical score but definitely wins on program components, mainly on account of his massive coffee mug and infantile yet weirdly alluring pyjamas.

Roof top aerobics

Here is my new gym. There are no machines or personal trainer but the views make up for it. Yesterday, in the depths of my claustrophobia misery, I climbed the stairs to the roof top praying the door is open. It needed a bit of work and wasta (the all encompassing Arabic word for connections) but I did it. Yay!

The silver lining is not yet obvious