2020-19

Aybek will remember 2020 for many years ahead. It started on a high note. The government targeted ambitious goals. Politicians eloquently spoke about combating corruption, reforming the country, and improving education quality. Even the poverty, once forbidden topic, has found its way into masses. Uzbekistan was on its fourth year of reform agenda. While some people embraced them, others didn’t understand its essence. There were also those, who felt uplifted in the beginning, but ran out of patience later on. 

The march brought a wind of change. All the plans started to fall apart. Aybek too was soaked to this hurricane. Sometimes, when fate knocks at your door, you need to bow to make sure it doesn’t knock you down completely.

One day Aybek was alarmed by a call he has been waiting for some time now. He had to travel to Fergana. The time has come for another close person in his life. After a dolorous battle, his grandmother found solace. People usually feel a heartbreaking pain, but Aybek was at peace that morning. That dearest person who would run to a single corner in the house to locate the signal every time Aybek would call might have been gone, but he was happy that God rushed to her with aid.

On the third day after the funeral the country found itself alarmed. Local media reported on a new virus that has already struck half of the world. For some reason people blamed an Uzbekistani lady who arrived from Paris. Aybek was perplexed: Do people really think the virus was escapable?

If you are miles away from a virus, it seems unreachable. Moreover, people in Fergana are way more unsophisticated compared to those living in a capital city. That is why they didn’t pay much needed attention. 

Aybek was in shock when he reached Tashkent the next day. The city reminded him of Hollywood action movies. For some weird reason people put on the medical masks. Subway at around 7 p.m. was nothing like usual. Trains, usually packed with people, had only a few. Those distanced themselves from each other. Then he recalled the words of a taxi driver who took him from Fergana to Tashkent. He said something about people willingly paying 200K soums to get back home, especially students. In the midst of the unknown, they wanted to spend time with their families.

Aybek’s job was all about linking words. To that end, the “COVID chaos” took over Uzbekistan. The country formed a Special Commission and rapidly closed its borders. People were locked down at their houses. The commission took over installing checkpoints guarded by militia and military. Information like a surging wave arrived at people: Coronavirus?! What is it?! A virus?! A bacteria?! Is there a vaccine?! No?! Why not?! It will take 10 years to have one?! Why so long?! When the lockdown is over?! Are we going to die?! Well, I think you can imagine the amount of questions doctors, government officials, journalists and bloggers had to respond to. Few weeks later information travelled through television. Officials meticulously explained every step. 

Yet an even bigger information surge was on its way. “Ten new COVID-19 cases are reported in Uzbekistan”, “Ministry of Health registered six news positive cases”. Infection rate was rising. For many, each new day was a step closer to catching a virus. And people carried that sense of fear for weeks ahead.

Aybek has never seen the city this empty. Flashing cars like shadows appeared from time to time, reminding him of traces of life. Checkpoints in the city frightened people yet helped contain the spread of virus by detecting lockdown violators. When the Special Commission introduced a pass for vehicles, a lot of people found a way to corrupt officials to obtain that green safety jacket that would allow them to swim in the city of freedom. From the windows of his apartment Aybek often saw people cruising around the city on lockdown with no clear purpose.

Annual Nawruz celebration was cancelled that year. Nevertheless, the local government decided to install flags across the city to add a tingle of color to what has become grey days. But the flags didn’t show the joy of the festival. 

Several days later, on 27 March to be exact, the media reported on the first lethal case by coronavirus. It felt like the whole country was in sorrow, and the death was lurking at you through the neighbor’s windows. The mourning ended in two days when the Ministry of Health announced the first eight people who had successfully battled coronavirus. Aybek’s heart was filled with joy. “Eight people recovered,” was the first good news he had written since the beginning of the pandemic.

In the meantime, the spring was living its fullest life. Nature took a deep breath. Breezing wind stayed longer than usual. Occasionally, Aybek took a walk to the city. When he did, he was captivated by purple leaves on a blurred background of unswept streets and uncut city moan. Tashkent has never looked this gorgeous. Perhaps, the city was mourning those who lost their lives in the battle against the virus. Who knows what is on nature’s mind? 

One thing was clear. More people began to recover. “They made the right decision by locking us at home,” they said. “But it is time to be back on our feet and feed our families.” By the end of April, the Special Commission decided to lift some of the quarantine measures. People were released from their shelters. Aybek felt odd to be around them again. He almost went savage. Cars filled in city roads. Public transportation, however, wasn’t operating which hurt the most. People had to pay double the price of a regular charge to get to and back to work within a certain period of time in the morning and evening. Some taxi drivers went further and explored new privileges. People who treated the pandemic seriously felt the strangeness of a new reality. Standing 2 meters away from each other was a bewildering thing.

2020 had yet another surprise. On 1 May Syrdarya region witnessed Sardoba dam failure. 0:1 for corruption.

Lockdown, by the way, was still in place. It has been extended and regions of Uzbekistan were divided like traffic lights. Just like traffic lights, they mingled from time to time. Well, both people and the local government were to blame. Sometime later, local khokims, prosecutors and other officials would offer their apologies to the people via national television. Aybek would be blown away. He never thought this could happen in Uzbekistan. People played their part too. Wearing a mask on the forehead or on a chin was obviously much more helpful than having it on face. Besides, some showed their ignorance by shaking hands and kissing while greeting each other. Some even put together grandiose weddings inviting 100-200 people. There were rumors that someone in Andijan organized a wedding for 300 guests. Everyone had to pay the price. 

On 30 May, the country extended quarantine measures until 15 June and began to close slowly. Infection and death rates were on the rise. Depressing clouds covered Uzbekistan. The country was about to take-off toward the grey sky. A rapid and turbulent flight that takes you to an unknown place with no return ticket. There, up in the sky, surrounded by grey clouds, the country had to find its way back.

People lost their jobs and patience. Lockdown hit hard on mental health. The same day the media reported a new daily infection record. Many, seeing their friends, family members and neighbors catching the virus, were speculative about official statistics. Yet it is hard to count the number of people who didn’t report back on their infection and quietly got over it at home. Presumably, people finally understood the real danger of the virus. Aybek’s thoughts at that moment were about those individuals who refused to acknowledge the existence of COVID-19 in the beginning of the pandemic and bluntly said, “Why would I care? I can’t see a single sick person around me, therefore no virus is out there”, “They did that on purpose! They locked us in our cells and minded their own business behind the bars.”

It was the second attempt to put out the fire, but it was late. The virus sneaked into masses. “We are all to blame,” thought Aybek. Thousands of Uzbekistani left in between two borders in Kazakhstan and Russia. There was no way they could come back home. The border is a new home. The government didn’t abandon them, nor they could return them all at once. 

One thing was clear: the pandemic escalated, and it was hard to bear its consequences. People didn’t mind getting sick, because they needed money. Everyone was exhausted. In July-August there was a death surge among doctors. It is so ironic and sad at the same time, but people finally found their true heroes in 2020. Some doctors sacrificed their lives, saving dozens, others were lucky enough to survive. Aybek once had a conversation with an acquaintance. She told him, “I recently bumped into Ulugbek aka. I did not recognize him. I can tell for sure that that slender, charismatic person is gone. That man with grey hair and sunken eyes walked hunched over. I was scared.” Since the pandemic hit Uzbekistan, Ulugbek aka rushed to help his colleagues. Aybek was a regular visitor of Ulugbek aka before that. He would come for no reason and would always be in awe with the doctor’s tacit character. Aybek was appalled to hear this news because it wasn’t only Ulugbek aka who suffered. Facebook was flooded by deaths.

It might have been the death rates, or the nation’s despair, or the fact that the economy was close to being crashed, but the Special Commission decided to slowly lift quarantine measures. September-October saw another wave of infections, but it decreased in November-December. By the end of the year, scientists succeeded in inventing the vaccine, but the virus hasn’t disappeared. It stuck with us, like a shadow. It is everywhere, you can’t touch the shadow, but you can catch it.

People didn’t know when this chaos would end. Aybek, despite his stoic nature, was running out of patience. He wished he would willingly point the finger at somebody and yell, “That is your fault!”, but as his good friend told him once, “Will it change anything?”

2020-19 is the year when people across the globe were trapped in their own worlds. It is the year when they felt squished. It is the year when they felt lonely in the company of the closest people in the universe. Hopefully, everybody made their lesson learned: it is better to live staring at your shadow, than waiting till the shadow comes after you.

See you here @andanotherday