As far as interesting weeks go, this one’s a cracker.
I arrived in Vietnam around three weeks ago for some contract work South of Da Nang, on the east coast. Whilst on the plane I noticed that around 25% of the people on the plane were wearing masks and frantically wiping off arm rests, tables and screens with alcohol wipes. I never snigger at hygiene and I always pride myself on being clean and tidy. In fact, when I was younger, I was referred to by one ex girlfriend as the Persil kid (that’s a brand of washing powder for those unfamiliar with it) but looking back, I don’t think that was an entirely complimentary nickname.
With some trepidation, I also noticed that 100% of the crew were not only wearing masks but were also wearing surgical gloves and I wondered what sort of a flight it was going to be? Having read up on the current Corona Virus variant, now known as Covid 19, I knew that cleanliness and avoiding close proximity with infected people was the key to not getting sick, so I looked around for a seat with no neighbour; but to no avail and I was, of course crammed in with the rest of the plebs. Back home in Australia before I left, there was no chance of buying a proper mask that had a decent chance of preventing an infection as they had all sold out and the only ones available looked like they were made from blotting paper and would only be useful as a false teeth catcher if you sneezed hard. I slipped one of those on, just to fit in. I eventually arrived in Da Nang after the usual shenanigans at the various airports and settled into a spartan but pleasant routine of early mornings, long days and early nights – with the occasional bout of binge drinking on Sunday nights.
A few days ago, Mr. Ho* our interpreter, wasn’t feeling too great and he’d gone for a bit of a lie down. He’s in his 70’s and it’s pretty hot out in the countryside, so I wasn’t surprised he was feeling the heat. The next morning however, we discovered that he’d got one of the drivers to take him to hospital early that day as he was feeling quite sick. I thought nothing of it until the hotel reception called up to ask for a copy of my passport and my flight schedule. I put two and two together and figured that Mr. Ho was suspected of having the Covid 19 virus and that they were tracing anyone who had been in contact with him. When I also had to submit my air tickets, I began to suspect that it was a bit more sinister than that.
*not his real name
It transpired that a Vietnamese socialite had flown from Italy through the UK and then through Hanoi to Da Nang some ten days earlier than I had arrived on a similar domestic itinerary. The socialite had evidently had symptoms when she arrived but had created a scene when the authorities tried to stop her. “Don’t you know who I am?” or something like that and she was allowed to enter the country. An older couple from the UK had sat just behind her on the plane and had followed her from the UK to Da Nang and they became sick around 5 days later. My interpreter had kindly dobbed me in as a new arrival and the potential cause of his sickness and so that afternoon, I got a polite call from Mr Ho asking me to come in and be tested. I should have fallen back on my usual *“Don’t tell him Pike” attitude when I got there because after lunch, I naively agreed to comply and trotted down there like the proverbial lamb to the slaughter.
*https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YMVPXmaKds
On the way out of the hotel, I noted that all of the staff had donned masks and gloves, so clearly the ‘word had passed around’ that there was a potential carrier in their midst. Not one of them made eye contact as I walked the long walk to the car. Not being entirely as green as I am cabbage looking, I had taken the precaution of also wearing a mask and packing a ‘bug out’ pack (no pun intended…) in advance before submitting myself to arriving at the quarantine station of the district hospital. I had actually been to the main building before when leasing an ambulance, driver and medic for the duration of the work I was doing, so I knew my way into the main admin area, but I wasn’t headed there. There were large signs in Vietnamese with arrows pointing to a quiet area around the back and in driving through the trees and around the dustbins, I was casually reminded of where the British military (allegedly) places their clap clinics on their own hospital grounds and I allowed my mind to drift slightly until the car pulled up. I was interested to see that there was a bilingual sign announcing it as the “infectious respiratory disease wing” and that there was a barred, but open window with a masked and gowned human sitting at a desk. I noted that she wasn’t wearing any gloves so I thought that it was a reasonable hope that there’d be no intrusive examinations.
I was beckoned in and my identity was checked by a no nonsense nurse who spoke very little English. She was not impressed that I had handed over a photocopy of my passport and visa instead of the originals, but I had cunningly cached them just in case… I knew that if it were confiscated, there would be little opportunity to find a local forger to create a replacement at short notice.
A couple of locals turned up as I was being interrogated in Vietnamese and I was quickly shuffled out to sit in the sun and ponder my future. It was over an hour before I was brought back in and on the strength of a 37.5 degree temperature, I was rapidly absorbed into their containment system. It didn’t matter that I explained that I’d been sitting in the sun for an hour or that the sore throat I unwisely admitted to (as a result of snoring hard the night before) was nothing out the ordinary, I had blood taken and had a chest Xray.
Things did not bode well when it was explained that although the bloods and the Xray was normal, the next test results would tell them what the follow up steps should be, but that they would only take swabs the next day and that the results would take at least another two days. In the mean time, I had to reside in the isolation area. When being accompanied to my cell, because there’s no other way of describing it, I saw Mr Ho through the glass next door. He rather sheepishly waved to me but I couldn’t see because of his mask whether he was smiling or grimacing. Upon hearing the door slam behind me, I quickly started to fashion a shiv out of my toothbrush. I reasoned that I only had to be lucky once, but he had to be lucky everyday.
Internment diary, day 1.
The bed, if you can call it that, reminded me of an exercise bench. Padded, but certainly not meant for a rest. The room itself was on the outside of the building and had barred windows (bars on the inside, I noted) and the locked door had a gap underneath of around two inches. I figured that that was probably an environmental touch to allow the geckos to enter and eat the ants, cockroaches and mosquito’s that lived in my cell. Pretty quickly I decided that there was probably more chance of me getting sick in here than outside, even if I was sharing an airline seat with a bunch of Chinese Italians and it was then that I started to monitor the routines of the staff for obvious weaknesses in their patrol patterns.
23:10, there’s a knock on the door and it’s a person in full PPE demanding my passport. I walk to the glass door sans mask and I see them recoil. I lock the door and make a point of kicking the wedge, that I carry for times like this, under the door. There’s another frustrated bout of knocking but it doesn’t last for long as I have sound cancelling headphones.
Internment diary, day 2.
Overnight whilst dozing, I had heard shouts and running feet outside my cell and it wasn’t long before a man dressed in the full NBC (Nuclear Biological & Chemical) suit banged on the door and as I let him in, I saw he was holding a mosquito net. He also said, in reasonable english, “you must lock your doors and windows, there may be thieves around” Ahh, that explained the shouting then.
The mozzie net was a nice touch, but sadly it was several hours late, as I had already become acquainted with the local insect world. Appel on that first morning was at 05:45, but as I hadn’t slept, I was up and about already. I resisted the temptation to snap to attention as these two bustled into my cell and instead, I determined upon a campaign of passive resistance.
The temperature check revealed that I was normal (36.5) and the blood pressure result came back (translated) as ‘pissed off, but otherwise normal’ Then came the long swab up the nose moment. I had experienced one of these before (a long story) and I knew how unpleasant they could be. It is literally the medical equivalent of bamboo slivers under the fingernails and about as much fun. I refused to show fear before my captors, but couldn’t help a loud involuntary retch as the follow up oral swab reached back somewhere close to C1. I was frankly impressed by how quickly the blue ninja’s leaped back from me, obviously expecting some virus laden projectile vomit to be coming their way. Sadly it didn’t, but it amused me to see them think that it would.
Internment diary, day 3 AKA – the longest day
The of the two smallest cleaners in the Republic of Vietnam and possibly the Empire of Lilliput as well, are completely dressed in head to toe PPE and have just bustled into my cell with a mop and bucket but they are steadfastly refusing to meet my eye. One of them covers the door as the other, not turning her back on me, quickly runs her mop over the floor, making the barest of contact but depositing enough bleach around the place that ebola would certainly die, if it were to raise its crook shaped head. I decide to mask up and stand in the hot corridor while they toss my cell and just for the hell of it, I stand to attention, with my back to the wall.
The doctor, who thankfully does speak a little english, appears from nowhere in his NBC suit and ignoring my posture, tells me that the results will possibly, hopefully, be back later this evening, but maybe tomorrow. I thank him, but this sounds like ‘mañana’ to me and I know enough from my couple of years in Mexico to know that mañana, whilst literally meaning ‘in the morning’ and mañana mañana, means ‘tomorrow morning’ can also means ‘sometime, possibly in the future’. I ask him what happens if the tests come back negative and he says that ‘we can go’ – assuming that I want to be in the same car as that snitch, Mr Ho. I also want to know what happens if the test comes back as positive. Behind his mask, I swear that the doctor is grinning when he says “we need two negative tests before you can go” In my head I tot up the testing in the morning, then at least two days waiting for results and hey presto, I am in the chokey for at least another six days. I am not fooled and start planning the building of a glider in my head.
One of his female acolytes, similarly dressed, darts from behind the protective form of the doctor and tries to ram a thermometer under my arm. After having seen one of them take the thermometer from me previously and slip it directly under the arm of Mr Ho next door, I’m none too convinced of its cleanliness so I intercept her and whip out my hand sanitiser and lube it up before placing it under my uniform – and yes, even the bloody issue pajamas are striped!
The thermometer covered in alcohol gel stings like a b*****d, but I refuse to let on and I remain standing outside the cell as the cleaners finish and at the appropriate moment, I remove the thermometer and check it. My blood runs cold, but not apparently cold enough as it’s now showing 37 degrees. The nurse grabs it and lets out an excited squeal as she runs off to make sure that everyone knows that the foreigner is rapidly deteriorating.
06:30 I get a call and hear that there’s a ‘red cross’ parcel on its way over with the project manager. I furtively slide over near the window and watch out for the car. I am able to jimmy the lock and do a quick handover, just as a nurse shouts out and the driver tries to distract her. I am back inside in an instant and tear open the food parcel like I haven’t eaten in days. Of course, when I glance at my watch and and see that its only 07:00, I know it’s going to be a very long day.
11:07 – I hear an argument outside and someone is arguing with Mr. Ho. I hear the word ‘passport’ mentioned several times and I know it’s my passport they are referring to. I’m pretty certain that they won’t find it unless the Cemetery next to my hotel has CCTV and they caught me on camera cacheing it.
14:26 – I have spotted a motorcycle parked close to my cell. I think I can hot wire it without too much of a problem.
16:38 – I resolve to shank Mr Ho at the earliest opportunity.
17:30 – I am looking for a beam to throw a rope over…
20:15 – Mr Ho hears from one of his contacts that we have been given the all clear. I give Mr Ho 15 minutes to have the doctor here with a certificate of non infection, but without much hope that this will actually happen.
20:30 – the doctor arrives, presents the certificate and shakes my hand before wishing me luck. He actually walks us out of the quarantine area and waves us goodbye.
I still wish Mr Ho serious and lasting harm…