For Better or For Worse

To be quite honest, I've got the swine flu blues.  We are now in day three of the five day "paro" or national shutdown, meaning that most everything is closed- from schools to restaurants to movie theaters to museums to bars to my favorite juice stand.  The president is encouraging people to stay at home, and I've mostly been following his advice.  Over a week of self-imposed quarantine, however, is not good for the body or for the soul.  On Friday I really hit my breaking point.  Usually I've got a pretty good read on my emotions and can tell you why I am feeling a certain way at any given time.  Yet, on Friday afternoon, I found myself fighting back persistent tears on the reception couch with absolutely no explanation for my compassionate co-worker who was wondering why I didn't look so well.  Swine flu?  No.  Depression?  Yes.  

In retrospect, there were quite a few reasons for my distress.  For one, that morning I had accompanied Bart, one of my best friends at the Casa, to the airport.  He was due to leave on May 12th, but like many others here had rescheduled his flight due to the concerns of his family in the States.  They couldn't see a reason for him to put himself at risk for another two weeks or risk the possibility that the airport would be closed.  So, after seven months of intense and dedicated service to the Casa, Bart se fue, with an impromptu goodbye dinner on Thursday night.  Bart had been a great friend and a huge support to me during his time here.  He came with the intention of working at the Casa part-time while writing a book, but once he saw the needs we had here for someone with experience and a vision to organize our efforts, he became much more than part-time.  He brought an incredible energy and enthusiasm to the job he assumed as volunteer coordinator, and we all became comfortable behind his leadership.  Bart is certainly one of the people that I've met here who I will never forget, with his bigger than life personality, brightly colored shirts, and expert dance moves.  Saying goodbye to him at the airport was surely the tip of the emotional iceburg that's been hitting me with force over the past few days.  (I will quickly mention that I was tested for swine flu at the airport as I pretended to be a passenger so that I could help Bart check his bags.  They did a reading of my facial temperature on a high-tech digital screen, and I passed.  No flu symptoms, here, gracias a Dios).

So, bidding Bart farewell was like tugging on the ribbons of Pandora's box.  All of the sudden, a slew of emotions came sloshing out- I felt trapped, anxious, drained of energy, resentful, fretful, and eager for an escape.  It is an interesting sensation to feel like one of the ten little Indians as those around you steadily slip away (aside from Bart, in the past week three of my friends left for the US and two friends left the city).  I realized with shame that as I said goodbye to Bart part of me wanted to be on that plane.  To be able to leave this mess of a city at a standstill behind.  To not have to endure this period of uncertainty any longer, to return to old comforts and remove myself from my responsibility to this place.  Immediately, I identified how selfish those desires were and slowly came to the conclusion that I had to be faithful.  I had to love Mexico City and the Casa de los Amigos for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.  The past eight months have been absolutely incredible and my life has been blessed by the heartbeat of a healthy and loving community.  Life has been an adventure, full of excitement and interesting people at every turn.  Yet, when the bad times come, as they always do (although something like this, I have never lived through), I must, must take the ups with the downs.  I must give my all to the Casa when it means spring cleaning because we have hours of extra time at home as much as I would when it means cooking breakfast for a group of twenty.  I must accept my fate as being one with the Casa and with the city; I must persist and ride out this wave because that's what people are doing, and because my neighbors do not have the option of hopping a plane to leave this surreal world behind.  So, I am here.  For better or for worse.

I think that the real anxiety behind my near breakdown on Friday stemmed from my worry about the coming months.  When oh when might things go back to normal?  It doesn't seem like the AH1N1 virus will be disappearing any time soon, but it is impossible that the city or state government can keep up these precautionary measures for much longer.  People cannot simply stop working.  Students cannot simply stop going to school until the end of the semester.  So, when public events begin to be held again, when the paranoia slowly begins to ease, will life here resume its' normal rhythm?  Will people venture onto the metro in packed cars?  Or will there be packed cars dotted with face masks?  As fearful as I am that it will take us a long time to adjust to life with the threat of a pandemic still present, I am incredibly curious at the same time what this adjustment period will look like.  I just have this unshakeable feeling that the life that I have grown used to will not have fully reappeared by the time I leave in August.  In the meantime, I feel lost in the murky waiting period, not sure of exactly what there is to look forward to.  We have had five large group reservations cancelled for the month of May.  We have exactly six guests staying at the Casa right now; all of them are either friends who live in the city, migrants and refugees referred to us by other organizations, or volunteers working with Peace Brigades International, whose Mexico City branch office we host in our building.  Who's to say that this pattern will not continue through the summer (our busiest months)?  Even after swine flu disappears from our radar, I cannot imagine that the lingering stigma will not deter travelers from visiting Cancun, let alone Mexico City, the epicenter of the epidemic.  

Just to be clear, my fear of contracting swine flu is next to zero.  I have to be careful not to be dismissive of the gravity of the situation because although I know that is is real, it continues to feel like a crazy apocalyptic dream.  No one I know knows anyone who knows anyone who has it.  Yet, the international news projects nothing but fear and pandemonium 24/7.  I have never before felt so acutely that reporting can be overblown, inaccurate, and misleading as I do now.  Anyway, life marches on.  We are making due at the Casa.  Baking has been keeping me sane in the absence of my ability to go for cathartic runs in Viveros, a breathtakingly beautiful park in the south of the city.  In the past week alone I have made a three layer chocolate peanut butter cake, an apple pie, a banana cream pie, and banana chocolate bread.  Sitting at home and growing inactive while consuming sugary goods is probably another component to my depression.  Despite it all, I feel more grateful than ever for the Casa.  This space continues to feel like an oasis, a haven from the all-consuming craziness of the outside world.  Even when its' halls and dormitories are empty, the people who are here find ways to connect, to share, and to process this as a community.  We've been eating a lot more meals together.  We've been letting ourselves feel sad and talking about it.  We've been brainstorming projects to give us a daily focus that we desperately need to keep from becoming despondent.  

As one last observation, I finally have discovered the allure of face masks.  Today, a taxi driver gave each of the four of us a mask for our ride home, probably more for his safety than for our own.  It was the first time that I had had my hands on one, and as soon as I slipped it over my face, I understood.  I understood why probably 70% of the population wears them on the streets despite how doctors have claimed that it is more effective to wash your hands.  You feel invincible!  You feel that somehow this tiny piece of cloth is protecting you more than you could know or understand from the frighteningly unknown strains of swine flu that are present in hidden pockets of air.  You feel impossibly more stylish, undeniably empowered.  You feel included in the secret that the masked masses share: these plastic cloth/elastic contraptions are our only defense against the terrible ignorance that most of us actually feel about what this swine flu will do to us.  To our politics and economy.  To our culture and societal health.  To wear a mask is to somehow wear a band-aid over the wound that is deepening as Mexico takes yet another blow in 2009, the year of the narco-wars and the earthquake and the AH1N1 virus.