Post-pandemic socialising
Even Gollum left his cave to pursue the ring
I look at names the same way people revere starsigns. In the most pseudo-scientific way, I (gullibly) believe your name does make up some aspect of your character. In the Ashanti culture, every person gets a name with respect to the day they are born; and with it a set of personality traits. If you are called Yaw, you are calm. If you are Kojo, you are smart. Kofis are always a little crafty. Kwabenas are always good. In a way it almost becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy because I was once told that 80% of Ghanaian prisoners are also called Kofi — don’t hold me to it. I don’t think my first name says much about me but my second name has really bound my destiny.
“You were named after your grandmother,” my dad explained, “all her siblings were tall, slim and dark. However, when she was born, she came out short and light. She was a special one.”
Due to her difference in physicality, my grandma is called Ntomo, because ‘o ba too mu’. Whenever I ask my parents what that means I’m told it means special one however, when you translate the phrase into English, the true meaning is either: she fell in or she is out of place. The phrase is more ugly duckling than special snowflake.
There have been so many painfully awkward moments that I’m sure my ancestors facepalm in embarrassment. Reminders of how out of sync I was with those around me.
The time I shouted ‘rule Britannia’ after a history presentation in class.
The time I walked around Hyde Park with hairy legs because my mother said it was the norm in the West — I garnered a lot of stares.
The time I hyped up the awesomeness of the rice cooker when people found it weird that I owned one.
All these moments, unfortunately forged a shy and quiet introvert. Every event was preceded with various anxiety ridden thoughts on how I would manage each social encounter and concluded with me in bed at 3am asking myself, ‘why the hell did I do that?’ It felt like I would forever be the ugly duckling.
This changed slightly when I qualified as a pharmacist. I began taking shifts in random places across Liverpool and North Wales; and with that I would meet random people with each shift. My first shift led me to a small area on the outskirts of Liverpool. I had rehearsed the line multiple times, taking a deep breath.
“Hi, I’m Khezia, the locum pharmacist,” I greeted with counterfeit courage. The staff greeted cheerily. I stayed quiet most of the time, keeping my head down and not really saying much as I worked on prescriptions. I breathed a sigh of relief once the shift had ended.
Fast forward 9 months. I navigated different pharmacies like a pro; with some even asking me to come back. I’d like to think it was because of my charming personality as well as my work ethic. I felt my confidence building, for the first time feeling comfortable in social situations.
Unfortunately the pandemic hit. My social skills waned with the loss of human interaction as I slowly retreated into my room, given that I was living with vulnerable people, that also meant no more locum shifts. I slowly fell into a cycle of working, eating and sleeping in my cave. I was out of touch with the outside world. My want to stay by myself was so strong I did not even want to leave my house to go to the supermarket. I retreated into myself.
Things are slowly returning back to normal now that our prime minister, Uncle Boris, has lifted most restrictions. It was time to return to a pre-lockdown version of myself. However, a pre-lockdown version of myself did not fit in a post lockdown era.
It started off with the little things: running for a train and then forgetting to get a mask before you reach the platform; everything had to be planned and pre-planned. Every outing meant I had to check and double check attendees, health and safety requirements.
“Sorry, you cannot enter the restaurant until you have the tracking app,” a waiter explained as my friend and I waited outside. Information flew about but it was never clear what was expected. It was like white noise, the static constantly building along with your confusion on what to do.
Although the lockdown may have seemed the death knell for the social lives of many including myself, ironically it has made me appreciate the fragile chords of affection that bind us together more than ever before. I find myself more intrigued by the lives of others. I care more. I want to know more. I want to make the moments count.
