One Week in March 2020
Overreact early and risk laughter, or under-react and risk crying later?
Here I share my journal of Monday March 16th to Sunday 22nd 2020. A 3m51 hula-hoop video version of this story is available on YouTube.
The President of the Federated States of Micronesia, David W. Panuelo, first declared a public health emergency across the nation on January 31st 2020. This banned FSM citizens from travelling to mainland China and other countries with confirmed cases of coronavirus, strongly advised FSM residents against traveling to these countries, and required anyone travelling into FSM from a country in which one single case of coronavirus had been confirmed, to quarantine for no less than 14 days in a state or territory with no confirmed cases. Throughout February, travellers stopped for two weeks in Hawaii or Guam before being allowed to enter FSM. Hawaii confirmed its first case on March 6th leaving Guam as the only possible quarantine location. On Sunday March 15th, I sat writing on my balcony enjoying the coconut trees and ocean breeze not knowing that Guam confirmed three positive cases of COVID-19.
Monday March 16th 2020
My working week begins with our Director of Security giving me a radio, I’m double O four. Our Cabinet meets at 9am — private schools have been ordered to close and we’re expected to follow. Data on the spread of COVID-19 is clear — every day counts. Swift, strict, early action– some might say an overreaction — saves lives. Waiting until cases are identified and their numbers rising exponentially is like standing with a fire extinguisher watching a small fire grow big enough to call the fire brigade. FSM has extremely limited capacity to cope with this emergency. Many of our community members are considered highly vulnerable, with pre-existing conditions, high rates of diabetes, and limited health services available. Yap island is still reeling from a dengue fever outbreak last year.
We agree to stop classes at noon and start a period of transition to a closed campus, with students in our residence halls on lockdown, and bare-bones administrative services by Friday. While people overseas are moving their classes online, some of our students, faculty, and staff do not have reliable electricity at home, let alone a computer or WiFi. Issues of equity dictate that we are not allowed to offer learning opportunities to some but not all. Since we cannot ask students to use our computer labs we cannot offer online learning at this time.
I try to call my closest friend, a lawyer who has been teaching part-time evening classes. She’s been on Pohnpei for four years and is scheduled to depart in June. She tells me that her week began looking out her apartment window to see the carpark below buzzing with folks in protective suits wearing masks and gloves, and police guarding entry and exit. Overnight her apartment block had been designated a quarantine zone. With increasing restrictions on international movements, she’s decided to leave on Friday. I’m devastated. I tell her to come to my place until she leaves. With the news of my Italian friend’s death in her family, this pandemic now feels personal. I close my office door, cry, then send an email to my family, subject “Should I be coming home?”
Hi family
So the shit has well and truly hit the global fan.
Classes have been suspended here in college — movements to be restricted on and off campus.
You know shit is serious when you are presented with a walkie talkie.
Tuesday March 17th 2020
I wake worried — my friend who’d woken up in a quarantine zone yesterday is in my house and we hugged. We drink coffee together on the balcony and I decide to work from home. She leaves. I hula hoop for 15-minutes and meditate. I fail to concentrate on work. Travel restrictions were imposed between the US and Europe last week, then included the UK soon after. I read that Europe is proposing a 30-day travel ban. The UK has 1547 total confirmed cases and 55 deaths. The UK government’s reaction to this crisis is weak at best — more likely catastrophic. Did they not look at the data that I and over 40 million others checked? Maybe they did and didn’t care, or for some twisted reason thought that business-as-usual was more important than the health of their citizens?
I look at flights from Pohnpei to Guam — the earliest I can leave is Thursday afternoon. I speak to my colleague and tell him I’m considering leaving. He tells me “Do what feels right for you, I support your choice.” I am blessed to work with such amazing colleagues, even if some have high girth! If I choose to travel, I’ll be moving from a place in which no cases are confirmed, through countries with some, to the UK where cases are growing exponentially. Wanting to avoid mainland America, I consider the route Pohnpei-Guam-Tokyo-London. I realise that already I may not be able to leave Pohnpei, and if I do, I might get stuck or quarantined in Guam, Tokyo, or anywhere life might throw me along the way. Opportunities for international movement are narrowing — the choice is to move from a place of not knowing when I’ll see my family again or make every effort to get closer to them and accept wherever I land. What if a close family member or loved one in the UK falls seriously ill — or worse — and I am unable to get any closer? I’d be paralysed with worry and useless at work. One of my few fears in life is not spending enough time with my mum.
One reason I love Micronesia is that it is a strongly family-oriented society. Micronesians value family first, faith and/or community next, then something else like fishing or food, and then perhaps work. Compared to my life in Japan where leaving the office at 8pm was an achievement, I laughed in Pohnpei at 5:20pm as I unlocked the door to let me out! People here take care of one another as whole human beings — like family, not just colleagues. Yes the irony is clear — my family is on the opposite side of the planet while I live alone in this family-oriented society.
I feel I am being torn between my life, work, and the ocean I love in Micronesia, and my family I love in the UK. Every single Micronesian tells me that this is not a question — this is not America! But I am one of four Vice Presidents of the college — this is a leadership position and I am responsible for my work, my colleagues, and our students — isn’t the first characteristic of a decent leader to be there?
After sharing my thoughts of departure with one of my closest friends she says
“I’ve never thought of you as selfish until I heard this…. You are supposed to be guiding kids on that faraway island to have inspiration to be better selves…..If I was one of those college students and saw the awesome Caroline flying away, I’d take it as a life lesson that when things go bad one can just run away. And I don’t think that’s the message you want to give the dozens of students you have.”
I feel awful. Unable to eat. No clue what to do.
I email my boss at 6pm, subject “Family concerns”, telling her I’ve looked at flights to the UK and ask to discuss this with her tomorrow.
My lawyer friend comes back to mine and I invite another dear friend over. We three share stories and laugh until way past my bedtime. I go to bed and do not sleep.
Wednesday March 18th 2020
Wake. Stretch. Hula hoop for 15-minutes. Meditate. This morning it is clear — the risk of future regret for not prioritising family is greater than all the negative impacts of leaving Pohnpei. Campus is closing — I will do my best to work (very) remotely and then reassess after 30 days. I successfully book the first two legs of my journey — Pohnpei to Guam, Guam to Tokyo. The return flights are scheduled within three months because bookings are currently flexible and I need an outbound flight to be let into Japan.
My lawyer friend has changed her flight from Friday to today. We hug and cry and I deposit an invisible gift in the palm of her hand — a hug that she can use any time she needs. We cry and hug some more and more again before she leaves. A few hours later I hear the plane depart — I wonder how far she’ll get.
I start packing, preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. If I get quarantined everywhere along the way, this journey will last over six weeks. I imagine two months of life in limbo — what would I be glad to have packed? I meditate and visualise in detail a successful journey arriving in the UK this weekend. I pack necessities — documents, health and hygiene products — into hand luggage, it’s ok to discard my checked suitcase if needed. I will leave one large suitcase with my colleague with some clothes, books and a snorkel — enough to re-start life in Pohnpei.
I tell myself to eat because my body isn’t registering hunger. I feel dehydrated even though I keep drinking water.
In the afternoon, I chat with my very busy boss. I cry and apologise as I tell her my decision. She tells me she too was raised “Family first”.
I try to book flights from Tokyo to London but fail. Firstly I suspect an error with my bank cards, then the British Airways system, then finally I get through on the phone but the call drops just before payment.
I am a wreck. Am I making the right choice? My body needs to move and projects me out to the causeway where many residents exercise. I trust the universe to send me whatever I need. I start walking, then running, I am crying, wondering if this is the last time I’ll be here for a while. I bump into a colleague, “How are you doing?” he asks. I slowly shake my head No…. “Too far from home?” I tell him what I’m thinking and he reminds me how family comes before anything else in Micronesian cultures. He knows this is difficult for me and tells me to GO! I continue running. I bump into an American friend, tell him of my travel plans and invite him to join me. He doesn’t know where he would go and we talk about the breadfruit and coconuts growing on island, the ample rainwater — things will be ok here. I see a mother playing with her child on a tricycle and am heartened seeing family-love. I turn around at the airport fire station and run home.
Remember to eat.
It’s morning in the UK now. I ask my brother to try to book the Tokyo-London flights. I am petrified that the UK is going to close their borders.
Just before going to bed, I remember to send a video message singing happy 6th birthday to my nephew. I tell him I’m trying to travel from the other side of the planet to be closer to him as soon as I can and to have a fantastic day.
I go to bed and do not sleep.
Thursday March 19th 2020
Departure day. My brother couldn’t book the Tokyo-London flights either. I go to A-One restaurant for my favourite tuna steak and eggs breakfast — perhaps it will be my last for a while. I give the waitress a $10 tip hoping to brighten her morning. I want to mail a notebook and some papers to England. The phone in the post office rings and my cell phone buzzes at the same time. An email from United Airlines says “sorry for the inconvenience experienced on your flight to Guam.” My body tenses. The lady working in the post office gets off the phone “that was United, today’s flight is canceled — no mail going out”. A customer stops taping up his box and asks how long will it take for things to get out? The lady doesn’t know. I imagine life here without planes, without mail — it fuels my nervousness. I text my boss to tell her the mail is canceled. I bump into my colleague and he recalls that yesterday’s island-hopper flight to Honolulu passed Kosrae before being grounded with a mechanical fault at the Marshall Islands. This was the flight my lawyer friend was on. She messaged me this morning saying she had to sleep on the runway. I giggled because I thought she meant on the runway but then I figured she must mean, on the plane on the runway. My colleague drives us to the airport. A lady working for United confirms, today’s flight is cancelled, a rescue plane is on its way, all today’s passengers have been rescheduled onto a flight tomorrow.
I return home. Hula-hoop for 15-minutes. Meditate. Correct my message to my boss to say that only today’s mail is canceled. I join an online meeting and tearfully tell other Vice Presidents of my decision to try to get closer to family — I wonder if one of them is wiping a tear from his eye. I feel paralysed. I know there is important work to do but currently I am incapable. I write to another colleague with my best attempt at delegation:
“I am suffering mentally and physically right now and close to zero functioning for work. I tried to be on the flight to Guam then onto Tokyo, but today’s flight got rescheduled to Friday. I have to make best efforts to get closer to those I hold dearly. But I may get stuck here, or in Guam, or in Tokyo — who knows what’s gonna happen.
Anyway, I am also incapable of giving you work directions right now — other than, can you move this forward to what ever you think best next. …. Sorry that’s the best I can do right now — can I pass the baton on to you for this task for a while until I retrieve brain functioinng ability? Then you can pass it back whatever you did — but this isurgent, community really need to know these answers yesterday”
I drink cold herbal tea and try to rest with Headspace’s sleep sounds playing. We are supposed to have an Executive Council meeting this afternoon for which I should write a memo about my decision. I learn that United Airlines did NOT automatically change my Guam to Tokyo flight — I should change it myself. This is an example of what my brother calls “customer self-service”.
I empty the fresh food from my fridge and give it to Grandma downstairs — she asks “You’re leaving tomorrow? You don’t need it?” I answer, “I hope so, and if not, we’ll eat together”. We laugh.
For the success of my long journey, I must be optimally healthy but I am a mess. I decide to skip the afternoon’s meeting and tell my boss I’m going swimming instead. A friend picks me up and drives us to Nihco marine park. It is so peaceful here, the hills around so green, we bathe and receive rain massages for two hours. I wonder when I’ll swim here next.
I return home and shower. I try to change the Guam-Tokyo flight but either my brain or the United Airline website is not functioning. I ask my friend for help. She picks me up, takes me to her place and gets us is into the 2-hour phone wait to speak to United while we try to make the change online. Her dad phones and tells her Guam is now under lockdown. We listen to a video of the governor of Guam sharing the actions taken there against COVID-19. In my current brain state, she sounds like an AI robot and I am terrified by her description of Guam’s mandatory quarantine procedures for all travellers and “covid isolation” unit. Travellers seeking entry to Guam require a medical certificate with test results indicating they are COVID-19 free within the last 72-hours. Guam national army guard are on duty. Getting closer to the US military terrifies me. What if I get stuck on Guam? They have forgotten their local food growing practices even more than in FSM. They are part of the US and have military and guns. I speak with my mum who agrees it would be better to be stuck in Pohnpei than in some US facility. I am so scared. My friend succeeds in changing the Guam–Tokyo flight. Another friend says she can send me the template for a medical certificate to print out to get signed by a doctor. I will try to depart tomorrow but I suggest a student should be on standby ready to take my place in case my heart won’t let me go. My friend drives me home and I’m so exhausted I collapse into a few hours sleep.
Friday 20th March 2020
Wake. Is today departure day? I read an email from a family friend:
Get yourself on that first plane and take it one step at a time. Your family and close friends are all with you ok?
This brings me courage.
My friend drives me to her office to print out the medical certificate template then drops me off at the state hospital before 8am. It is not yet open and I stand outside stretching in front of the hand-washing station. My colleague comes by to give me a mask from the college, then helps me find a doctor who checks me and signs a certificate. Who knows if Guam or anywhere will accept it? I return home. Hula-hoop for 15-minutes. Coffee. Tell myself to eat.
My lawyer friend has made it home! We chat online. She tells me that when her flight was grounded at the Marshall Islands, they could sleep on the plane or “on the tarmac between these cones”. So she did sleep on the tarmac! Her safe arrival inspires me — journeys are still possible, maybe I’ll make it!
I invite a friend over to donate him my coffee collection, happy it will be well appreciated. I talk and cry — he is an excellent listener and a strong hugger! We say goodbye until next time.
I try one last time to book the Tokyo-London flight and the universe complies! Flight confirmation received — it departs three hours after I land in Narita, Tokyo. I follow my dealing with personal disaster plan and share contact details of trusted family and friends in Pohnpei, Guam, Tokyo and England. I then prepare a document detailing my 2020 travels; I’ve been in FSM since January 21st, the first reported case of COVID-19 was in China on January 22nd. I include data, links and references to do everything I can to prove that I am COVID-19 free.
I thank every room in my apartment for the incredible times it has given me and others who have stayed here. I cry and hug Grandma goodbye and my landlady drives me to the airport. The flight still looks like it’s going today. Friends come to say “see you next time” and present me with beautiful hand-made leis. I hula-hoop. Check in, pay departure fee, go through security. I receive three pages of information on Guam’s quarantine procedure. The information about transiting passengers is unclear to me. Then I notice the final point 26 of the document — asymptomatic people coming from a country with no confirmed cases are not required to quarantine.
Waiting for the plane to arrive is too much. I refuse to look at the clock. I work on this week’s article which I started writing last Sunday — so much has changed between draft one and four. Finally the plane arrives. We board. We take off. One stop at Chuuk, a second take off.
We arrive at Guam. Off the plane, temperature checks — I am clear. But Europeans and British citizens are high-risk — I am glad I prepared my travel history to recite to the lady at immigration. I am leaving a country with no confirmed cases to move towards a country with many confirmed cases to try to be closer to my family. Where am I staying? At this address. Bang — she stamps my passport — I am through check one. I complete a health-self-assessment sheet — any fever, cough, symptoms etc. no no no no no. Customs allows me through. No quarantine — I am free! My friend picks me up, takes me to their family home and gives me freshly home-baked cookies! I let my mum know I’m safe. They give me a place to rest and will drive me to the airport tomorrow morning.
Saturday 21st March 2020
Wake at 4:30am. Check flight status: Guam-Tokyo flight is canceled. Go to the airport — I am rescheduled onto the afternoon flight. We return to the apartment. Now I have to reschedule my Tokyo-London flight. Though the date change is free, I have to pay the difference in ticket cost — for an economy seat, this is about $600 on top of the $2500 I already paid. I check the seats in non-economy class and find it costs only 50 cents to change! I am at the payment page when….
…the electricity dies. I am plunged into darkness. I still see WiFi on my computer and I use the light on the screen to fill in my card details but it’s too late. FFFFUUUCCCKKK. My friend comes in and offers the flashlight and data on his phone. I am trembling as I type in my UK bank details — success! The flight is changed from Saturday to Sunday, giving me one night in Tokyo in case of delays and plenty of time to transit between the airports.
My friend goes back to sleep. I am a tangled mess of nerves. I do 15-minutes of hula-hoop in the carpark and 20-minutes meditation. I decide to hug a tree — it is solid, strong, and comforting. My brother calls and we chat. I ask my sister to transfer money into my UK bank account just in case — it seems my US bank cards are failing me. I spend the next few hours trying to relax — stretching, lying on the floor, breathing. At 11am we leave again for the airport. My friend waits until I’m through security and we wave goodbye. The airport is quite empty. I notice a Japanese girl who looks familiar. All the shops are closed and I am delighted to see consumerism closed!
I ask a man who is walking up and down, “are you walking because it feels good?” He’s been in the airport since 6am. He used to live in Pohnpei, now lives in Palau and is aiming to get to New Zealand. We chat and he politely declines my offer to try hula-hoop. All this empty space is wonderful and I dance to the island music playing over the intercom. As I approach the departure gate, I see the familiar Japanese girl again, now with friends who I also recognise — that’s right! They are former students of mine! I ask how their trip to Guam was — “the shops were closed”. I smile thinking how great that is to me and how disappointing that is for them. Two or three of the students try hula-hooping! We board. We take off. We land at Narita airport.
Normally a UK citizen arriving in Japan receives a 3-month visitor visa. I am feeling positive until the man at immigration tells me British citizens are not being allowed into Japan. My stomach tightens. I speak in Japanese, doing my best to retell the story of my FSM residency, that I am trying to get to the UK, not from the UK. He takes me over to another man who starts moving away with my passport — I stalk him closely. Another lady comes along and I repeat my story. She asks if I have an onward flight — YES!
They keep my passport and send me into a very busy quarantine waiting room. People here look depressed and nervous. There’s a hippy-looking man with a lady who have been on the same flights as me since Pohnpei. He is wearing a mask and has a long beard. His face has looked increasingly reddened with stress each time I’ve seen him. I think about how micro-decisions drastically alter our future — like whether I choose to sit on a seat that holds the virus or not. I decide to stand in the space at the back of the room, trying to move my body, balancing on one leg, be healthy, be strong, drink water. A man comes over asking for my travel history and I show him the faded stamp in my passport which shows I returned to FSM on January 21st — it had taken me three attempts to find it myself . “Usui desu ne!” he says, “Yes it’s faded” I agree. He takes me to the immigration window for airline crew and I am granted a 3-day transit visa permitting route between Narita and Haneda airports. I am through — no quarantine! I rest briefly, call my mum to let her know I’m safe, then board a coach for Haneda airport. I remind myself of the importance of eating and treat myself to a fancy meal of pickled vegetables. I set up camp on a bench, put my eye mask on, and try to rest.
Sunday 22nd March 2020
Wake around 4am. Stretch. Hula-hoop near the top of the escalators. Occasionally people pass by oblivious to the camera recording. The airport is empty but perhaps that’s normal at this time? Check in opens at 7am. Flight is still scheduled on time. Meditate. Check in, go through security. One of my rules is that I’m only allowed to buy a coffee in a café if I’m going to write an article, so I hurry to publish what I’ve been working on — done is better than perfect. I board the plane crying and the flight attendant kindly passes me tissues. Once we reach cruising altitude and the seatbelt sign is off, she brings me a cup of chamomile tea. I wrap myself up in blankets, pop the valium a friend had donated me, and drift into rest for a few of the 13-hours flight.
I spy the English landscape as the plane tilts its way around towards Heathrow airport. We land safely, I’m smiling that I don’t have to engage my core muscles like we do on Chuuk’s short runway. I have made it! Apart from a few signs about COVID-19 and people wearing masks, it is disturbingly normal in a British airport during a global pandemic. The immigration officer welcomes me home, no quarantine, I’VE MADE IT!!! I pick up my luggage and am greeted by my brother. We eat lunch sheltering from the wind in a bus stop in the carpark. With empty roads, we drive quickly to our home town. Arriving at my sister’s houseboat, we greet each other from afar. My nephew and niece do well at staying away from Auntie Caroline. I go straight downstairs to the bath and my sister brings me a cup of tea. I am so exhausted I go to bed around 6pm. My sister asked on the local Facebook group for somewhere I can self-quarantine for two weeks — I’ll stay on a farmhouse nearby from tomorrow.
There are many reasons why I was able to make this journey but the two clearest are a) the President of FSM’s early response to the coronavirus outbreak and b) the UK Prime Minister’s ineptitude. I could not have traveled through Guam if I had come from a country with a single confirmed case; President Panuelo’s declaration of a health emergency on January 31st helped make that reality. At the time of writing, FSM have investigated a number of cases all of which have come back negative. The strict early actions at national, state and our college level have surely saved lives. On the other hand, I am astounded to find that despite numerous confirmed cases, UK schools remained open until the end of last week and immigration were not even monitoring temperatures at arrivals. Yes I am glad to have avoided mandatory UK quarantine but I am shockingly disappointed at the Prime Minister’s lack of action that will result in more deaths here. The UK began its lockdown on Monday March 23rd after 5687 confirmed cases and 281 deaths. Shame on you Boris — no amount of hand-washing will clear the blood on yours.
Nobody knows how life is going to unfold. What’s interesting now is that truths are more apparent than before — we live in fragile systems, anything can change at any time, everything you thought you knew might be wrong, everything you hold precious can be taken away from you. Given this reality, how do you choose to live your daily life? Every day I stitch my parachute through healthy eating, exercise with hula-hoop, and meditation. Though I doubted myself, when the time came to make the move, I was ready. I stayed alert enough to take all the steps I could to make the journey successfully. I passed through those health and temperature checks.
Now I have to come to terms with my decision and try to figure out what life looks like living in Suffolk trying to work in Micronesia. I wonder when or if I’ll be able to use those return flights. I feel tremendous guilt knowing that I am indebted both to the college and FSM. My actions will be interpreted differently by people, well exemplified in this message I received (from a white non-Micronesian living in FSM):
I don’t know how I feel about all the white people panicking and running away, thinking that their lives are more valuable than those of the locals. But people have always used their money and privileges to watch out for themselves, and most people are selfish despite the bullshit they talk.
It is important for me to live life with an open-heart. For all the negative consequences of my decisions and the uncertainties that lie ahead, I know that this was the right choice. This decision was made with love, not fear. Staying in Pohnpei would have been a decision made based on the fear of how others would perceive my departure. I continue my life’s work trying to re-vision education systems towards an ecological model of learning which cares about people as whole human beings. Wherever I am today, wherever I am tomorrow.
Thank you to health care workers, cleaners, transport workers and food growers around the world for doing what you do every day. You are amazing. Thank you for saving lives in my family and so many others. I hope my work in education and promoting healthy habits supports you even just a little bit.
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Disclaimer: Views expressed here are personal and do not reflect the opinions of COM-FSM.
