Makcik Pia and stage 2 of the MCO

 

Will the rules for stage 2 of the MCO mean more overcrowding, and greater risk of infection?

Nathaniel Tan, The Star

WHEN Makcik Pia (not to confused with her famous distant cousin Makcik Kiah) wakes up on March 31,2020, the sun is already high in the sky. It’s 7.00am, but Makcik Pia has only slept for five hours.

After washing up, the first thing Makcik Pia does every day is go downstairs and walk over to the local mamak shop, and buy breakfast for her daughter and son who always wake up hungry around this time.

She buys two roti telur today. The kids like roti telur.

Makcik Pia is tired, but she spends the morning cleaning the house, because there is no one else to do so. At 9.00am, she takes a short nap.

At 9.30am, she puts on her nurse’s uniform, and starts getting ready for work.

At 10am, the nanny who was subsidised by a local NGO for frontliners arrives. They exchange pleasantries before Makcik Pia has to leave.

Makcik Pia stays in Vista Angkasa Apartments, in the red zone of Lembah Pantai. The many police and heavily armed military personnel sometimes stop her along her 26-minute walk to Universiti LRT station to ask where she’s going, despite her uniform.

At 10.30am, she’s proud to see that the few Malaysians at the LRT station who are still taking public transport are mostly doing their best to practise social distancing. The crowds aren’t too bad.

She rides the train (six stops) to Masjid Jamek, and then takes a bus (KL 117 BSN Lebuh Ampang) to Hospital Kuala Lumpur (12 stops).

Makcik Pia arrives at the hospital a little before 11am. She takes a deep breath. She starts her shift.

Ten exhausting, excruciating hours on the frontline against Covid-19 later, Makcik Pia’s shift finally ends.

She walks to the bus stop, takes a bus to the train station, and takes the train home. It’s late, so the train isn’t too crowded.

She reaches the Universiti LRT station. Her back hurts a little. Tonight, instead of walking, she splurges on a Grab ride home from the station instead.

She arrives back at her apartment around 10.30pm and stops by the local minimarket, the only time she can manage to get groceries. There aren’t that many people in the shop.

She’s a little too tired to cook, so she orders some McDonalds for dinner.

She reaches home. The children are asleep, the nanny is tired and happy to begin her own journey home by train.

The food arrives. She eats – tired, and alone, but at least able to enjoy hot food.

Just as she prepares for bed, a text message comes in, containing the new rules for Phase 2 of the movement control order (MCO). Makcik Pia reads them, and goes to bed worried, unable to sleep peacefully.

Her life is about to change.

The next day, April 1, she wakes up at 7am again.

The mamak stalls are closed, because they are now only allowed to open at 8am. Her children are hungry for an extra hour.

Makcik Pia spends the morning cleaning the house, because there is no one else to do so.

She has to rush a little today however, with no nap. At 8.30am, an hour earlier than usual, she puts her nurse’s uniform on and starts getting ready for work. The house isn’t fully clean.

There will be an hour’s gap where the children will be on their own today, before the nanny arrives. Makcik Pia tells her daughter to let her in, and whispers a prayer that nothing will go wrong during that crucial one hour, as she leaves the house at 9.00am.

Makcik Pia arrives at the station at 9.30am. She notices that it is a lot more crowded than usual.

She recognises the people who are usually there at 10.30am are now all there at 9.30am, because public transport now closes at 10.00am.

It is more crowded than usual, people are grumpy at having to arrive earlier, and tensions seem high. It’s crowded.

She rides the train (six stops) to Masjid Jamek, and then takes a bus (KL 117 BSN Lebuh Ampang) to Hospital Kuala Lumpur (12 stops). The bus is more crowded than usual. It is the last bus of the morning, and it is crowded.

Makcik Pia arrives at the hospital a little before 10am. She is an hour early. She wishes she could have spent this time with her children instead. She takes a deep breath. She starts her shift.

Ten exhausting, excruciating hours on the frontline against Covid-19 later, it’s 9.00pm. Makcik Pia begs her supervisor to be let off early, because if not she won’t be able to catch her train home. Public transport now closes at 10pm. Makcik Pia’s supervisor does her best, but Makcik Pia can only really leave at 9.15pm.

Makcik Pia runs to the bus stop. She arrives at the train station at 9.45pm, breathless. She catches the last train. It’s more crowded than usual, filled with people who would usually take the train later in the night. People are grumpy, and irritable. It’s crowded.

Makcik Pia arrives at Universiti LRT. It’s 10.15pm. There’s another half hour walk ahead before she reaches home. She wishes to God she could call a Grab or a taxi, but they aren’t allowed to run past 10pm anymore.

She reaches her apartment at 10.45pm. She goes to buy fresh groceries for the next day, only to realise the mini-mart has been closed since 8pm. New rules.

She takes out her phone to order McDonalds – only to remember that food delivery services are also no longer allowed to operate past 8pm. Her nephew is a rider for a food delivery app. He was complaining on the family WhatsApp group that shorter operating hours mean less income for him, while customers have been complaining that they weren’t able to order their food due to a shortage of riders.

Makcik Pia reaches her home, exhausted. She finds her son has been crying. He couldn’t sleep because he was a little hungry, but the nanny had to leave two and a half hours ago at 9.30pm in order to catch the last train home.

Makcik Pia makes her son a sandwich from the groceries she bought yesterday. She should have bought more, but she didn’t want to worsen the panic buying. There isn’t much other food for herself, but at least her son feels better.

Her son falls asleep at 11.30pm. Although hungry, Makcik Pia has to finish the house cleaning she wasn’t able to do in the morning.

It’s 1.00am when Makcik Pia is finally dressed for bed. She won’t be able to take her nap in the morning. Breakfast for the children at 8.00am, train at 9.00am. The crowded train. The crowded bus. The tired nurse.

NATHANIEL TAN should have prepared better for the economic impact of Covid-19 on his own life. He is a strategic communications consultant, and can be reached at [email protected]. This article is (obviously) a work of fiction.