'It was like living in an institution but with your own key'

From fighting for food to finding community as the pandemic took hold

By Jade Ross

Shopping in a pandemic – more like shopping in a jungle. People were fighting over a loaf of bread that would only last five days. Neighbours couldn’t wait to get out to have an argument with someone they would normally have small talk with.

Being in the supermarkets was like being in a horror movie, looking at people’s faces without expression; everyone looked the same. You couldn't tell if people were muttering under their masks or smiling with delight. You did not feel the need to be polite because they might not hear you anyway. 

Forming a line in the same direction, hands down, like soldiers standing in line for the draft, made you feel like the country was at war. Phones were out snapping pictures if you were buying more than one of each item. Paranoid – feeling that you were being followed because everyone was going in the same direction. People glared or shouted “TWO METRES!” if you even came close. There was no time to think of the brand of tea you wanted: you just had to make do.

Shopping became a treadmill: get in, get out as fast as you can. It felt like elderly people had become extinct, locked away, fearful of the invisible enemy. Children were absent too. There was no laughter or tantrums, no lost toys. The choice was leave them at home or wait three weeks to receive online shopping you did not request in your basket. Key workers were unable to get a loaf at the end of a 12-hour day.

It was like gremlins had taken over the supermarkets and scrambled for the last piece of bread like a child at the dinner table of a big family. Retail workers were the ones left to deal with the mess and destruction. It was like the world was ending and everyone was going mad – like they would never see milk again if they did not stock up. The movies that we watched of the world ending seemed to come alive. People who believed in the apocalypse thought, "this is it!" – their preparation had paid off!

While those who could afford it had the ability to stock up and prepare for this apocalypse, people who did not have much money had to live day by day, dust in the cupboards and the lekkie meter beeping. It became every man for themselves and people realised who they really depended on, and who was important in their life. Instead of asking for sugar from neighbours you were asking for 5 squares of toilet roll or old newspaper to get through the next few days. The awkward glance, reluctant to give away anything in case it was going to be rationed soon.

Your neighbours learned if you took one lump or two, yet until now you’d never spoken. They knew what day of the week you went to the shops and it felt rude not to ask, "do you need anything?".

It was like living in an institution but with your own key. Each person was going through their own stage of lockdown and being stuck with the same people, driving them mad. Everything that you needed was in your area or closer. The Simpsons must be right then, except we don’t have a glass globe over the towns – or do we?

As the panic settled, communities came together to be there for vulnerable people who were struggling. Some created a Facebook page and got a group together to distribute the essentials. Women’s charities sent vouchers for Tesco, gas, and electricity. People started to feel safer: no longer a prisoner in their homes, but safe and cared for. Youth services ran sessions online, they ordered takeaways so everyone could join in, no need to worry about money! Who doesn’t like a free meal?

Young people started to feel included, connected and supported better now than before the pandemic hit. Group baking sessions on Zoom allowed everyone to join in with a shared experience; it felt like being in each other’s homes. We met children and pets, husbands and wives. We learned more about each other. Services and communities came together. What began with panic ended with community.