Leen Vervaeke - Volkskrant.txt Despite the health risk, China correspondent Leen Vervaeke traveled to Wuhan. She kept a diary of her week in the city ruled by fear. By Leen Vervaeke January 31, 2020, 8:07 PM Friday, January 24 It is 6 o'clock in the morning and I am in a taxi to Beijing West Railway Station. There I hope to take a train to Wuhan, the city that was closed off a day earlier to curb the spread of the corona virus. All outgoing traffic from Wuhan has been stopped, but it would still be possible to get in by taking a train to a station further on. Boarding in Wuhan is forbidden, but not getting out, because nobody wants to. I'm already halfway through when a friend calls me. She has interviewed numerous Chinese experts in recent days. She warns me that the situation in Wuhan is much worse than we think - more people are dying, the hospitals can't handle it - and that I better turn around. When I say my decision is certain, she tells me: "Whatever you do, stay away from the hospitals." The conversation makes me doubt again. The choice to go to Wuhan - the city where everyone wants to leave - has not been an easy one. As a journalist it is a logical step to go there immediately if there is big news. You want to see with your own eyes what is happening, talk to people on the spot, and not just rely on uncontrollable facts and half rumors on social media. But of course the question is whether the risk outweighs the expected results. That is a difficult decision, especially due to the limited information. When I leave, 850 infections and 26 deaths have just been reported, but more than four thousand people have been infected, according to British scientists. The deciding factor for me is that the virus usually causes only a mild illness, no more than a flu. The patients who died were mostly elderly with previous illnesses. I am 37 years old and healthy, so even with contamination the danger is limited for me. When I arrive in Wuhan around noon, the large station hall is completely empty. It appears to be a preview of the rest of the city. When I find a taxi with some difficulty and make a tour, I see empty streets, empty parks, empty squares. Everyone's inside. The few pedestrians out there are meters apart. Everyone wears face masks and some also goggles, for fear of contamination through the eyes. Their fear spreads over me. It is not so much a fear of the virus, but of everything we don't know yet. Colleague Anouk Eigenraam of Het Financieele Dagblad and BNR is also in Wuhan, and we decide to rent an apartment together. Normally we would not be together as two Dutch journalists, since we are competitors. But these are exceptional circumstances, and I will often be grateful in the coming days for not having to endure this alone. The two of them not only make it easier to confront the risk of infection and uncertainty, but also, in this abandoned city, the isolation. Saturday, January 25 Yesterday I decided not to visit hospitals, but when I hear the stories of overcrowded waiting rooms, dismissed patients and overworked doctors, as a journalist I find it impossible not to go there. I take as many precautions as possible: I am wearing an N95 mask, wearing safety glasses and interviewing patients and their relatives in the open air, not inside the hospital. I disinfect Page 1 Leen Vervaeke - Volkskrant.txt my telephone with which I make recordings with Dettoldoekjes. After returning to the apartment, my clothes go straight to the washing machine. The risk of contamination makes working difficult, but there are also practical problems. Due to the lockdown there is hardly any transport. Public transport is standing still and there are no more cabs. Fortunately our taxi driver from yesterday, Mr. Liu, is willing to drive us around again. He will prove to be an essential support this week. But in the vicinity of the hospitals he becomes nervous: he parks 500 meters away and asks us to come back as soon as possible. The bulging waiting rooms at Tongji Hospital have disappeared: patients with mild symptoms are now being asked to stay away from the hospital and put themselves in quarantine at home to free capacity for the seriously ill. But there is still a huge bed shortage, and patients and family members are panicking. They don't have much time for an interview, they go from one hospital to another. But they thank me - quite exceptional in China, where foreign media are usually distrusted. Strict safety measures apply at the hospital site. Employees are spraying disinfectant in just about every corner. But I also see things going wrong. I see a woman who has just confirmed being infected enter into the building from which an uncontaminated heart patient comes out. A few meters in front of me, an infected man blows the snot out of his nose, a yellow-green slime line full of viruses. I become uncomfortable, instinctively walk away, then return, in a wide arc around the snot. After a look at the bed deficit, we drive to the place where new beds are created: the emergency hospital, which will be built in just ten days. The activity on the building site is impressive, a wonderful example of Chinese organizational talent. But I cannot dispel the idea that this might not have been necessary if the authorities had intervened a little faster. If they had taken the first signals from doctors seriously at the end of December, instead of picking them up, there wouldn't have been so many infections and deaths. When we drive back to our apartment, we see roadblocks being erected everywhere. According to the latest reports, car traffic is prohibited from midnight. We feel the net of the lockdown closing us: we will be stuck here for weeks. But taxi driver Liu says that he still knows shortcuts and that thanks to a special license plate he can still hit the road. We decide that the next day we will leave as early as possible, back to Beijing, where we will lock ourselves up in self-quarantine for fourteen days. Sunday January 26 Bad news: driver Liu says that we will no longer be able to release Wuhan. All shortcuts are fenced with heaps of earth, fences or brick walls. Nobody comes in or out, unless with special government permission. We are very disappointed. In itself there is plenty to tell in Wuhan, but the virus is spreading all over China, and we have no idea how we will ever get out of it. For the time being we cannot help but wait. Now that we are stuck here for a long time, the first priority is to build up a food supply. All restaurants are closed, and so far we live on meals provided to us by helpful people around us. Now we organize ourselves. We find a Carrefour, where all fresh goods are sold out, but ready-made noodles and frozen vegetables are still available. We have less luck at the pharmacist: no mouth caps. Our own stock is limited. In the meantime I get more and more reactions from outside. On Twitter everything goes wild. For one person I am an irresponsible fool because I Page 2 Leen Vervaeke - Volkskrant.txt went to Wuhan, for the other a shit because I don't report from the hospitals. Some think that I pay too much attention to an oversized flu, others think that I am putting the approaching apocalypse in perspective. I don't care much, just read the civilized responses, but find it surprising: that someone from thousands of miles away, safe behind his computer, tells me how to do my work here. Only now do I begin to realize that the whole world is watching Wuhan. I am called, e-mailed and tapped by dozens of media who all want to know the same thing: how are things there? I want to spread as much information as possible, but when I speak to everyone, I no longer have time to go out on my own. I try to ignore my phone, but at the same time keep in touch with my clients and family. When I start typing my report for the newspaper in the evening, I get a popping headache. I have to protect myself better, not against the virus, but against the pressure. Monday, January 27 Today I want to take it easy, but I am only just awake when I get a disturbing message from a friend. She has been in Wuhan until just before the lockdown, and is now in house quarantine for fourteen days, until the incubation period has ended. I know she has been feeling a cold for days, but now she is suddenly seriously ill. "I cough up blood," she writes. "I have to get checked, I think. God damn it, I am in a panic. " I call her and try to calm her down, while I am shaking with fear. Is this still irresponsible? What if I cough up my own blood? With all those overloaded hospitals, I can't go anywhere. The rest of the day I am worried about every little cough and little pain, but luckily I keep feeling great. I try to suppress the realization that the virus may already be inside me. The girlfriend has no further symptoms in the following days. It seems like a false alarm. in the meantime, more and more people are calling to evacuate foreigners from Wuhan. France would like to put in a plane, and other European countries want to join. I am called by the Belgian embassy to ask if I want to come along if there is an evacuation. I want that, since Wuhan's lockdown can take weeks. After the evacuation we would have to quarantine for fourteen days, but that seems normal to me. Even if I left on my own, I would go into home quarantine in Beijing. The evacuation must be negotiated with the Chinese government, so we continue to think about an escape plan. At the southern border of Wuhan there would still be some holes in the city cordon. If we can get out of there, we can drive a car to Beijing and quarantine there. But we don't know how many roadblocks we have to go through en route, and we hear that Wuhanese are banned everywhere. If we strand along the way, we endanger not only ourselves, but also others if they are infected by us. We cancel the plan. Tuesday, January 28 Today we take a look at a checkpoint on the external border of Wuhan, to see how the supply is kept going. Thousands of drivers were given a transit pass after the Sunday car ban, to bring food, protective equipment and medical personnel. One of the incoming drivers has a few nurses and a suitcase full of mouth masks. He gives a package of masks to the officers, who thank him extensively - the need is clearly high. Just before we leave, another driver arrives at the checkpoint who wants to Page 3 Leen Vervaeke - Volkskrant.txt leave Wuhan. He brought a nurse from a nearby town to Wuhan, and is now returning home. His car is checked and photographed, his documents are checked. Everything seems fine, until an agent sees that his transit pass is no longer valid. "But my son is home alone," the man protests. Gesturing the agents: fast then. The man jumps in his car and tears away. When I tell the taxi driver Liu afterwards, he nods approvingly. And jokes: "Maybe we should come back in a few hours and also say that your children are home alone. Then you may still come out. "I won't recover for a few minutes with laughter. Discharge from a few days of tension. Wednesday January 29 Today is a day of rest, there is no other way. I have slept an average of four hours a night since my arrival in Wuhan, and that counts. I also want to read, because I have been concentrating fully on Wuhan in the last few days, while the virus and the associated panic are spreading throughout China, and to a limited extent abroad as well. I do a short radio call, but today I mainly record information instead of constantly broadcasting it. In the meantime an evacuation has been discussed for two days, but there is still no confirmation. With the exhaustion my frustration also increases, because in Wuhan we are encountering more and more obstacles. Driver Liu is instructed to carry groceries around and can only make short journeys with us. I want to go to hospitals, but I can't live without a car and I don't dare to wear a protective suit. I realize that I don't get to see the worst misery. Anouk and I decide to go on a bike ride, with a bike sharing, to get a picture of a larger part of the city. It is still empty in Wuhan, but there are slightly more cyclists on the street, and on the monumental Wuhan-Yangtze bridge amateur photographers make use of the unique situation. They want to escape from their isolation, they say, and there is no danger in the open air. It is only a matter of avoiding contact with others. To my surprise, a handful of restaurants take orders again, delivered by a single delivery person. To prevent them from spreading the virus, their temperature is measured at the entrance of each residential complex and they have to leave their meals at the doorman. I order a bowl of dumplings. I have to wait two hours instead of the usual ten minutes, but they are the best dumplings I have ever eaten. Thursday, January 30 I am typing this article when I see an e-mail coming in with the subject: "Departure from Wuhan". The time has come: the evacuation under the French flag has been confirmed, I am leaving on the night of Friday to Saturday. There are rumors that we should be in home quarantine, but I don't have a home in Belgium. I ask my husband if I will ask for the accommodation of a traveling friend, but his reaction is sobering: many people are scared of the corona virus and are not waiting for an evacue from Wuhan. I am only now beginning to realize that I am in a bubble here, closer to the danger, but also used to it more. In order to function here, I imposed a kind of mental quarantine on me: not thinking about the totality of the disaster, but focusing on the concrete. With 9795 infections and 213 deaths, there are now ten times as many victims as I was when I arrived here a week ago. But the queues in the hospitals are shorter, the ready-made noodles are supplemented, and Page 4 Leen Vervaeke - Volkskrant.txt the delivery person has no fever. Friday January 31 Cheered too early: the evacuation is postponed for a day. The way it looks now, we're leaving on Saturday. This is followed by fourteen days in a military hospital in Belgium, and then hopefully a flight back to Beijing soon. I am not worried about the delay, but I feel torn about the departure. I am supposed to be in China, my hometown and my journalistic area. And I have not been able to tell all the stories about Wuhan. But I choose my own safety. It's time to go. Page 5
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