My grandchildren live with their parents in Niger, West Africa. They were home for Christmas. I would not see them again until late summer before their next posting to Laos. (Two years ago when they were in Korea, I thought it was a long haul. Laos is nearly 24 hours away.)
Covid-19 swept through our fragile lives with a vengeance. When they closed the schools and playgrounds, I could only be grateful that my kids were grown. No homeschooling for me! My husband and I selfishly hunkered down with a full freezer, stack of books, a full bar and netflix.
My daughter -in -law and grandkids (3 and 5) caught the last plane out of Niger before the airfield closed down. They were to quarantine for two weeks. Our health is less compromised than her family's, so they stayed with us. I really enjoyed their company and was sorry to see them go to an isolated cabin in the Shenandoah area.
My son was still in Niger where Covid 19 wasn't considered as serious as malaria and Colera. Until the State Department thought, maybe it was. A cargo/sickbay plane flew from Madagascar picking up the Americans. It was thirty-five hours and several stops before it got to Niger. By the time it landed at Dulles, my son had a fever. He stayed in a hotel room. I suggested it was Covid-19. He insisted that it was "Niamey Crud" not Covid-19. Eventually the State Department ventured that he did have Covid-19 and monitored him by phone. He is on the mend and looking forward joining his family.
Once again, I am reminded, everything hangs by a thread.
