In The Times of COVID-19

Five weeks ago around 7pm local time in Dubai, I was texting my company manager about a cast member with a sore throat. We would send him to the onsite clinic immediately following the first show. We didn’t want to take chances as cases of the Corona Virus increased. But we were unconcerned as this wasn’t a usual symptom. The first show of the day started as normal.

For us, nothing much in our routines had changed. Numbers were down, hand sanitizer dispensers appeared overnight, and after some back and forth, our extension had been canceled, we would close April 4th rather than the 11th. But our daily lives were mostly unchanged. A little more handwashing, a little more eating our veggies, and a little more disinfectant used in the dressing rooms. We saw nothing of the panick we were reading about in our home countries. It was still business as usual.

16 minutes into that first show, my phone binged. That same company manager had messaged our mass group. All entertainment staff must be at our gathering space backstage at 7:40pm. Urgent.

My blood froze. There was no question in my mind about what was happening.

The next 20 minutes was a whirlwind of attempting to run the show as normal all while grabbing cast as they came offstage, translating into Spanish and Russian, and accosting our ringmaster as he exited the stage at the end of the show. The curtain came down and 16 circus artists and techs made their way across the park. Some in street clothes blending in, others in full costume on unicycles and skateboards, I’m sure we made quite an image.

There are roughly 130 staff members employed by the entertainment department at GV. Aside from the stunt team, we all gathered backstage to be told what we had expected, just not quite this quickly.

That night, was our last night. With 3.5 hours’ notice (as quickly as our bosses could give it), we were saying goodbye to the park that had become our home, to our lives and routines for the last five months. There were many tears and lots of hugs. Many staff came to watch our final circus show, the group of us cheering and jumping to give my boys the best send-off we could. And then it was over.

I have said several times, that last week before my flight was a month. We hung in limbo on Sunday as everything quietly and quickly began to close, restaurants, spas, gyms, even the beaches, and pools. There was no grand announcement or proclamation, just whispers and canceled appointments, surprised shuttered doors. We spent time together not knowing when our final night together would be.

Monday morning arrived and management came in at 8:30am to begin the takedown of the park. The handful of us began slowly erasing season 24. Costumes to laundry and packed away in storage, rigging slowly dismantled and packed away, bins of trash taken away, things we were saving for later thrown away or put back in boxes. The remainder of the company all came in that night, only allowed as far as the offices, to receive our final paycheck. We all knew we were lucky, many did not get anything after that final night.

It took me over 2 full days to shut down the circus. The mainstage and other areas were still working, I spent the last chunk of my third day helping where I could. The country locked down less than a week later. I don’t know if they managed to finish.

Tuesday afternoon, the UK team was told they were leaving the next morning. Half of the Colombians would be leaving the same night, the others the night after. The Ukrainians were being sent to the Embassy. Our management worked day in and day out to get flights changed and get people home. It was rapid-fire and exhausting work. Everyone in that office is a powerhouse. Through miracles, they managed to get most of us out of Dubai as borders closed and difficulties arose. Flights continued to change as countries closed their borders faster than planned, not everyone made it home, some of us barely did.

Thursday morning I received my ticket for my flight to JFK for Friday morning. I said goodbye to those still here, I helped coordinate and translate as more flight complications poured in, and finally, I finished the adventure that is packing up 6 months of your life in 24 hours.

I had some brilliant help, my American girls in Dubai showed up with food and beverages and mocked my packing cube habits, my Bollywood neighbors came by with gifts and hugs, I stayed up to send off my Ukrainian acrobats at 4:30am, and soon at 6am, it was time for me to go. The wardrobe manager and I stood in the lobby surrounded by our luggage, we both felt tossed into the wind. We’d been focusing so hard on shutting down the park that we’d never made our peace with leaving a month earlier than planned.

Our taxi arrived. We hugged our company manager goodbye one more time and off we went. Nearly 20 hours later, I landed at JFK.

Now a new normal has begun at home. We’re all quarantining or self-isolating and going a bit mad as it all hits us. We’re in an even bigger limbo as gigs shutter and dry up indefinitely, while we wait and see how the coronavirus will affect the world, both for now and in the years to come. I keep praying every day for good news, most days the good only trickles in around the flood of bad.

I’ve been home 4 weeks now. No symptoms of the virus, my roommate and I both appear healthy enough, not counting the anxiety we both battle and mistake for symptoms on the bad days. We rarely leave the house, only for groceries. My roommate is still working from home, I’m struggling to fill my time. It’s not easy to go from moving at 100 miles per hour to a full stop. Even a month later I still find myself not sure what to do with myself. I’m reading, picking up old hobbies, reconnecting with old friends, and just… waiting.

Because of the risk that I might be asymptomatic, with no way to test and know for sure, I’m stuck here in NYC. My dad’s rotation of caregivers has slowed, he’s home and safe. The caregivers know to clean everything commonly touched as they change shifts, but I still worry. And I cannot be there to help or ease my own worries. Or even make sure I see my dad again. If he gets sick, if his dementia gets worse, if anything happens, I still have to keep my distance. If I’m asymptomatic, I risk not only giving it to him, but also all of his caregivers, their families, and their clients, all of whom are at risk.

So instead I’m here up north doing my best to stay safe and healthy and trying my damnedest to stay sane. I lost two friends this week. Many names I recognize have also passed across Facebook having lost their battles with the virus. Several friends have recovered or are recovering, many friends have family members struggling, we’re all trying to stay in this together.

Then the news of the protesters in Michigan, the beaches in Florida reopening, the too many people in the USA who don’t fully believe this virus is really as bad as us New Yorkers are witnessing, and then the waves come and knock me over again. Waves of anxiety for the future, grief for our country, and blind rage at the systems allowing this to persist come in and threaten to toss me overboard.

I’m continually grateful for the support system I have here, that I was able to make it home to my apartment where I have so much to keep me busy and distracted, I’m back in the same time zone as my family, I can call without worrying about going over my international minutes, technology allows me to stay in touch with everyone and I’ve reconnected with people I haven’t seen in years. There are many things to be grateful for and to keep me grounded as everything feels like it’s falling apart.

But the waiting is the hardest part. Waiting for it to fall back together again, waiting to know that there will be work again to go back to, waiting to know that we made it through, and waiting to know what comes next.

I keep thinking of the quote from In The Heights, “So we survived the night, what happens today?”

We keep hoping. We keep staying home. We keep waiting. We keep praying. And one day, there will be an answer and a way to move forward.  

And hopefully, a chance for us to build a better world than the one we left in March.

See you on the other side.

xoxo