Voice of British Muslim Women

Arooba Hameed, Newcastle

As an immunology student, I remember the first time I studied viruses – gosh! I thought, a creation of Allah Almighty, resembling something out of a horror story; something like a villain hypnotizing every human on the planet.

One such tiny virus has brought the world down for the past many months now, attacking our body-cells to fall prey and abandon their daily functions. This virus is a member of the coronavirus family so it is closely related to SARS and MERS which impacted in 2012 and 2019.

I was at university and away from home when I heard of the first casualties in Wuhan, China. Soon after, news spread of people showing symptoms in the city where I was. The university tried to keep the panic at bay, however, having studied viruses in-depth by now and with our professors repeatedly talking about the uncontrollable spread of the virus, I felt there was more to the story. I began missing my classes and instead started self-studying. The first red alert struck when a student in a close-by residency got taken away by doctors in protective clothes.

It felt chaotic as people panicked and high anxiety levels created an environment of unprecedented confusion, especially when a friend was diagnosed with Covid19. For a split second you hear your mother’s voice pleading you to stay indoors until this subsides and the shame you feel when you realise you did not pay heed and may have exposed yourself to the virus. The feeling of the fear overcomes you enough to make you regret everything, ‘how could you have been that careless?’

Now, with a sense of impending doom all you want is to see your family, so you book any form of transport you can get to go back home before things get potentially out of hand.

Surrounded by fear, you begin asking yourself ‘why are you running away?’ ‘How will you help find a cure if you run away at the first sign of danger?’ You are, after all, trying to get into research’.  But I am yet to be a researcher, I reassure myself.

You make your way to the bus station, to board a bus for the ten hour journey home. The only thing motivating you is the memory of your mother’s smile, ideas for projects shared with your sister, the good-natured banter with your brother, and the comfort of knowing you are loved and will be in the company of your family if anything happens. You take a deep breath while boarding the bus unsure if you will make it home without getting infected that is, if you already are not!

Your thoughts swamp you. Is this the last time you see everyone? Is going home a sensible decision? Is it safe to greet family whilst entering the house? Uncertain of what is to come, you repeatedly recite different prayers, hoping for only good to lay ahead.

My eyes well up, imagining, that if I have, indeed, been exposed to the virus my chance of survival would be less than 20%, this would mean ventilators, endless pain and being unable to hold my mother’s hand whilst my soul left my body

3 hours pass on the bus, someone coughs, is this it?

6 hours, another long cough, someone please give him water.

10 full hours.

Feeling more tired than usual, I call my mum.
‘Mum, I am back, open the main door and please don’t come to greet me’. My voice breaks as I disconnect the call. This is the right thing to do, I tell myself, to save my family. They need not have to pay for my mistake. I pluck up courage and head towards our front door, so I could sit in an isolated corner of my room begging forgiveness from Allah Almighty for all the harm that I may have caused anyone, unknowingly.