“Hello, is this Ivan?” The voice at the other end of the call begins.

I’m freaking out, thinking he’s going to deliver some grim news about actions from hours past. Nonetheless, we might as well get on with it. So, fighting the urge to take on a new accent, new identity and, I suppose, a new set of values, I go with,

“Sure,” I pause for a moment then go continue with what has to be the best invitation to bad news, “who’s this?”.

The caller doesn’t waste time and goes into how he is a Creative Director and animator with some outfit or other- I tuned out briefly when he established that he had no ties to the medical world – not even as a vendor of a miracle drug that worked best if I referred two friends and they, in turn, referred another two and so on and so on exchethera.  

But this is not a story about advertising. That might have to wait for a bit.

I got the AstraZeneca.

Previously…

A virus proves to be the world’s next big thing much to the consternation of celebrities and fans alike. Everything comes to a freeze and we have to rethink our day to day, particularly apprehensive is the self-professed ‘germophile’ Fingus B. Dutty, who can’t believe there’s ANOTHER reason for hand sanitation, “What will they come up with next?” he posts angrily to his underfollowed Twitter account.

The birthday song gets a shot in the arm as the de facto hand wash anthem.

Unfortunately, that’s the only shot in the arm for a while.

Masks also make a comeback of sorts, but not the kind that archaeologists will dig up and marvel over, saying things about how their forefathers were hella creative. In an unrelated development, dentists see a dip in revenue around the same time.

The sad state of affairs continues to impact businesses with bars being forced to append the word ‘restaurant’ to their names and asking staff whether they know someone who can fry potatoes.

Elsewhere, scientists take a break from their research into whether dung would prefer “George” as their nom de guerre and start looking into ways to combat COVID-19.

‘Experts’ weigh in on the benefits of steaming and manipulating herbs to fight the deadly disease, triggering other experts who declare that the first set of experts doesn’t know what they are talking about and that social distancing is still the best thing to do.

Introverts the world over are at once perplexed, “that’s our thing” and relieved, “I would love to come, but you know, Corona!”.

With no sporting events of note taking place, attention is instead diverted to the vaccine race. Unlike the Olympics and the world cup, people are not overt about publicly showing who they favour – sort of like the election season.

The first batch of potential vaccines pop up and the quick turnaround means there’s no time to run the names by copywriters and focus groups. In any case, social distancing.

Working from home continues in earnest and by ‘home’ we mean the room the kids don’t know about.

But let’s go back to the vaccines.

The first side effect they activate is an overwhelming sense of entitlement across the globe, “We paid good money to have these made, we should be the top priority”, “We’re broke, we deserve consideration”, “I’m tired of washing my hands, give me!”

The third world hinges its hopes on the futuristic-sounding AstraZeneca vaccine because it doesn’t take itself as seriously as the other contestants, er, options. This is evident in how it thinks the rules don’t apply to it when it comes to sharing research findings, but, more importantly, despite having a name from the year 3000, it doesn’t ask to be carried in a container from the same period.

A new race begins – which African state will get the vaccine first – South Africa DOES point out that it’s not going to use its stock because they’ve got a new variant of the virus which the current versions of the vaccine can’t fight – the reactions from the producers of said vaccines flip flop between, “it sorta can” to “yeah, about that”.

Uganda benefits from a batch of vaccines under the COVAX program that, while bypassing focus groups and copywriters who would have suggested the name works harder, seeks to make sure that the nations without the means also get in on this vaccination thing. Vax to the max, y’all.

While everyone’s eager to see life go back to ‘normal’ – generally a time when they can continue doing what they already are without having to bribe a uniformed official, not very many people want to volunteer as tribute at the altar of Astra.

Pinpointing why is a little hard as reasons range from, “COVID is not real” to “Clots”.

When people do finally get the shots, they are quick to share pictures featuring rolled-up sleeves and grimaces that suggest a certain local musician is waxing philosophic in the background. That’s only the beginning. What follows are WhatsApp status updates that see-saw between, “I’m such a badass, I didn’t feel shit” and “Sweet mother of religious deity, WHY?!”

I got the Astrazeneca

Following weeks of second-guessing myself, I finally decided, ‘why not?’. It helped a heap that the clot naysayers kept volunteering that all drugs carry some level of risk, the vaccine wasn’t so special.

The first order of business was figuring out where to get the damn thing. Despite all manner of influencers lining up to get it, finding a willing establishment wasn’t that easy. A lot of the advertised ones made a big deal out of the fact that they were only administering the drug to people on the other side of 50 years, law enforcement officials and teachers.

All well and good until you went back to your WhatsApp status updates and realized your friends hadn’t informed you of their recent shift in careers…or rapid ageing.

Then something cool happened – the neighbour called me aside to tell me he’d gotten the vaccine (might explain why he’d suddenly let his beard grow out) and recommended that I go to Mengo Hospital to get mine. “11 O’clock, there’s barely anyone!”.

There was no time to question his motives- self-preservation or concern, I knew what I had to do.

I had to raise quorum.

This proved a little trickier than I’d anticipated because, well, “Clots”, but no matter, I soon received word that there was another place administering the vaccine – and I didn’t have to go across town to get it, I just had to call and book an appointment. Easy-peasy.

“Did you see the categories of people we are vaccinating?” The voice on the other end of the call asked, semi-sweetly. I said I hadn’t and they went through the usual, this time adding a bonus entry, “and people with underlying conditions…”.

I thought about it for a minute and volunteered, “Well, I do have asthma”.

The lady paused for a second then asked whether I’d be able to prove it.

“You mean like come over in the throes of an ‘attack’?” is what I wanted to ask, but settled for, “Do you want me to carry an inhaler?”

Turns out that wouldn’t be sufficient either.

“Can you get a note saying you’re being treated for asthma?”.

I was worried that would mean going to a hospital, having a doctor put me through a bunch of tests THEN receiving the all-clear, but I went to a hospital and tried anyhow.

“Why don’t you just get it from here?” The doctor asked after explaining why I needed him to write to another medical establishment.

And that’s how I ended up in a queue waiting for a jab.

Here’s the thing though. All those people that have been talking up their experiences miss one crucial component of the process – THE INDEMNITY FORM.

As you sit there feeling sort of smug and petrified at the same time, someone comes over and hands you a two-pager that essentially reads, “I’m aware that this could go South, and I’m okay with that”. There’s also a placard that you can decide to pose with that declares, “I got vaccinated against COVID-19, you should too.”

The placard’s fine, the waiver isn’t.

As the queue shifted, I started second-guessing myself.

A lady popped out of the room they were administering the vaccine from and said hi, smiled (I think – MASKS!!!) then vanished into Kampala.

I kept moving closer to the room. Kept moving closer to saying, “forget this”.

Then I noticed that people were being asked to leave their shoes outside.

It’s not the burning bush, guys!

I got in and the nurse asked me which my ‘active’ shoulder was – I suppose that would be the one that’s more pronounced when I shrug.

A few seconds later, the deed was done.

I was advised to stay hydrated and swallow some Panadol to keep the side effects at bay.

Ever cautious I pointed out that there was a flu possibly waiting for me at home, “Is this a problem?”

The nurse went on to prescribe some medicine for the flu’s host, and sent me to the ‘registration’ desk where I fielded questions from “how old are you?” and “what line of work are you in?” to “why haven’t you signed this form?”.

More than 24 hours later, no side effects have manifested.

It’s also likely that I’ve probably drunk more water in this period than I did the whole of last year and I have a second jab due in a few weeks.

Am I nervous? A little. I can’t wait to see what’s indicated on the indemnity form for that round, “Alright so you made it this far, great. But again, if this doesn’t work out, it’s on you!”.

For now, I’ve done my bit.

This reminds me, I need to go pop some Panadol and drink some water.

Stay safe.