Xolisa Peters*, a nurse at Cape Town’s Tygerberg Hospital, says she prays more now, during the coronavirus outbreak, than she did before.

Her drive to the brown-bricked building in Bellville in Cape Town’s northern suburbs is quiet and reflective. She doesn’t know if this shift at work will make her a statistic.

Peters works in the paediatric ward but, although this is far removed from the areas of the hospital treating Covid-19 patients, she’s not unaffected by the Western Cape’s exponentially increasing number of positive cases.

Public-sector workers unions say about 150 staff members at Tygerberg have tested positive for the coronavirus to date.

“We’ve had so many nursing staff either testing positive or currently in quarantine that I can arrive at my ward this morning and then be asked to go work in another ward that has Covid patients. I have to mentally prepare myself every day,” Peters says. 

Although she’s not borne the brunt of the outbreak just yet, being on the front lines of the medical response is starting to take its toll on the 30-something nurse. “You only have so much mental energy to deal with so much every single day. I will never refuse an assignment; I will always help. But you reach a point where you just feel exhausted…

“Every day as I get in I ask: ‘Is this the day where there’s an explosion of patients with flu-like symptoms? Will there be enough staff?’ It’s very frustrating not being able to prepare your mind before work because you just don’t know what is going to happen.”

Another nurse, who only wants to be identified as Sister Asanda, works in Tygerberg’s Covid intensive care ward, the epicentre of the medical response in the Western Cape, if not South Africa. She details the mental strain of working in the hospital that is considered the ground-zero of treating coronavirus patients. 

Here doctors and nurses are forced to place patients under ventilation as a last medical resort. Many don’t survive. The staff here deal with death every day.

“It is very stressful. One of my colleagues in my ward just tested positive. It’s very difficult, but we need to support each other. We have some people who’ve become hysterical when they found out one of their colleagues is positive, especially since we’ve had staff in this hospital die already,” says the nurse, who has 16 years of service.

Of the six healthcare workers in the Western Cape who have died from Covid-19, two were working at Tygerberg hospital.

Two weeks ago, trauma nurse Anncha Kepkey died after contracting the coronavirus. Sister Asanda says she knew Kepkey since the time they studied together. On Kepkey’s social media profile, her picture is bordered by a frame that reads, “I can’t stay home, I’m an essential worker.”

“I was broken when I heard that news. She was a wonderful person. We lost someone who was hands-on and dedicated,” Asanda says.

“Nothing in our training prepared us for this. I’ve done my four-year course, I did ICU [intensive care unit] training, I did primary healthcare [and] I have experience in dealing with infectious disease, but this is not the same.

“We’ll usually have at most two patients with a serious infection, but now it’s a whole ward of the same thing,” she adds.

Sister Sylvia Makamu also works in the paediatric ward at Tygerberg hospital. She was among nurses picketing outside the hospital earlier this week with the support of trade union The National Union of Public Service and Allied Workers.

The union is calling on the hospital management to ensure that nurses are protected with personal protective equipment, and ensure health workers are tested after coming in contact with a positive case.

Makamu said she wants to be tested, although she’s not showing symptoms, because it will put her mind at ease.

“There are children who are Covid-positive in my ward. I don’t feel safe. When there are staff shortages, I get posted to wards where people are in quarantine, awaiting their test results.

“When people come back tested as positive, I don’t get to be tested if I don’t show symptoms, and that worries me,” Makamu says.

Western Cape Health authorities admit the outbreak in the province is now beginning to affect health workers. It is a pattern that has been seen around the world. As more people need medical attention, more staff are affected themselves.

“All over the world, the human resource system becomes affected and overloaded. We have to prioritise healthcare workers. Almost half of the staff in the province who have been affected have already recovered,” says Western Cape health MEC Nomafrench Mbombo.

Testing workers suspected of being Covid-positive is a priority, says Mbombo, but this is taking place at the expense of other people, who now have to wait longer.

The psychological effect of the outbreak has also been recognised. The department wants to prevent fatigue and a drop in morale.

The head of the Western Cape department of health, Keith Cloete, says the department is regularly meeting with labour unions to brief them on the plan to fight the virus.

“The anxiety is not about policy. The anxiety is people feeling tired and anxious. We [are] backing that up with support [for nurses] and we may need to bring in more psychosocial and psychological support,” Cloete says.

*Not her real name

FINAL WORD

It’s been a year since we moved offices. It was a big move. We had forfeited a good address in Rosebank for the eighth floor of a neglected, high-rise building in an area desperately trying to be trendy. And we couldn’t have been happier. The new address felt more like us. It unburdened us from the ego that the good address so generously fed.

It would help us move beyond some of the bad decisions we’d all been paying for, although we had no part in making them. This was just a better place for us. As a bonus, it was cheaper to rent.

The Mail & Guardian, 35 years old this year, was still mired in financial trouble. Years of predatory ownership had severely damaged the business. As the publication careened from crisis to crisis, I became its fourth editor in five years in 2016.

But I never wanted to be the editor of the Mail & Guardian.

The outer extremities of my vanity were flattered by hints that I may be offered the job. The greater part of who I am, however, did not seek it. Indeed, when I was actually offered the position one Monday morning in October 2016, my immediate response was an emphatic “No”.

“Why not?” asked the chief executive, Hoosain Karjieker, who appeared to have expected nothing but my enthusiastic acquiescence.

Not five minutes before that conversation I had smiled with relief when one of my friends in a Facebook messenger group of journalists and other low-lifes predicted a seasoned political journalist to be the new editor of the M&G. So this offer was a shock — not least about the quality of information shared in said group.

But I also had my own media startup, The Daily Vox, to take care of. Hoosain said he had a plan for that. Considering the strained finances that come with managing a media startup, my curiosity was piqued. As he rattled off numbers and statistics about how a potential partnership between my startup and the M&G could work, I was tempted.

I could do with a change. But then, I also knew better. It was hardly a secret that the M&G was struggling financially. “Why would I want to get involved knowing the M&G has no money?” I asked.

By the end of that day, however, after consulting with family, friends and mentors, I had accepted the job.

I was not even 33 years old. I was a woman. I had never worked in traditional media. I was visibly Muslim. I felt a sense of condescension and incredulity regarding my ability when my appointment was announced.

The messages of support and congratulations, however, were far more voluminous. And this gave me strength.

In a few weeks, sitting at my desk at the old office, I felt something I hadn’t felt before. I felt like this was exactly where I was meant to be. It is a feeling I now wish I had savoured longer.

The first edition of the Mail & Guardian under my stewardship coincided with the release of the report of former public protector, Thuli Madonsela about allegations of state capture by the Gupta family. The release of the report was the death knell of Jacob Zuma’s presidency.

It was Madonsela’s final report as public protector. That week at the M&G, we described her report as having “future proofed” the country.

That so many of the incidents cited in Madonsela’s reports began life on the pages of the M&G — not to forget our colleagues at the Sunday Times and City Press — was a boost for the value of investigative journalism in our democracy.

In the long list of Madonsela’s sources, the Mail & Guardian was mentioned several times. Thus, the importance of journalism — good journalism that holds power to account — was emphasised. And more than that, Madonsela’s report hinted that an era of deferred responsibility was over. There was something like hope in the air, for South African politics, for the centrality of the media in a vibrant democracy, for the Mail & Guardian.

And I took strength from that.

My big plan was to restore the pursuit of quality journalism at the centre of the Mail & Guardian. Through the years of turmoil, the M&G newsroom had been weakened and efforts to rebuild it stymied. And although I cannot complain of a lack of support for that vision, the first — and continuing — requirement of me as M&G editor was to cut costs.

At first it was easy. There were several costs that made little sense to me. But as the years wore on, and the business environment worsened, it became more difficult. Although I understood the need for a more agile newsroom, I also understood the need for good journalists to produce quality journalism.

And, although I too suffered some stops and starts, I had assembled a good team to do just that. But the media space was changing. The surest sign of that change came in 2018 when the Daily Maverick published the “Gupta Leaks” In another time, perhaps that leak would have been to the M&G.

But there would also be much to celebrate. We won awards and took on powerful elites. More than anything else, I am proud to have established a team, an “us”, forging together a disparate group of people in the singular pursuit of good journalism.

But the economy had worsened, print circulation was under pressure and digital advertising revenues were collapsing. Something — or someone — had to give.

In December 2017, the M&G was lent a new life. The Media Development Investment Fund (MDIF), a New York-based nonprofit, acquired the majority shareholding in the company. Standing beside the South African-based representatives of the MDIF, our aim was to restore M&G to its rightful place in the South African media landscape.

Throughout my time here, I have been conscious of the possibility of being the editor under whom the M&G fails. I have been equally vigilant about the prospect of being the editor under whom the M&G records a decline in quality. My job then was to somehow balance the needs of the news business with the need for people to do good journalism.

And my experience is not unique.

It is the experience of many other newsroom leaders around the world — the need to keep costs down, while producing an excellent legacy product and still meeting the needs of readers’ changing behaviour through digital products.

It was a challenge I relished. For one, I thought my experience of running a digital news startup would allow me to rapidly turn around tired workflows and decrepit digital infrastructure. Some changes were easy to make; others, more fraught.

I was the person tasked with making unpleasant decisions that severely affected the reality of the people with whom I worked; people who I had come to love. In the meanwhile, I also worked with a board of directors who were growing more anxious about the sustainability of the business.

As I pack up the last of my things from the office, I know that the transformative potential of good journalism has not deserted the people who bring the M&G to life every day.

And indeed, if the pandemic never happened I may have been writing a very different farewell. 

At the end of this month, I will no longer be leading the M&G. There is a lot that is uncertain in the world right now. But one thing is certain: the M&G remains one of the most important sources of news in Africa. And it will continue to be so.

Last week, as we rang the bell at the end of the print production cycle of another edition of the M&G, I looked across the newsroom. Our view of the urban forest of Jo’burg’s northern suburbs still leaves me in awe.

In the newsroom the desks are still piled with court papers, newspapers, documents and menus from nearby restaurants. The glinting embers of the dying day flooded through the large windows.

Outside, the roads were empty. South Africa was still shut down. Inside, the chairs too were mostly empty — as they are likely to be for some time yet. Watching the darkness flood over the sky, I stood, alone, and smiled.

Perhaps the single most significant event of that festival, however, was one that never did take place: this was the repatriation of the original of the symbol and logo of that festival, chosen in the belief that it would be released by its keepers and put on display.

An ivory mask from Benin, exquisitely carved and detailed, remained ensconced in the vast labyrinths of the British Museum. It had been looted in the equally famous sacking of the Benin Kingdom by a British expeditionary force in the late 19th century, launched in reprisal for an earlier humiliating encounter between Captain Phillips and King Overawhen, the paramount ruler of the Benin kingdom, whose ancestry, one line of legend insists, was none other than Yoruba.

The Phillips expedition had insisted on being received by the king during one of his most sacred retreats, when the oba was not permitted to see any strangers. His Majesty’s Britannic servants were not to be denied, however, and they forced their way into the city, with gruesome consequences. Such insolence was not to be countenanced.Orders were issued to mount a punitive expedition, and they were carried out with equally gruesome efficiency. Numerous treasures, the spoils of war, were shipped back to England — to offset the cost of the war, the British dispatches stated with admirable candour. Among them was the ivory mask, allegedly the head of a Benin princess.

Now, in 1976, the Nigerian minister of culture, a scion of the Benin kingdom — none other that Chief Anthony Enahoro — felt that this was an opportunity to bring back at least one of those treasures. The diplomatic bag was scorched to and fro with dispatches from both sides. At least lend us the damned thing for the duration of the festival, pleaded Nigeria. Nothing doing, said the British Museum. The British government was, of course, “powerless to intervene”, the autonomy of the British Museum being regretfully but conveniently cited as the insurmountable obstacle. Condescending arguments — such as that the Nigerian nation lacked the means, will, or sense of value required to preserve its precious heritage —require no comment.

I had not stinted words, alas, in expressing my umbrage at both sides — against the British government for its hypocritical double-talk and against our own caretakers, a supposed military regime, for their uncreative approach. From the moment the Nigerian government requested the return of the mask, all was lost. The British government would never part with it, since to do so would only set a precedent for demands for a wholesale repatriation of all art treasures plundered by colonial forces to their rightful homes.

Indeed, in a moment of righteous rage at ancient wrongs, I went so far as to offer advice that the government should stop drawing further attention to the mask, since it would only place its illegal guardians on the alert. The mask was stolen property, and the aggrieved had a right to reclaim their property by any means. What I proposed instead was that a task force of specialists in such matters, including foreign mercenaries if necessary, be set up to bring back the treasure — and as many others as possible — in one swift, once-for-all-time, co-ordinated operation.

Since that unheeded advice, in 1984, a live trophy in the shape of a former minister, the infamous Umaru Dikko, has been kidnapped from London, bundled to Stansted Airport, crated, and loaded into a cargo plane, awaiting repatriation to Nigeria. It was aclumsily executed operation under the regime of General Muhammadu Buhari, yet it could have succeeded but for the accident that Dikko’s live-in mistress happened to have watched it all from the window. She had the presence of mind to take down both the number and description of the car, even before alerting the police. The ineptness of the kidnappers, who had spent months studying Umaru Dikko’s movement, could be summed up in the fact that they failed to notice that his mistress routinely waved good-bye from an upper window when he left the house in the morning. The police found the drugged minister in his crate, together with an Israeli doctor whose task was to pump him full of sedatives at intervals on the flight back to Nigeria. The majority of the nation was waiting to welcome him, even more enthusiastically than the military.

Spiriting away the Benin mask for Festac — the 1977 Festival of Black and African Arts — in good time for the opening of the festival would have been much easier, cost much less and redressed, albeit symbolically, an ancient wrong. I was quite ready to be part of the team. The potential consequences seemed trivial, considering the prize. If we were caught, we would simply fight the case all the way to the International Court of Justice at The Hague, bringing the issue of ownership of objects under colonial plunder to the fore on a global level.

I had no idea what the insides of British jails were like, but I could not imagine them being any worse that the ones in which I had been confined in Kirikiri, Ibadan and Kaduna. That repatriation proposal had stuck in the minds of some of my colleagues, agitated now by the discovery of a missing art treasure that belonged to Ile-Ife.

The sculpture of Queen Idia, mother of Esigie, is the symbol and logo of the festival

The tit-for-tat factional battle for control of the Food and Allied Workers Union has taken yet another twist, with Fawu suspending its deputy general secretary, Moleko Phakedi, on Tuesday, hours after he was reinstated by the labour court.

The union’s national office bearers immediately placed Phakedi, who is also the deputy general secretary of the South African Federation of Trade Unions (Saftu), on suspension with full pay, pending an investigation into his alleged violation of Fawu’s constitution.

In response, Phakedi’s faction has convened its own, parallel meeting of the union’s national officer bearers and has called on union staff and members to “ignore” the rival grouping, which, it claims, is acting with no mandate.

Fawu’s president, Atwell Nazo, said in a letter to Phakedi on Tuesday that, although the court had ruled that he had been unlawfully dismissed, he was now being suspended.

Nazo said Phakedi had violated Fawu’s constitution by “conducting yourself in a manner which intentionally causes division”.

Nazo said Phakedi had acted “with no authority” when he issued letters of suspension to himself (Nazo) and deputy general secretary Mayoyo Mngomezulu, and had continued to violate Fawu’s disciplinary codes in doing so.

In October, Fawu stopped Phakedi’s salary and stripped him of his powers, arguing that his secondment to Saftu prevented him from occupying the post of deputy general secretary. Fawu, which is an affiliate of Sadtu, also argued that the agreement that it paid him while he worked for Saftu had expired and that Fawu was no longer compelled to fund his salary.

Nazo instructed Phakedi to hand over all union resources and make himself available to participate in the investigation. The investigation would “establish whether there are grounds for disciplinary action”, which could result in Phakedi being dismissed from Fawu.

Fawu had previously dismissed Phakedi, who was then reinstated by the labour court. It then stripped him of his powers and stopped his pay, and went to the court seeking an order confirming this. But, in its judgment on Tuesday, the labour court in Johannesburg dismissed Fawu’s application and instead issued a declaratory order confirming Phakedi as an employee of the union.

It also ruled that Fawu should allow him all of his contractual rights as an employee.

In its judgment, the court said the matter was “one of those union cases involving union factions which play themselves out in the courts”.

“Clearly, by launching this application on such feeble grounds, the applicant was trying its luck. However, in the process of trying, they have put a man without a salary to enormous expense. In my view, this application was frivolous and vexatious,” the judgment read.

The fight between the faction led by Phakedi and former general secretary Katishi Masemola, who is also challenging his dismissal from the union, and a grouping led by Nazo and Mngomezulu, has brought the union to its knees.

It narrowly escaped being deregistered as a trade union last year because of delays in submitting its financial statements to the registrar — a delay caused by fighting between the two groupings,which began with the launch of Saftu in 2017.

The fight has resulted in Masemola, Phakedi and their supporters, including KwaZulu-Natal secretary August Mbhele and Eastern Cape secretary Mthunzi Madondo, being dismissed.

Masemola, who had acted as chief executive of Fawu’s investment arm, Basebenzi Investment Group, for nearly a decade, was fired for misconduct over a R19.2-million write-off and for allegedly using an additional R20-million of union funds to cover its operating expenses without authorisation.

But Masemola has denied wrongdoing and has challenged his dismissal at the Commission for Conciliation, Mediation and Arbitration, as have Mbhele and Madondo.

Masemola said the Nazo-Mayoyo faction was trying to get rid of Phakedi, who was elected at the
2016 Fawu congress, so that they would “run the affairs of Fawu
with no authority of congress mandate”.

Masemola said neither Nazo nor Mayoyo had mandates from the union and urged Fawu members and staff to “ignore” them.

He said their four “frivolous” attempts to bring court action against Phakedi had failed and that the court had ruled that should they make another application, they should pay for it from their own pockets.

Phakedi, he said, would be convening a meeting of the union’s national office bearers in due course to look at how to rebuild Fawu.

The department of basic education has proposed three models of teaching and learning to be used once all grades return to school. These are platooning (where grades take turns using school facilities), alternating attendance on different days of the week and rotating classes every second week. 

The models, the department says, are most likely to assist schools with large numbers of learners, which might make it difficult to observe physical distancing regulations.

In its document titled Guidelines For Development of the Schools Timetables: Reopening of Schools Covid-19, which the department released on its website last week, it also proposes these models as a way to recover lost teaching time. Schools have been closed since March 18.

Basic Education Minister Angie Motshekga announced earlier this month that a phased-in approach would be used in the reopening of schools. Last week she said the National Coronavirus Command Council and the Cabinet had approved the reopening of schools on June 1 for grades seven and 12 learners.

This will happen in seven phases, according to the Coronavirus Orientation Guidelines for Schools, another document the department has released. The next classes to resume will be grades six and 11, followed by grades five and 10, grades nine and four, grades eight and three, grades two and one and the last grade to return to school will be grade R. The dates for their return  to school are yet to be announced.

When choosing a model, schools will have to consider things such as the availability of classrooms to accommodate learners sitting at least 1m apart, the availability of desks to allow for one learner at a desk, how much of the curriculum will be covered and the time available in a day to determine the duration of the period by subject.

Platooning

Regarding the platooning model the department emphasises that “special attention” has to be given to younger learners and those with learning disabilities who may not be able to concentrate in the second shift that will start in the afternoon. The one option suggested is that classes may start at 7.45am and continue until midday. The afternoon class will start at 1pm and finish at 4.15pm.

“To avoid fatigue,” the document says, “it is advisable for lower grades and children at low developmental levels to be accommodated in the first half of the day.”

It says one advantage of the model is that fewer learners will be in an area, so physical distancing is possible. Another is that there will be  more time for children to spend with teachers because learners won’t be delayed by screening for Covid-19, which occurs every time they come to school. On the downside, there might not be enough time for classrooms to be cleaned between the two groups. It also notes that some subjects, such as maths, are best taught in the morning and some learners won’t be able to attend afternoon classes because of transport problems.

Different days

The other model, where learners come to school on different days, would mean the school day is extended to 4pm so there is enough teaching time. The document says some provinces might consider using school or church halls as alternative teaching spaces.

But this model might result in  not enough time with teachers and learners who miss a class might lag behind. It also means learners will have to catch up on the curriculum every day when it’s their turn to be at school. Also, some subjects might not be taught every day.

Fortnight rotations

Under this model teachers will provide homework for learners to do while they are not at school for a week. Some of the advantages of this model is that the workload for teachers is more manageable. In addition they will be prepared for unforeseen circumstances such as Covid-19 cases at the school. The disadvantage is that  learners will spend less time with teachers. Also, learners in the lower grades might struggle to do the homework for the week they are not at school. They are likely to lose momentum during the week they are at home.

Guidelines

The guidelines say that regardless of the model chosen, learners in grades seven and 12 — and year four in schools for children with lower intellectual development — must be at school every day and must be taught all subjects.

In addition: “For secondary schools, particularly grades 11 and 12, it is important that all subjects are taught even if it means shortening the duration of the periods. For the foundation phase, the emphasis must be on numeracy and literacy.”

For other grades in high school, the focus must be on teaching key subjects, in particular those subjects in which learners usually underperform. The department says it will be up to the provinces to determine which subjects will be prioritised.

Director general Mathanzima Mweli said in a circular sent out on Saturday to, among others, heads of provincial education departments and teacher organisations, that the June exams had been cancelled for all grades to enable more teaching.

He also said the grade 12 curriculum has not been trimmed but has been reorganised to allow the effective use of teaching time. Grade 12 learners will still write their final exams but when this will take place will be rescheduled and a date will be announced “shortly”. The matric exams are usually written in November.

Mweli emphasised that these changes were temporary and that next year schools will return to the original school system.

Tonight on Generations The Legacy: Lesedi takes her power back. Lucy warns their big secret better not get out… or else! Mpho and Rabbit are ready to end things once and for all.

Watch: Generations The Legacy latest episode – 28 May 2020

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Friday on Generations: The Legacy

Tau is floored after Nontle’s revelation and rushes off to help. Palesa finds it very hard to do what she needs to do. A showdown in the township leads to a dead body and several arrests.

What is Generations: The Legacy?

Nontle is worried when it seems like her love potion worked. Jerah’s lies are fast catching up with him. Mazwi is furious about his brother’s betrayal.

A place where drama, suspense and intrigue are the name of the game when you’re up against enemies you don’t even know you have. A place where people will stop at nothing to get their lovers even if it means resorting to violence, seduction and even murder.

Where can I watch Generations: The Legacy episodes?

Episodes air on SABC1 Mondays to Fridays at 20:00, DSTV Channel 191. If you’re unable to catch the latest episode when it airs, we’ll be publishing full episodes from the SABC. Stick with us, and you’ll never miss an episode again.