Uncertainty and anxiety continue to rattle the daily lives of Shanghai residents as lockdown continues
I am writing this on April 12th, the 12th day since my district in Shanghai “locked down” to contain an outbreak of the omicron variant of Covid-19. I’m reminded of the “Twelve Day of Christmas” song, as if my current life is an advent calendar. But I don’t know what it’s counting up to.
By some measures, Shanghai is the world’s largest city. Its population is three times the size of New York City. Shanghai was heralded as a major international travel hub, a futuristic utopia of convenience, and within China, a model for pandemic management. In happier times, you could ride through tree-canopied streets on a share-bike, order deliveries to your home in 20 minutes, and hop on budget international flights for weekend trips. These days, I can’t buy an egg.
A lockdown comes with a lot of nuance. Implementation can vary widely. Earlier in March, my district was placed under a “48-hour lockdown” that was continuously extended, until it lasted for eight days. We weren’t allowed to exit our compounds except to take nucleic acid tests, but could order in deliveries.
Now, 12 days into the “four-day lockdown” announced to start in western Shanghai on April, 1, we’re not allowed to exit our apartment building outside of testing, and there are virtually no deliveries. Every morning, I catalog the vegetables in our fridge, and feel an unnerving sense of loss with every dash of oil or sprinkle of salt I use. Whatever we have, it doesn’t feel like enough.
Worries spawn like parasites, making themselves at home. If I’m taken to centralized quarantine, what will happen to my dogs? Something in my left wrist has begun clicking and popping incessantly; when can I see a doctor? New information and misinformation create a seesaw of confidence. Some compounds were released yesterday, only to be re-locked today. What is happening? When will this end?
We’re all in this together, but I feel overwhelmingly alone. My mind races through 1,000 possibilities, while my body alternates between the chair and sofa. My phone shames me with screen time notifications while spring passes by through an open window.
There is a positive case in my compound that hasn’t been logged in official reports for the past two days. Once it is entered, we expect to have an additional 14 days of lockdown. We’re not even halfway there.
People queue for a late-night Covid-19 test. Tests can be announced at random hours, sometimes taking place after midnight or in the early morning if there is an abnormal result or a positive case in the neighborhood.
A dog sits on patches of grass purchased online and set up on an apartment rooftop. As residents are unable to leave their buildings, pet owners scramble to make accommodations for house-trained pets.
A woman clenches her hands while she waits for a self-test result to come out. Self-tests for Covid-19 were introduced in Shanghai in the last month. A negative self-test is required before one can take the group PCR test, though self-tests are also requested at seemingly random intervals.
A building is closed off after a resident tests positive.
Residents peek out their windows to observe a scene below. Any noise outside triggers curious neighbors to look to find out if there is a Covid-19 test, a food delivery, or new lockdown measures.
Purchasing food is incredibly competitive. People set alarms to prepare for grocery services restocking, which sell out in minutes. We’ve secured one food delivery thus far, which arrived four days later. It was a huge relief.
Residents call out their phone numbers to each other through the windows as they try to organize a group chat to make bulk purchases. Bulk orders of daily necessities have become a lifeline to many compounds. Often, the minimum order is between 30 to 50 portions.
A volunteer distributes rice and noodles to residents. The government has previously provided meat and vegetables as well, though specific contents vary by district.
A volunteer calls residents down for testing with a megaphone. The compound volunteer is also responsible for delivering orders that arrive at the compound gate, and calling down residents to throw away their trash at staggered time slots.
A makeshift testing truck administers tests to specific residents in the compound. This was likely triggered by an abnormal or positive Covid-19 result from the building.
A woman stares out her window, which faces other apartment buildings.
Residents peer out through their locked compound gate. Residents are not meant to be outside of their apartments except to take tests, but implementation varies largely by compound.
Nicoco Chan is the multimedia editor of TWOC.
