Leah Wilson is a student journalist at Wits Vuvuzela. This is her life in lockdown.

The beginning of lockdown did not seem that terrible. The intense pressure of commuting, attending classes and balancing social life was instantly hushed. Although as a nation we had no other choice but to remain at home, I felt as though I was in control. My neatly organised daily schedule comforted my worries about a lack of productivity and I was elated to work from home. 

My false idea of being in control is laughable now as we are at the end of our fifth week at home. The housework is loathsome, the lack of social interaction is depressing and the persistence of school responsibilities is overwhelming. My schedule is redundant as every day is no different from the one before it. 

The only things keeping me sane are the moments that remind me that life is still beautiful, even if it is unrecognisable: the blessing of a warm meal; the health of my family; and an opportunity to celebrate life each day.

The atmosphere in our home gradually went from the post-work festivities of watching television and making easy dinners, to accepting working hours that extended past 9pm. This photo was taken during week one of lockdown. My mother, Samantha, was comfortably seated at her desk that we had enthusiastically assembled the night before.

My mother, Samantha, at her work desk which we assembled the previous night.   

Good Friday celebrations were toned down this year. Usually a large potluck is arranged with extended family members – grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. However, we were committed to remembering the reason for this holiday. We shared holy communion over a zoom call with our family, in remembrance of the sacrifice Christ made, a pivotal moment for our faith.

My dog, Joseph, left, stares into the fireplace. Although my mother cannot stand the idea of dogs in the house, I relish the moment when her complaints taper off as she joins in the quiet admiration of an animal being humanised by the simple act of enjoying a fire.

The mountain of pots, plates and cutlery that follows the preparation and consumption of one meal is deplorable.

A simple fire, one pack of boerewors and roasting vegetables saved the day. A braai is the best excuse to use paper plates and eat with your hands. My father, Tyron, and I stood in companionable silence, appreciating a clean kitchen.



An attempt to see the moon at night led me to discover my bedroom light reflecting on the palm tree outside. The plastic-like look of the leaves, static in the night, seemed to suggest their purpose was to reflect the light from my bedroom. I snapped this picture and forgot about viewing the moon altogether.

My bedroom light shines warmly onto the banana palm tree outside my bedroom.

FEATURED IMAGE: My dog, Joseph, enjoying the heat emanating from the fireplace. PHOTO: Leah Wilson.