Unfortunately for me, the current situation in the city lacks the hilarity of a poorly-made horror film. There are no zombies to bash a la Sean of the Dead; just a lot of sick people who used to be young healthy adults. The newspaper La Jornada is saying that almost 18 new cases were diagnosed in the last 24 hours, with the World Health Organization claiming that over 1,000 are infected. Of course, in a city of 20 million, that is a very small number, but it has not stopped the government from cancelling all public events and closing many businesses. It seems now my school may be closed for the entirety of next week.
But don't let my panic exaggerate reality. Life in the city goes on mostly as normal: people lounge on a sunny Saturday morning at the Jarocho café, joggers and bikers lace the roadways, and cars still speed by at the dangerous breakneck speeds that they always do. But when I sat down at my favorite breakfast place this morning the entire staff was wearing face masks. Another restaurant on the corner--the first place I had eaten at in Coyoacán--was shuttered completely. News reels and photographs have surfaced on CNN and the NYTimes of soldiers handing out masks in the streets. And it's these small things--that creep into our everyday lives and remind us that something has changed--that really scare me.