I came to see how people were coping with one of the world’s worst epidemics in decades. They are cordoned off by a government lockdown and discouraged from going outside.
The scale of Wuhan is breathtaking. This modern-day epidemic has a suitably modern-day setting. But it feels like a ghost town. Nearly all shops are shut. Restaurants are closed. Driving is mostly banned.
Walking around, I can hear birdsong. Dogs bark in chorus. Little ones on the street, hurrying somewhere.
The market where the outbreak is believed to have started is boarded up. It’s big, and exotic animals were apparently just a small part.
Wuhan is a city in fear. But it’s far from a city in famine.
A little restaurant stayed open, selling noodles in a wonderful, peppery fish broth. Nearly everyone buys takeout and rushes home with the food.
But masks and thermometers are scarce. “No masks.” “Currently no masks for sale.” In the signs, you can almost hear the voices of exasperated pharmacy workers who don’t have the basic defenses against the virus.
The hospitals are packed.
People crowded at Wuhan Union Hospital for diagnoses, and for prescriptions for fevers, sniffles and coughs. Many are surely wondering: What if it’s the coronavirus?
Medical workers rush in and out to receive people from ambulances.
Medical workers told me they are still seriously short of the gowns and masks that may keep them safer. One told me that they have been buying their own masks and using them longer than they should.
Chinese people often believe IV drips are the best cure for fevers. A man set up his drip on the street outside the Red Cross Hospital. It was too crowded inside the hospital, he explained.
One resident set up an isolation unit in a car.
Wuhan is surviving and staying relatively orderly thanks in large part to its working class: people sent out to collect trash, clean streets, work in supermarkets — when every instinct tells residents that they should hole up at home.
It is unclear if the city can get the outbreak under control. A new hospital in Wuhan for coronavirus patients was built in less than two weeks. But there are still not enough beds.
Bowing to public demand, some cigarette and liquor stores stay open.
I met Qiu Dongjun, a building worker in Wuhan from rural Hubei. He’s living on instant noodles and tinned porridge.
After we spoke, he walked off and then ran back shouting. Did I want one of his tins of porridge?
Xu Shaoqiu, a cafe owner, told me he thought questions of who was responsible could be settled later. Get through this first, he said.
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