Under the baobab: Happy Valley’s spirit remains strong, resilient through 2020

Last night, we took a walk around town (masked) to witness the transformation of the season. In Happy Valley, that is more than the colorful falling leaves or scurrying squirrels tracking the last acorn before the snows come. The true changes are heralded by what cannot be seen. The students, our wards, the life blood of our college community have left town. They will not return until next year, in late January. At that time there will be a new administration in the White House. President Biden and Vice President Harris will be in office. Hopefully, the vaccine will be available. Our world, the whole world will be different. Dare I say it, I pray it will be better.

In any case, up to now, the students were barely here. In-person class attendance that began at about 50 percent in the summer melted to almost nothing. Many students spent the semester in front of their computers taking online classes. What we used to call extracurricular activities — sports, clubs, interest groups — were almost nonexistent until late in the season. Meanwhile outside our community bubble and then sadly inside of it, the casualties and fatalities caused by the pandemic increased exponentially. Death roamed our nation’s streets, snatching our children, our elders, our most vulnerable.

We, who proudly and humbly, accept the cloak of locus parentis, watched and wept, while stumbling, fumbling and staggering in futile attempts to guide, comfort, protect our children. We were not even permitted to embrace them in their suffering or be with them as they lay suffocating and dying. In our family we lost a father, a child, our oldest friend, a dozen colleagues. At last count I personally know 27 people who contracted the virus. Had we tears left they would have dried up. Like the international cholera pandemic of 1818, the flu pandemic of 1919, and the HIV-AIDS pandemic of the ‘80s and ‘90s, the coronavirus pandemic of 2020 has decimated our population, our spirit and our hope.

But, we did not quit.

I have never been prouder of my neighbors. Some of us have been blessed to walk among the wounded, trying to patch open sores and provide rehabilitation therapy. Caregivers provided treatment under the most difficult conditions. Dedicated teachers conducted sometimes improvisational online classes. Store clerks stayed the course risking contamination to make sure community needs were being provided. With courage, sympathy, empathy and grit, we have taken care of each other.

There were online plays, concerts, conversations and conferences as our artists found ways to fight through the imposed isolation. I was blessed to work with several dozen students and other community folks to produce and present an online play, “The Osaze Project.” It had 1,300 viewers from all around the country. We were not alone. Our town’s artists provided over 30 productions, done without benefit of theater space or concert hall. We lifted each other’s spirits.

In the midst of quarantines, shutdowns and unfettered vitriol, we successfully conducted a presidential election with the largest turnout in our country’s history. Thus, through the storm we have nourished the tree of liberty and sustained our democracy. We have survived. Now what?

Sisters and brothers, we have a world to rebuild, bigger and better. Though the struggle against the pandemic is not over, V-Day is in sight. The students went home but they will return. Our hope has been battered and beaten, but the mast which secured it is still intact. Our spirits may dredge through dark dank cesspools of despair, but our eyes are fixed on a future filled with light.

Because a loving people united can never be defeated.

Amandla!