Home Quarantine - Part 2

So the last I left off this long summary of events (Home Quarantine - Part 1), my ride to get swabbed was sorted. 

When my helper and I left the flat at about 120pm, there was a heavy drizzle going on. Also about that time, the kids from the school opposite were let loose for the day. Rain, kids, parents and maids picking up their uniformed angels - all these made for a messy situation.

The carpark was unexpectedly full of cars. There were people with umbrellas blocking all paths. The road leading into the block driveway was clogged up too. So I had trouble looking out for this taxi, which in my mind, looked like a regular Comfort blue or yellow cab. I had told the driver that if it rained to head to the sheltered drop off point, so that's where we waited. My phone rings and it's an automated call from Comfort informing me my taxi had arrived. Nope, I didn't see it. I walked out into the rain to check among the cars that were occupying the driveway - nope no blue or yellow cab. When I got back under the shelter, my phone rings again. It's a lady from Certis Cisco asking where I was. Just then, a large white minivan with the taxi licence plate I was provided pulled into the driveway. Suddenly, it was multitasking mayhem. I was on the phone talking to some stranger, signalling with other hand for the driver to stop, then waving to my helper to get on the minibus, while wet people were trying to make their way past us. I was wondering if some policeman was suddenly going to show up because we had left the house while on quarantine! Neurons were firing on full throttle.

The minibus was an oasis of calm. The Malay driver engulfed in full PPE greeted us as if we were business class tourists headed from Changi Airport to the Grand Hyatt. What a chap - friendly, not too outgoing, just the right amount of listening ear and responsive banter. Highlight of the quarantine so far. And we had even yet made it on to the expressway. 

My helper's mobile suddenly lets off a repetitive wail. She answers but can't quite understand what the person on the other end wants. "You speak to my boss", she says and hands me her weathered Samsung phone. Ah, Certis Cisco again. "Yes, she's with me and we're going to get our swab done." 

I wasn't quite sure what those calls were about. Were our phones' locations being monitored? Did some alarm go off somewhere? Did my neighbours rat on us? (I hadn't told them by the way. How could I since I couldn't leave my flat?)

I spent the ride to SATA in Chai Chee asking the driver what he had been up to and also complaining about my quarantine experience thus far. He mentioned something about getting lots of instructions from many people, and that sometimes miscommunication made his work complicated. Another glimpse into the mayhem behind the machine assembled to keep us virus-free. 

I also couldn't fathom why we had to travel all the way to Chai Chee for this swab from my home in the Little India area. That's a long way to go to get our nostrils poked and prodded. It was still nice to see the outside world beyond the views from my flat. 

An odd thought did creep in while on my round trip journey - what would the paramedics do if a vehicle ferrying potential Covid-19 carriers got into a nasty accident? I guess the risk assessment side of me was in the mood to ponder. 

"Ahhhh, help me!" 
"I can't, I'm not in PPE"
 Roll eyes, screaming, then death. 

It was practically deserted at SATA Chai Chee. There were 20-odd chairs laid out in front of two counters in a tented encampment around the back of the building. There were about 5 or 6 very young looking people running the show. We sorted out our identities and shuffled to the adjacent counter to get swabbed. It was an interesting sensation, but also exactly how you think it would feel if a q-tip went deep up your nose. They did both nostrils, twirling the cottony end as it plunged slightly farther than you think is comfortable. My eyes watered a little, as on cue to erode my brave face. My helper went "Oh my God", sniffling and sneezing. In less than a few minutes, we were done and back in the minivan headed home. Voila. 

Back home I relished the peace and quiet. It had been quite a first half of the day thus far. But alas, fate had laid me a test of patience which I would fail miserably. 

At about 4pm, I got a phone call. It was a nurse from my mum's ward asking me if it was ok to perform a certain procedure on my mother. 

"What? This is the first time in 3 days since my mum was admitted that you contact me to ask if you can do this to my mother?! Why hasn't anyone called to update me on her status after she left A&E?"

Yes, I was partly fuming, so the tirade continued.

"I have been calling and calling your ward for the past 3 days and no one has picked up the phone. What is the point of having a phone if no one is going to pick it up? Even the nurses at Tan Tock Seng picked up after a while."

The nurse at the other end, a man, wasn't quite expecting my reaction. I think I heard him gulp a little. Here's the best part. He asked "What is the number you dialled?" I told him the number I got for the ward from main SGH phone line. He replied that the number was wrong! Holy guacamole, Lady Gaga, and Sheena Easton! The TELEPHONE number was wrong!  (I have linked the respective music videos so you get the joke). 

I was incredulous. Within my quarantine nightmare, I was living another subset hell of misaligned expectations. Someone listed the wrong number for the ward with the main SGH phone line operator. I was half laughing and half angry at this poor man who on the receiving end of my frayed nerves now manifested as verbal displeasure from an imprisoned son asking about his seemingly kidnapped mother. 

I calmed down and explained to the nurse why the procedure he wanted to do wouldn't work on my mum. He also gave me the phone number for the room she was in - isolation cabins for suspected Covid-19 patients have their own communication line to the outside world plus a television to relieve boredom, all in what I suspect is a negative pressure environment to ensure nothing untoward escaped. A class for the price of C, sort of. 

The nurse apologised again and our call ended. Still incensed, I called the Feedback Unit number I called earlier that morning. I essentially repeated my rants, reiterating that my elderly mum had been alone in a strange place among people she didn't recognise for the past few days, that this wouldn't be good for her mental health.  I told her that the nurse didn't call me because she had done her job but because he wanted to seek my permission to do a procedure to make their lives simpler, and if that was their hospital's interpretation of patient care. That was harsh I realise in hindsight. She too apologised and promised to find out what went wrong. I too apologised for my tone but hope she comprehended by frustration. 

Patients in isolation usually may not do well because the psychological impact of being cordoned off can hinder recovery. This is especially real among the elderly. Loneliness kills. 

Later that evening, a nurse from the ward called to say sorry and she put me in touch with my mum. All good, SGH, all good. 

The next day - Day 4 - my helper informed me that no one was picking up the bags of rubbish we were leaving outside my HDB flat gate. I called the Town Council again. I recognised the same voice that attended to my predicament the previous time I called and she recognised me too. She said she'd follow up. Indeed she did, and the Bangladeshi man who does a great job taking care of this neighbourhood rings my doorbell half an hour later. He had his mobile up to his ear in one hand, and asks me why I was leaving the bags in the corner, pointing to the FairPrice plastic bag with the other hand. He looked a tad frightened. Ah, the Town Council hadn't quite helped connect the dots here. Masked up, I told the him we were on quarantine and couldn't leave the house to dump our disposables like regular civic-minded members of the community. He frowned and said "Ok". I thanked him and shut my door. 

Something new every day it seemed. 

Two days after the first Covid-19 swab, I received an SMS from MOH stating my test result. Alright one down, one more to go. 

On the plus side, though some will dispute this is indeed a positive, I discovered two shows on cable TV that I have to revel in - The Rookie on AXN, and Married At First Sight Season 6 Australia. I can sense abuse headed my way, especially because of the slightly trashy-esque reality show. Entertaining television numbs the senses and enraptures us in someone else's fantasy. That's what we need sometimes, to turn off. 

The next week or so fell into a general routine - breakfast, TV, laptop, lunch, laptop, TV, reading, dinner, TV, reading, sleep. I would call my mum daily, work out every other day, attempt at clearing stuff ala Marie Kondo. "Laptop" primarily means checking emails, looking for a job, reading newsletters I subscribe to, ripping CDs (part of Kondoism; I intend to sell away my sizeable CD collection; Stop laughing at me Spotify), writing on my blog, checking out the stock market, playing Skribbl. 

Yes, it was somewhat boring. I would find my helper staring out the window when she wasn't in the kitchen or on her phone. So much world out there. I would find myself checking my  phone for messages for signs of life for me to engage with. I was falling into the FOMO online validation trap and would consciously leave my phone aside and plunge into 

I had to order RedMart twice and both times I made the mistake of under-ordering the necessities. Ironic since I had to order non-essentials like disinfectant and beer (ok, maybe that's an essential) to make up the dollar value for free delivery. Onions, always order more onions. And atta. My helper makes fresh chappatis twice a day now. 

Three times a day, I would point my thermometer gun at my forehead and take my temperature. In a similar fashion, someone will call me on Whatsapp and ask me how hot I was. I never got warmer than 36.8 deg. There were a couple of days when no one called. They didn't miss calling my helper though. The calls became more pleasant. In fact I specifically recall a nice bubbly lady who definitely had a knack of communicating hope through her voice. She called me a few times and each time after I was thinking, that's a nice experience. I think she got that she was talking to de facto prisoners and her job was to lighten their load. 

Though one time, a temperature taker called me at 730am. In the haze of being woken up, I failed to express my shock and surprise at this early bird disturbing my dreaming. A few times towards the end of my quarantine, I was asked to turn on video so I could see said individual and he (same person twice) could see my living room. I hope he didn't notice the laundry. My unkept temperate table below:

As the days went by, it dawned on me that my final day of quarantine was a Sunday, May 16. Despite knowing that this whole anti-virus operation was a round-the-clock affair, I strangely felt that my final swab test would perilously be done too late to minimise my time indoors. Also May 13 was a public holiday. 

By Hari Raya, I had not yet received a notification from MOH about the second swab. I was worried, and I expressed my concerns to the chap who called me in the evening of the holiday to ask my weather report. He said he would look into it. I also called MOH on their IVR number 18003339999. Long and ominous, like this pandemic. The IVR had an option for "quarantine" so I hit that option and waited. And waited. The IVR prompted me to leave my number for a call back and so I did. I shall wait. 

The next day, Friday, two days before my tentative release, I called Certis Cisco to express my second swab concerns. They advised that the matter was up to MOH and not them. I use "they" because the lady I spoke to couldn't quite understand what I was asking and she got her supervisor to intervene. 

I call the MOH Covid hotline number once more. Again, everyone's busy and I'm on hold for about 5 minutes before I hear a ringing tone of hope. Someone seems to pick up but again I hear the IVR asking me to leave my number for a call back. I was in a state of WTF before calming down to appreciate my ability to foresee this calamity. One day at a time. 

A little while later, I get a phone call. It was someone from the Ministry telling me that a nurse would come to my flat in person to do a swab that day. I went wow, that's effective and impressive. He said he was calling me so that I wouldn't be surprised when someone in full PPE shows up at my door. Alrighty then, we wait. 

Late afternoon, the doorbell shocks us into action. A 30-something Chinese man in dark blue overalls was standing outside with a face shield on. Nope, no full PPE. Mask up, I let him in. He doesn't ask to wash his hands. He looked a little frazzled and a tad sweaty. He announced he was here to take our samples, started putting on his disposable purple gloves, and asked for our identification cards. 

"So how many of these do you do a day?"

"Many. Yesterday I finished at 4am." he replied, slightly out of breath. 

"4am?! You mean you go to people's house in the middle of the night to do this?"

"Yes. What to do, so many cases now."

"So after this, you're going somewhere else?" I asked, concerned that he may be worn out. 

"No, you're my last. Lucky."

Holy crap. I didn't realise how bad it must be for people like him till then. Working odd hours, going to places where they could contract the disease.  Yikes. 

He proceeded to poke our nostrils, starting with the right. He curiously said he would go deeper with the left nostril insertion. He did and it oddly set off a slight headache together with a repeat of the ever so slight tearing I had the last time my nose was accosted. 

"So you're a nurse?"

"No, I work for MOM." 

I thought I misheard and offered "MOH?"

"No, MOM. Manpower. I am not medically trained."

Another mask hidden jaw drop. Government officers were being recruited to take swabs from potential carriers. This made me wonder how ill-prepared we are for a large community outbreak, and to think we had about a year to get this right. 

Given that it was the early evening when the swab was taken, I had no expectation of let loose the next day. I told Mr MOM and he said the results usually came back in 24 hours, sometimes quicker. I sighed out loud, muffled somewhat by my cloth mask. Within 10 minutes, the giving exercise was over and I wished him well. Godspeed swabs, godspeed. 

So Saturday came and went with no news. And I woke to Sunday hopeful but also no good tidings came. Somewhat expected yet a tad disappointing. I think no one called to get our temperatures either. I started working on my first blog post, and it took hours. When I posted it and shared it on Facebook, it was after dinner. Still no SMS, and hours past the 12noon timeframe. A friend of mine called me at about 11pm, much to my surprise. She said she read the post on Facebook and called me to find out how I was doing. In that conversation, she told me to check my Covid-19 test results on Health Hub, the site or the app. Someone told her that the results were put up there first. I got online as we were talking, and lo and behold, there they were, negative. 2nd swab negative. Two minuses make a plus and I was free! 

Here's the more curious bit - the timestamp on the results posting was Saturday May 15 12:00am. That's Friday night into Saturday. I could've gone out on Sunday afternoon! And bought onions! A big failure one piece of technology talking to another. Couldn't a results posting on HealthHub trigger an SMS or at least an email? How could they withhold hope, dreams, freedom and retail therapy? Hey, someone give me that job - I would gladly be the bearer of happy news - you're free mate, quarantine's over, go mask up, live long and prosper. But yeah, technology should be connecting these dots. 

So that's more or less my tale of confinement. Perhaps these couple of posts have been an opportunity to complain about things. They expose some holes in the way the shimmering veneer that is Singapore's Covid-19 mitigation plan but I guess everyone's trying. I am hesitant to suggest that we're unprepared for a major community outbreak but at the same time, things could be better. I don't have all the information, just my experience to share. I have confidence in the powers that be know what to do. 

Perhaps an update - I got a reply from the current health minister about that email to TTSH. He said he'd follow up with the hospital. 

Home Quarantine - Part 1

Two Sundays ago, 2nd May, I went to Tan Tock Seng Hospital (TTSH) to bring my mum home. The hospital was already under a state of lockdown given the Covid-19 outbreak in a particular ward. Almost all patients and staff were tested in the days that followed, and thankfully my mum tested negative, twice. She was given the go-ahead to head home. 

That Sunday I stepped into an almost deserted hospital. While my mum was getting ready for discharge, I was asked to get her medicines from the pharmacy. Typically, a pharmacist would come up to the ward with the corresponding bag of meds and run through the list with the patient or caregiver. That day however was a weekend, so only the on-duty pharmacists were available to run the actual pharmacy. The nurse egged me to head down to the Emergency Department (ED) pharmacy, the only one open on the weekends at TTSH, to collect my mother's medicine. I was hesitant because she already had a tonne a meds at home from her recent visits to TTSH, but I figured I might as well stock up on certain meds for her stomach acid complaints. I headed to the pharmacy located right next to the ED at level B1 of the main block. There were about 8 people waiting there as well, all with queue slips with a number to look out for on the electronic display. The pharmacy itself is a room but we weren't allowed to sit inside because of social distancing rules. Instead, there are plastic seats right opposite the pharmacy's heavy glass doors. So those collecting medicines were sitting, standing or just milling about the small open space, hopefully entertained by the television screen with CNA showing on the left and queue numbers in a column to the right. We were semi-cordoned off the ED area by shoulder-height partitions. Behind them were lots of office chair piled up. Convenient area for storage perhaps.

I waited there for about 30 minutes, standing near the seats, practising slowing my breath down. In that time, I saw several people arrive at the ED, registering at the safe entry counter. One lady visitor stood out in my memory because she loudly said "No lah, I don't have Covid. Only you, the hospital, have Covid now!", likely in response to a typical question from the Safe Entry registration staff about contact with Covid-19 sufferers. She was laughing a little when she remarked those words but her voice quickly tapered off as she realised her faux pas of humiliating the facility she was about to enter. 

There's a set of lifts that open to that little space. Heaven knows where they lead to. The sliding doors to the lift lobby opened once or twice while I was waiting there, and a nurse would appear pushing a patient in bed, into the walkway connecting the ED area to the main block. These magic nurses had to announce the presence because some of us waiting were in their way. The layout of the area made it hard to turn the beds  into the walkway, and made more difficult with two vending machines taking up space just outside the lift lobby doors. Silly layout. I've added a simple sketch of this space that hopefully explains my mutterings. 

Soon the number on my ticket appeared on screen, and I collected the medicines. I went up to the ward, got my mum into a wheelchair and we left the hospital. It must have been about 1pm. 

At about 9pm the next night, Monday, I got a call from a number I was not familiar with. I was on my Mac at the dining table while my mum was on the daybed watching TV. My new helper was in the kitchen cleaning up post-dinner. The man on the phone introduced himself as John from the Ministry of Health (MOH). He went on to tell me they were alerted to my proximity to a positive Covid-19 patient via the Trace Together app. The Bluetooth waves from my phone got in touch with someone else's. He asked if I was the TTSH ED the afternoon before at about 12 noon, and replied affirmatively, explaining that I had waited in front the ED pharmacy to get medicines. He then said I would have to quarantine myself at a hotel for the next two weeks because someone who turned out to be Covid-positive showed up at the ED at about that period of time. 

It's an odd feeling when a stranger tells you that your life has to be uprooted and placed in the hands and watchful eye of other people. I think the last I felt this lack of personal control was when I went into Basic Military Training for National Service where life was lived by command and not personal will. 

Then it was my turn to drop a bombshell on unsuspecting John. 

"I can't quarantine in a hotel. I need to give my mum her meds, 4 times a day. " 

"Is there anyone else who can do that?"

"I have a helper but she's not been trained to do that, yet."

Then it was John's turn to return hellfire after my single salvo. "Then all of you have to quarantine at home."

Well played MOH man, well played. I then had to give John all our personal details and he described the requirements of our imprisonment for the next 14 days. He talked about not leaving the flat, that someone would come to come see us, and that we would need to do swabs for Covid-19 tests. I also confirmed with John that I should call 995 if my mum needed help. He also gave me a number for Certis Cisco - they would be following up with my existence in isolation for the next fortnight.

I took a deep breath and told my helper, and she replied "Oh my God." For someone who doesn't speak English too well, I was a little impressed for a moment but quickly realised that she has probably learned many cliched phrases from American television. I also called my sister to explain the confinement. She was wondering how I would feed myself and the rest of my fellow detainees. I replied "RedMart lah."

To give some context to my current life, I have been unemployed for a few months, and since the last lockdown I also spent an inordinate time not working after being laid off. In that time also, my mum also developed certain medical problems. So some of my available time has been spent looking after her, bringing her to appointments, dispensing her medicines and trying not to fall apart. It has been a tough admittedly. I have given this glimpse into my life because spending much time within my current confines would not be new to me, lockdown notwithstanding. 

But even during the circuit breaker, I got do my walks. And now, no prolonged cardio. I was going to get fat. Well, less thin. 

And I was worried for my mother because she needed to get out of the house for exercise, fresh air and acknowledging children at the playground. The next morning though, my mum wasn't quite responding the way she should. So I called 995. I told the paramedics about the quarantine order and they took her away to SGH without any company. 

I spent the rest of Day 2 thinking about how I got into this predicament. I imagined if I had not turned on Bluetooth on my phone, I wouldn't need to confined. Was I right? Would MOH have been able to figure out I was near the ED otherwise? Perhaps with some clever sleuthing and many questions, but it would need an army of detectives to go figure out everyone's movements in the hospital at that time. I wondered if the pharmacy and ED staff had to isolate themselves too. So many people affected by one person reporting to the ED. 

I also called Certis Cisco to let them know my mum was in hospital. The phone rang and cut off. I tried again and the same thing happened. Hmm, interesting I thought. The only number I have for people in charge of my life in limbo wasn't connecting. Later that day, a lady from Certis Cisco did call me back. The phone call sounded like she was in a call centre full of frantic people. She asked for my mum's, my helper's and my details again. I wondered why John couldn't pass them along but obliged in any case. She said someone from Certis Cisco would be coming to assess my home and us inmates (not in those words), and gives us electronic tags to wear. Hey, welcome to the thug life, I thought. 

I told the lady about my mum being wheeled away to hospital and she replied in an unexpected manner. "Why didn't you call us first?" Well, firstly, 995 is the national emergency number for medical help, and secondly your number didn't work, lady. I thought these things as I replied, trying to keep my slightly triggered self at bay. She acknowledged it had been very busy where she was with the uptake in the Covid-19 cases. "Sure, but this is the only number I have to contact you guys. Somehow Certis Cisco has got to make it work." My optimiser side was kicking in, wondering how everyone was coping and not coping in this potential shitstorm. 

I also had to update my Town Council on my situation because I was no longer able to dispose of garbage at the common lift-adjacent rubbish chute. A necessary daily activity that I could no longer fulfil on my own, a realisation that made me a little sad. 

By the end of Day 2, I was rather upset. My quarantine could have been prevented if someone in TTSH thought about how sick people reporting to the ED could possibly infect others waiting in the proximity of the Safe Entry and ED registration areas. I wrote an email to TTSH about my observations, CCing a number of important people. I have received an email a few days later acknowledging someone in TTSH had read my penned-down frustrations and suggestions for making things better, with a promise to investigate. 

The next day, the doorbell rang at about lunch time. A Chinese man in Certis Cisco uniform had appeared with a file folder and sealed, white plastic bags. He didn't really introduce himself and I strangely just let him in, like the completely nonchalant acceptance of an eventuality communicated to me over the phone. Like a RedMart delivery. 

He made some small talk and read out the our names. He sounded like a local Ah Beng in his 40s who had been put into a washer-dryer to make him socially acceptable. I get a little annoyed when Singaporeans can't make an effort to learn how to pronounce names of persons of other ethnicities, not even phonetically. He skulked around the apartment, asking who slept where. I was rolling my eyes inside.

From his folder, he pulled out two printed sheets of paper and two bags, each with a mask and digital thermometer. The sheets had a table which my helper and I had to individually fill in our body temperature 3 times a day. "Somebody will call to ask", Cisco man tried to say sternly. 

He then fished out a few boxes from one of the sealed bags. He introduced the devices inside - a wristband and an electrical adapter - as the proximity tags we would need to wear. They were serialised and linked to our respective IDs. They would alert MOH if any one of us stepped out of bounds. He passed me the adapter to plug into a socket. I turned on the power. 

"Any light?", the man in blue asked. 

"Nope", I replied. 

It was a dud. He ripped open the 2nd bag and took out the tracking set for my helper. We plugged that in and also a disappointing non-event. At this point, I was thinking two things:

• What is the degree of incompetence the powers that be must he facing in dealing with this pandemic.
• I wasn't told that my electricity bill would go up as a result of my incarceration. To whom would I charge this expense?

After that no show, Mr Cisco called home base with his mobile phone to report the matter. A lady picked up on the other side - He said her name but I forget what it was - and carried on in a slightly flirtatious tone, smiling as her chatted.  I was a tad entertained. Somewhere during this interaction, Mr Cisco had to copy some numeric detail from one document to another. He recited the numbers in Hokkien. Confirm chop stamp Ah Beng. 

He made us both sign an official document stating the terms of our quarantine. The gist was we couldn't leave home, had to be always contactable via our mobile phones, and any contravention meant we were liable for a $10,000 fine and some jail time. Here's the bit that stood out to me though - the quarantine would cease only on the last stipulated date at 12 noon OR when the result of second swab test was announced as negative, whichever was LATER. Yikes, given the mounting numbers and today's display of unimpressive rigour, I had a nagging feeling something would go wrong to delay our promise of freedom. 

That day, I also called SGH to get an update on my mum - no one was picking up the phone to her ward. More triggering. 

I woke on Day 4 with an SMS from MOH. It stated where and when I would get my first Covid-19 swab done. Yay, I relished the opportunity to leave my flat. First however I had to ascertain aspects of this enforced encounter, so I called the Certis Cisco lifeline. 40 minutes later someone picked up. My faith in good old Singaporean efficiency took a hit. 

I asked how the transportation to the swab site would work. The lady on the other end told me that each person had a vehicle assigned. I let out a little laugh at this point. I then advised that my mum was in hospital and that her vehicle would not be necessary. She said she'll make a note of it. I then proceeded to tell her I waited for 40 minutes on this "emergency" hotline for someone to pick up the phone. She apologised and said they were swamped. 

After I completed that call, I called the SGH ward number I was given for my mum. Again, no one picked up. I then called the SGH main line to tell them I could not get to my mother. The lady at the other dialled the number she had for the ward and guess what, no one picked up either. She told me there was no other way she could to through to the ward. I asked for a way to escalate the matter so she gave me the number for the Feedback Office. I called them and told another lady there about my problem. She promised to follow up. Great. 

"Hello I am calling from MOH. What is your temperature?" was the next blunt telecommunication I received. Phone in hand, I walked over to my temperature sheet and declared "36.6".

"Ok" and he unceremoniously hangs up.

I don't get why these guys can't be polite. They're calling up people who are essentially trapped, likely frustrated and possibly homicidal. A little courtesy would make that tad bit of difference to morale. Is there no prepared script? 

My phone rings again. It's the driver for my swab ride. He tells me he'll pick us all up in his taxi. I'm glad some common sense prevailed. I ask where I and my helper would meet him, or if he would come up to my flat - a question I forgot to ask Certis Cisco after my 40 minute wait. He replied that we should come down to the block's pick up point. Cool, my ride awaited my arrival at 130pm. 

--- To be continued --- 
Update - part 2 here 

Richest Countries In The World

 I subscribe to the Visual Capitalist and a couple of weeks ago, their daily email for the day, alerted me to this juicy nugget of data - Mapped: The 25 Richest Countries in the World. How could I resist and not want to see where my little island in sun ranked against the cash laden powers of the world. 

Pretty large visual, well it does cover the whole planet. Singapore ranked 6th. 

My initial thoughts were "These are the places immigrants will go running to". The next second I thought about the people in these countries and what it really meant to be GDP rich. Were they happy? Were they safe? What about the cost of living? So i headed for the the vast cauldron of knowledge that is Internet to piece some numbers together. Gotta love data. 

Alongside GDP, I made columns for Personal Tax, Happiness Rank, Healthcare, Safety ranking and Population Density. I figure these factors make for some degree of contentment for living in a country. 

Voila - this spreadsheet. 

I couldn't find easy-to-comprehend healthcare data. Most websites would list healthcare as universal or free in these countries but I know that's not the case in Singapore. Doctors and clinics are around every corner but a simple visit to the neighbourhood clinic could easily set you back $30-50 of your own money. I'm sure there are rules to medical care in all these countries but it's quite difficult to compile them for a list like this and to make them comparable. 

After this exercise (which took quite a few days because I was distracted and partly unmotivated by the extent this could go on), I thought another simple factor - quality of life. I even considered the Big Mac index, because who wants to pay US$7 for a burger. I knew there was some global index published somewhere and lo and behold, Numbeo. 

Why didn't I get here sooner. There's a Quality of Life Index which takes into account a lot of the important things in life:
- Cost of living and purchasing power
- Affordability of housing
- Pollution including air, water, etc.
- Crime rates
- Health system quality
- Traffic (commute times)

I've put all that info here, with the Quality Of Life score in pale yellow, the other Numbeo supporting numbers in green, the income tax percentages in blue and the happiness rank in pink. Is that too much data?

Singapore is great - safe, clean, the public service works, internet speeds are fast - but somehow we're not a happy people, well not as happy as other GDP rich people. I think it's the lack of space, high property prices and fear of running out of money to retire. All the doubts also perhaps reflect the declining birth rate here, less than the replacement rate. 

From this list, Canada is looking pretty awesome. Not sure why the safety score is that low though. Perhaps I'm biased because I'm English literate. But who can say no to wide open spaces, clean air, all those trees and poutine. 

Who Would Want To Block The Suez?

So the Suez Canal was blocked a little while ago. Unintentionally. 

That got me thinking about who would want to block it on purpose. I gave a short response to this thought on Twitter to a post by someone I follow. I shall expand on it here. 

Disruptor 1 - Egyptian Islamists 

They’ve had a grudge against government and what better way to hold the country hostage than a disruption to 8% of world trade and a dent in the port fee coffers. That’s a possible loss to the more than USD$5 billion ships pay in fees annually to use to the man-made passage (1). Large money at stake - 1.5% of the country's GDP. 

Disruptor 2 - Port authorities along the Cape of Good Hope route

For the sake of conspiracy, I take the ‘who would benefit from a Suez block’ line of thinking. If the goods need to go, they’ve gotta go. The shipping route around Africa could use a kick in the pants, one that would add jobs and opportunities. So a schemer in any major port along this old skull (like 1800s old) southern route could be tempted to take advantage of a break in the Suez. 

Disruptor 3 - New Silk Road fans

If plans for the new Silk Road got underway for real, where mega long trains could ship good between East Asia and Europe cost-effectively, this would displace the need for large ships to set sail for the same purpose. It’s probably trickier to implement than it sounds. In any case, a halt to the Suez would first send nautical traffic down south around Africa first, while any increased momentum in an epic East-West railway service took a foothold and flourished. Once again, it would be about the numbers and speed of delivery. Apparently, a freight train can take only 18 days to get from Yiwu, 300km south of Shanghai, to London in 18 days. (2). A conventional seaborne freighter would take a month or so to make the trip. Well, well, well. 

Disruptor 4 - Anti globalists, perhaps

I’m sure there are people out there who have suffered because their jobs have been shipped to India, China or another country with a far cheaper source of labour. They might be angry at their ex-employers, their governments and the people who took their employment. They might seek some pleasure in the disruption of global trade via the Suez. The backlash could be aimed at countries like China, whose economy continues to burgeon at relatively remarkable rates. A prolonged break in their usual trade flow, with more expensive alternatives to follow, could elicit a celebration among these disruptors. 

Alright, it all now sounds like the basis of a movie with James Bond or Johnny English swooping in to save the day. I’m glad things have got back on their feet and I wish the Suez and Egyptians well. (Though this 2016 article doesn’t seem to portray them in a good light - https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20160303-cheap-oil-is-taking-shipping-routes-back-to-the-1800s)

(1) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Suez_Canal_Authority#Revenues

(1 plus) Suez fees calculator - https://www.wilhelmsen.com/tollcalculators/suez-toll-calculator/

(2) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yiwu%E2%80%93London_railway_line