The quarantine law says anyone caught outside will be jailed for up to a year. The car is parked on the street outside, with a box of water in the boot. Do you risk it?

Such have been the sort of dilemmas facing people in Jordan since Saturday morning, when the Middle Eastern kingdom introduced one of the most stringent anti-coronavirus regimes in the world.

It was announced at 7am by rounds of air-raid sirens: every person in the country indefinitely confined to their homes. No grocery shopping. No trips to pharmacies. Not even a walk around the block. Those with medical emergencies could call the authorities, but anyone caught outside would be arrested. More than 800 people have been picked up so far, the military says.

Videos circulating on social media show army Humvees patrolling Ammans beige streets. Another clip showed a veiled woman who parked her car in the middle of an empty street and danced to the music blaring from her stereo. Local media reported later reported her arrest.

Jordan has undergone the same whiplash-inducing shift to a new era as other countries. Nine days ago, cafes were full, tourist sites were open and just person had tested for the virus, and recovered.

In a cascade over the next days, flights were cancelled, Jordans airport closed, the borders of Amman sealed, non-essential businesses shut and, finally, everyone ordered to stay home.

The curfew, imposed because people were flouting the governments plaintive requests to stay home of their own volition, was announced at 3pm on the day before it came into force, triggering an immediate run on bakeries and supermarkets. In the hours before people would be isolated from each other for their protection, they were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder buying bread and milk.

On Monday, a government spokesman told Jordanians the curfew would extend for weeks, and they should make do with the basics until then. An unprecedented scheme for delivering bread, water and pharmaceuticals to the population of 10 million is being trialled from Tuesday, though how it will work is still unclear. Ministers have already warned citizens to get used to the absence of luxuries.

Possible problems abound. Will there be enough workers or cars to deliver on what is sure to be enormous demand? Will farmers and distributors be allowed out to keep the food system running? And what happens when people run out of cash?

For my circle, the toll of the curfew so far has been an accumulation of small inconveniences. The elaborate meals we planned to cook during isolation have been pared back. Supplies of hay fever medicine in our house have dwindled to a single pill. A friend with two dogs cant walk either of them but says they are entertaining each other, for now.

But Jordan has shouldered far more than its fair share of refugees from across the region. On farms, in the poorer quarters of cities and in sprawling camps, more than 650,000 Syrians are also confined to their homes. There are few more resilient communities in the world, but most cannot afford to stockpile food for weeks.

Those who can look after themselves are looking after themselves, Ahmed, a Syrian who fled to Jordan from the city of Hama, said last week. Those who dont have food, dont.

The gamble is that a few weeks of difficulty might spare Jordan the horror that Italy, Iran and others are experiencing. Jordan has 112 coronavirus cases so far, with all but one said to be in good condition. The countrys health system is ranked by the World Health Organization as one of the least prepared in the region to fight a pandemic. The government had to act fast, and drastically.

If those who are confirmed to be sick are properly treated; if asymptomatic cases are confined long enough for the virus to work its way through them, their households and environments; if authorities can keep people satisfied long enough so that they adhere to the rules; and if the borders remain closed, preventing new cases from entering Jordan could avoid the worst.

Four big ifs. On Monday night, the third day of the curfew, Jordanians gathered on their balconies to sing and cheer in solidarity with each other and health workers. It is to be a nightly ritual. Over the next weeks, it will convey the public mood.

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Home deliveries and Humvees: life under Jordans harsh virus lockdown - The Guardian