Dark tunnel

The last two weeks were a blur, but we have emerged from a dark tunnel at last (figuratively and semi-literally). 

A big storm went through Malawi causing widespread flooding. Some transformers fell over and most of the country lost electricity. We were spared the flooding but didn't have any power for three days, like everyone else. 

This is always inconvenient, but it hit us particularly hard because we don't have back-up systems in place yet for the frequent outages of power and water. Our neighbors catch rainwater run-off in big barrels outside their home and they also use propane as a back-up for cooking. The hospital itself has both solar back-up and an expensive diesel-run generator to keep essential power on. The solar wasn't working properly so they were scrambling during those three days and Matthew was repeatedly called in the evenings to come observe and help troubleshoot, as the nature of the problem wasn't clear. 

Of course, nobody knows how long a given outage is going to last. It's normal to have things out for a few hours several times a week, maybe even up to 24 hours. So the first day, when we weren't able to cook on our electric stove or use our electric kettle, we thought: "Ah, well, we'll just make do with bread and avocado today." I took a pill to stave off a caffeine headache. We ate cold leftovers, which were rapidly becoming warm leftovers in our fridge. By day two, when the kids asked what we were going to eat for supper, I replied: "Sadness."

Then late that evening our wonderful neighbors David & Marleen rang and offered to lend us their extra propane tank. There has also been a propane shortage throughout the country, which is why we still didn't have ours filled, thus giving us a back-up option for cooking. Life felt a lot better when we could again cook and boil water. 

I'd been going to work daily (more about that in a future post), but we were definitely in survival mode. Matthew worked when he could, but much of his time was still being spent biking for groceries in the nearby village, cooking, and fetching water from the borehole when water was out. (This amused the local grannies, he saw one of them snap a picture of him.) He also spent those days without power - ironically - wiring a hot water heater for our shower. Now we had something to live for: when those lights flipped back on, baby, life was gonna be good!

And finally it did, late on the third day, like Jesus rising from the dead. I was already in bed but could clearly make out the sounds of Matthew enjoying a hot shower. I made plans for my own. But by the next morning, the power was already gone again - but then it came back on - but then the water flipped off. What a roller coaster! We went that whole fourth day making do with buckets when, again, David saved the day. He texted late that night: "Wait - we've had water today. You should too. Have you paid your water bill?"

Water bill? WATER BILL??

Matthew's reply: "[Biggest sigh in the world.] No, we haven't. Can you show us how?"

And so it came to pass that, on the fifth day, we enjoyed all the electricity and piped water anyone could hope for. What's more - the propane distributor again had propane to sell! Then the tailor texted that my custom chitenje skirt was ready! Then we had a full day of sunshine with no rain, and all our clothes fully dried! Good Lord, the plumber even showed up and slapped a temporary bandaid on our toilet leak so the bathroom stopped smelling like pee! Then Matthew borrowed a jig-saw and built us custom kitchen shelving! 

Mild depression? Culture-shock? Get outta town! As things fall more into place, as items get ticked off the to-do lists, I can see Matthew relaxing, laughing easier, again pulling out his binocs for early morning birding in the misty tea fields. We're figuring out how to live here.

It was alright this past week. We tried to treat it like wilderness camping, which is something we love to do (we reminded ourselves). Like wilderness camping, the beauty of no electricity is how quiet and intimate things become, even in a populated area. We spent our evenings just hanging out, listening to the frog and cricketsong swell up in the darkness, the candles dropping wax while me and Matthew played cribbage or the kids bucket-bathed before bed.  

When amenities like water or power aren't a given, life naturally takes on a slower pace. Expectations are lower. It's something I remembered about Africa. People don't get their undies in a bunch, really, when the rain falls for days, or the power is out all the time. That's just life, so you show up late or not at all. Another day will come, and you can do anything you need to then. People understand, because we're living it together. 

And when the dark tunnel of inconvenience eventually ends, we all smile in relief - and then everyone runs to go charge their phones.