illumination

I’m generally inspired to write this sort of blog post after I’ve been sitting in the dark for half an hour, wondering when the power’s going to come back on. Of course, that’s exactly when I’m unable to write the post, so it keeps not being written until I force myself to do it when the lights are on and the cool fan is gently oscillating around my room, and everything seems wonderful. So here I go.

From what I gather, there’s one evil electricity company in Senegal, and their power source is limited (Is it petrol? Sunshine? Childrens’ tears? I can’t remember, sorry). Consequently, there are frequent power outages in various zones around the city; my host father tells me that their limited power means that they have to turn off the lights in certain areas in order to give light to other areas. As a result of all this, power outages are par for the course, in my average week.

These power outages vary… a lot. They may happen only once in a week, or twice in a day (though generally I can count on at least once a week, usually more). They may last for five hours (yes, really) or only three minutes (which has only happened to me once, sadly). They may occur in the morning, the afternoon, or at night. A mere few days ago, I was mid-shower when the power went out, and I was left standing there, wondering whether I should risk shaving in the darkness.

I can only remember three, maybe four times in my American life when the power has gone out. They were all pretty momentous occasions, particularly when I was younger. I always loved to carry the candle all around the house, and see everyone’s’ faces glowing by candlelight. However, here, power outages are an everyday occurrence—and a nuisance. Particularly given Dakar’s heat and sea humidity, the worst part of an outage is fact that the fan powers down. When there’s no such thing as central air conditioning, I have to rely on those three whirling blades. And what happens when the blades stop whirling? I sweat, that’s what. I sweat a lot.

Having the power go out has its upside, however. The constant blaring of the television ten feet away [the dining room is also the living room] dies away, and we’re left with no choice but to talk to each other. I secretly enjoy the times when the power goes out during dinner, because it means I’ll be able to joke and talk a little more without worrying whether I’m interrupting an important plot point on the Italian soap opera my mother is watching so intently.

Really, electricity is such an integral part of everyday life that you don’t really know how important it is until the electricity gets shut off. It’s this kind of event that shows me how much I take for granted in the United States (along with hot water, every day), and how glad I am to have those things and be able to take them for granted. Senegal’s electricity system really sheds some light on my life here… until the power goes off again, of course.