Powerless?

I write this post in the dark (under my mosquito net, sweat absorbing into my bed sheets…) on a laptop I charged with the generator at work. We haven’t had electricity for 2 weeks and counting. This length of outage is apparently uncommon, though certainly not unheard of here in N’Djamena. Water is also cut frequently for large portions of the day, at which times we (and several of our neighbours) depend on the well beside our home. That’s just how it is with services in Chad. For most people, even in the capital city, money can’t buy internet fast enough for Skype, taxis come when taxis come, and there is no way of knowing when basics like power or water will come back. It’s true, you could trace a general pattern that richer neighbourhoods will have more reliable power than poorer neighbourhoods; as well there seems to be a greater likelihood to be without power during the day and more chance of power at night… but beyond that, it’s almost impossible to predict. There is no news expected about whether anyone is making an effort to restore the situation. Life just carries on with what’s available. While we can always hope for the lights to come on, it seems nobody is holding their breath.

This attitude that Chadians take towards power outages is just one example of an interesting cultural difference that’s come to my attention recently (through my experiences and a book I've been reading).* African cultures tend to utilize resources in the moment to meet the immediate needs of themselves, friends and family. Then, they are prepared to do without until more becomes available. In managing personal finances, there is good reason why the culture has evolved this way. Personal relationships are the backbone of society, providing a social safety net to people who have seen more than their share of hardships throughout history. It is simply expected that those with excess resources will share the wealth with friends and family. Someone who keeps excess money to themselves is not seen as investing in a secure future, but rather selfishly failing to fulfill his/her relational obligations – the very relationships which would provide in the event of future needs. And so, Africans tend to spend their resources fairly quickly (either to meet their own needs, the needs of others, or to ensure that the funds are spent before any kin has the chance to ask for it) and as a result, they are accustomed to inconsistencies in the availability of resources. They're willing to wait in half-hearted annoyance about the inconvenience until the resource becomes available again.  

While this note-culturelle helps me understand the attitudes I encounter, all these black evenings leave me wondering - why is it exactly that there couldn't be enough power in this city to avoid cuts all together? People expect and tolerate shortages, but they would certainly prefer not to lose power. What is keeping this country from obtaining enough supply? Chad is an oil-producing nation. Surely there is a solution to be found in the wealth of black exports. Maybe it's a problem of politics... or what about solar? Surely if panels could be installed throughout a city like N'Djamena you could build a self sufficient grid right into the infrastructure of the city! So maybe it's an engineering problem... Or maybe... suddenly I'm reminded of a recent conversation with a Chadian friend, and I have mixed feelings about my brainstorming... 'Development in Africa,' he told me, 'needs to come from Africans.' I couldn't agree more. Real, viable solutions to development challenges in Chad are going to have to line up with cultural realities that I am still reading about in books. Perhaps the most promising solutions are those that will defy western business models and baffle development scholars. Much like how the willingness to sit in the dark for weeks on end and the preference to use rather than budget resources is baffling to a Canadian like me. 

Despite the inconvenience and inequality, I must say that I’m rather fond of evenings without power. It makes everyday life feel a little bit like camping, and I’ll do my best to paint the picture for you. Nights are cooler at this time of year, dropping to around 30°C. It is extremely hot in the house, so I put on some bug-spray and join the family sitting outside. The moon is bright and the breeze is refreshing. We sit in comfortable silence for a while – silent that is, except for the soundtrack of tonight’s feature film blaring from the cinema next door. Someone tells a story in French or Moundang (my host family’s language – pronounced “moon-dung”). I ask how to say a simple phrase in Moundang, get a lesson in pronunciation for the sounds that English and French simply don’t use, and sit for a while silently memorizing the new words so that I can greet my host dad (Papa) when he gets home. The mood seems relaxed and content, even though I know all the children (whether 6 or 24 years old) would rather be watching TV. Papa arrives, parks his work SUV in the back of our compound, and teases me about why I’m just sitting around when I could have gone back to Canada to find some electricity. We eat leftovers from lunch – reheated rice or corn-flour paste with a runny, flavorful tomato or peanut sauce. We watch the stars, slap a few mosquitoes  and trade stories about our days in between long bouts of comfortable silence. Mama is dozing on a wooden bench, only after having checked several times that everyone had enough to eat (especially me). Olga is texting friends; Junior is asleep on a plastic woven mat on the front porch, and aunt Odette is singing softly to herself a hymn from the family’s Lutheran song book. Deli, however, is bored and he's been eyeing his mother's cellphone, carefully nestled in the crook of her arm. He stealthily gets up and creeps behind his mother’s bench. Much to the amusement of everyone, he reaches over his mother to swipe his prize… but she senses something and reaches out to swat the mosquito – back jumps Deli! Mama hasn't noticed him, but the rest of us can’t keep our laughter in and his secret is out! …Back to our comfortable silence, and the night goes on.

Even across cultures and language barriers it’s amazing how powerful it is to just be with people. We’re taking in a shared experience – tranquil evenings, family time, more than a few stars and more than a few mosquitoes. Big questions on life and development will just have to wait until tomorrow. 

*David Maranz (2001). African Friends and Money Matters. Dallas: SIL