Electricity: love it while you have it, but don’t expect it

In the past two hours the electricity has gone off and come back on three times. The first time I was in the middle of eating dinner, the second time I was reading the paper, the third I was washing dishes. Luckily I only had one plate fatality in the process. Each time it went, my living room turned into a vacuum of total darkness and I just sat there, without any light in hand, wondering if I should get up, grope my way to my room to get my torch or just stay put and hope for subtle flickering of light that indicates light is back. Sitting in the dark gets worrisome after a while because there is no telling when they will bring light back.

Black outs are daily occurrences in Nigeria. Sometimes they last for two hours, sometimes two days. These are not weather induced black outs. They happen because that’s just the way the government run electricity company works here. The power sector of the government is called the Power Holding Company of Nigeria (PHCN), or more commonly known as Please Have Candle Nearby. People still refer to it as NEPA (National Electric Power Authority or more popularly, Never Expect Power Again) because it sounds sweeter saying “NEPA oooh!!!” when they take light than “PCHN!!” I’ve read articles about Nigeria’s electricity problems. Some say the problem is that Nigeria–Africa’s largest oil producer–does not have the capacity to produce enough power for the entire country. The article said Nigeria–a country with a population of roughly 150 million people–was producing 3,500 Megawatts of electricity in 2008. Madison, Wisconsin, a city populated by about 200,000 people produces about 700 Megawatts–that’s one fifth of what this country produces. I’m pretty sure no one in this country thinks ability is what is keeping the government from providing light 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I am told that the light situation has not always been this bad, with random daily black outs and days without light. Not so long ago, over 12 years, my friends and teachers say that the papers and news networks would announce the specific times the light was going to go out. So at least there was some organization to the darkness and you would know to avoid doing tasks that required light (like washing dishes) at certain times.

I have become accustomed to the fragility of light. You know you’re used to it when you are in the middle of a sentence when the light goes out, leaving you in pitch blackness, and you keep on talking without any hesitation. Still, I cannot help but wonder who or what decides which areas of the country get light at which times. Is there some big boss man sitting behind a massive switch board flipping switches as he pleases?

At least some people benefit from the instability; the companies who produce generators and rechargeable flashlights are making a killing. My torch light miner’s headband might be the most valuable thing I brought from home. Shoot, they just took light again….

…wait, it’s back again….

This is getting confusing. NEPA make up your mind, abeg.

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Daily excitement and minor struggles

Daily life is slowly expanding for us on the University of Ibadan campus. We actually went to the bookstore yesterday and out after dark last night.

In the University of Ibadan bookstore, without light. Abike found a poster of the Yoruba Alphabet.

Granted we were sitting in a packed theater watching a play, we were still technically not at home at 8 p.m. Going out after dark is not common in Nigeria. There are many proverbs that warn about the dangers of being out when you cannot see your hand in front of your face. Streets lights are not common and people would rather sit in their house and watch movies on the Africa Magic channel then go out for dinner. Lunch is the most common meal to eat out. But go out last night we did, and we had a great time.

We saw a play called ‘Moremi.’ Moremi is a Yoruba Queen from the city of Ife, the origin of the Yoruba people. At the time of her life, the Igbo’s invaded Ife and enslaved tons of its citizens. Moremi went to the extreme of sacrificing her son to the goddess of river Esimirin to protect her people. Moremi is a important woman in Yoruba history.

At a play Thursday night on UI campus, the king (seated) and Moremi talking to their subjects about the threat of the Igbo's.

The play, performed in English, with Yoruba songs, was excellent, but what excited me more was the audience. First of all, people kept streaming in, climbing over others to find seats up until 20 minutes before it ended. Cell phone use is apparently not prohibited because people all around me were having actual conversations during the play. Whenever something good happened on stage, everyone cheered and yelled praises. If something bad happened people shouted insults at the characters. The audience experience is much more involved compared to the U.S. The Yoruba will speak their mind and answer their phones no matter what the situation is.

After the excitement of the play, my host brothers and sister and I returned home to a lighted house thanks to the generator (our light has been our for almost a week and there is no telling when it will come back). Since our generator was on, I was able to take a regular shower, not a bucket shower. Something interesting happened during my shower. As I started to wash the conditioner out, I suddenly felt my hair feel really hard, like it was frozen. I looked up and low and behold, dirt brown water was pouring out of the shower head. Apparently I had gotten the end of the water tank. Gross. I immediately got out, vigorously tried to comb my hair (which wasn’t easy) and went to tell my host mom. She laughed at me because I spoke English, not Yoruba for the unfortunate situation. She let me take a bucket shower in her bathroom with water from a different tank. Finally clean, I sat in the dark with my host mom to do my Yoruba homework. Good day.

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