Humble Pie

Our lives give us many opportunities to be humble and humbled. Being in the Peace Corps gives me the chance to be hit over the head with these opportunities, in case I wasn’t paying enough attention. And since I arrived here on site, I obviously wasn’t. When I came for the site visit two weeks prior to coming here for good, I was thrilled at my wonderful home – indoor plumbing and a large bathroom, fireplace, garden, great kitchen, extra bedroom for company, etc.   When I arrived last week, I soon discovered that while the house is wired for electricity, the circuit breaker is so sensitive that it shuts everything off if there isn’t enough voltage, which is most day time hours. I asked my landlord about it and got two answers: the first, he had spoken to the electrician and basically some of the meters in older houses have this problem in how they connect to the grid and it may get fixed soon, or never. The second answer, after I told my other landlord (I have two, a married couple) that the next door neighbors told me they had the same problem but went to the utilities office in Lobatse and then something was done or reset and now they are fine, was okay, go to Lobatse and talk to them.

I felt a bit put out, because I was thinking this should be resolved by the landlord and I was pretty sure that when I went to the utilities folks they would look at me blankly and say, “well, its not your house so we can’t help you” but I decided earlier this week that I would go on Friday and have that conversation, then hit the liquor store as an unhealthy coping mechanism after I heard what they had to say.

Well, Friday morning we spent at the groundbreaking celebration for one of the local disability support groups who are moving forward on a community garden. This is a huge deal because it will enable them to grow the food they need to provide their families and people they care for (some with HIV/AIDS) with the nutrition they most desperately need but cannot always afford.  They still need to purchase the water rights and jump through many and varied bureaucratic hoops (I will save that for another post), but the hope and excitement, even in the face of still daunting challenges, was palatable.  When it was finished, we drove two women my age or older, who sat in the back of the pick up truck, to one of their homes. There, we loaded a large bag of sorghum into the truck, then drove the one woman further down many dirt roads to her home. 

Mind you, at various times throughout the week, but also during the drive, I continued to talk to Victor, my counterpart, and the person contracted to help develop these support groups, about my electric situation and what my landlord was suggesting I do.  Initially, he agreed with me that they should perhaps handle it and not send me to Lobatse. When I griped about the 540 Pula I had to front for gas and electricity because none had been in my house and now I was “broke” until we got paid in July, he would say kindly and gently, “you are still rich.”  I would agree because, as much as I don’t have here, relative to what I did have (and also because if I wanted to, I could pull money out of my account at home in real dire circumstances, even though we are discouraged from doing so by Peace Corps), I am still very lucky to have such a wonderful, safe home and food in the house. I do have electricity at times, and can heat the water overnight when the voltage goes up so I always have hot water in the morning.  I was caught up in the whole, “it just doesn’t make sense that this can’t be fixed and someone else should fix it” mindset.

So we arrive at this woman’s house and 5 or 6 kids under the age of 10 run to the car to stare at me and see what we are doing.  Victor, the woman and I carry the bag of sorghum into her compound, setting it next to a teenaged disabled boy who looked like he was about to start washing himself or his clothes in a large metal basin, but wasn’t sure what to do next.  Near him, laying in the sun on a thin blanket on the ground was a seemingly very old and frail man, who tried to sit up to greet us properly, but couldn’t muster the strength. We said hello to him and then left.  As we drove away, I said to Victor, “these people should have my house.”  He looked at me silently and nodded.

When I got back to the office, I had received a fax from my friend Tom who is working in the district AIDS Coordinating office, explaining how I was to write my request for reimbursement and that it needed to include this statement, “I apologize for not knowing the procedure for obtaining gas and electricity. I arrived at my new house unable to have light, hot water, and unable to cook. I failed to ask for instructions and believed I would have to wait several days for assistance. I thought I would be reimbursed since this is the process in America. I did this of my own free will and it will not happen again.  I have been instructed on the proper procedures for obtaining gas and electricity for my house and I will use these procedures in the future.”  Down girl.  The “procedure” includes me sending a request to the main office, which will be signed and then sent to the procurement people. I should allow 5 to 10 work days for a response. So, if I had done that when I arrived on June 8^th, assuming I had known to do that, because we were told we wouldn’t be doing these things, I would now, on June 18 as I write this, be still looking forward to electricity and gas maybe on Monday. Or maybe I would have gotten it yesterday.  And how much do I request and when do I request it, given I don’t have any idea how much gas I am using right now since it is just a big canister without a meter?  Should I request it now, given it might be here in 2+ weeks? 

With these questions and the memory of my visit to the caregiver’s home all mixing around in my mind, I head to Lobatse, but not to the energy department.

That evening, a strange thing happened in my home. It was 6 p.m., and I had 244 showing on the voltage meter. I had power! A light I didn’t even know I had was on outside the house, quite handy to keep the riffraff away. I could run the fridge, heat water in my electric kettle, power all my stuff and even splurge with the bathroom light on as I did my laundry to get an early start on chores in the am.  I used the light in the kitchen to cook, but still turned everything off when I watched a movie on my laptop.  It feels wrong to waste something that most people don’t have. 

I will never mention my power issues with my counterpart again and I no longer expect my landlords or anyone to deal with it.  I will only ask them to switch my fridge for a smaller one they have so I have a better chance of keeping it on longer. I will settle for hot water for morning baths, cooking by gas, recharging my headlamp and laptop overnight. I have more important things to put my energy into, like helping that support group with their garden project.