Last night I left work about an hour and a half later than usual, around 6:30. It felt even later than that because by the time I got home it was pretty much dark. We had a late medevac call to Suai, on the south coast, and my first proper experience of negotiating tropical weather there and back had left me with quite a bit to think about. No problem though; I was home, and had the rest of the evening to muddle through the things that needed doing, one at a time.
Step 1: Carry two 20 L containers full of water into the house - a ritual I have been doing for about the last week, since the water pump developed a mind of its own. Each day I’ve taken the containers to work, filled them up there and then brought them home again. It’s been my way of taking back control over the situation where you open the tap only to find nothing comes out, then going to check the pump only to find it’s clogged up with something, probably sand and grit, yet again.
Step 2: Cook dinner. That morning I had put a couple of frozen chicken breasts in the fridge to defrost. They hadn’t. I looked at my watch; it was already 7:00. Can I really be bothered with this? Nah, just take the easy option - toaster oven on, chips and chicken nuggets in.
About ten minutes later there was a bang outside and the power went off. Thankfully I knew exactly where my headtorch was and was able to find it in the dark. How long should I wait for the power to come back on before turning on the generator? Well with food half-cooked in the oven, I can’t really afford to wait long. So on with the generator, which involved arming myself with my trusty mosquito zapper and venturing out into the darkness to find the shed by the back fence, generator on, then to the power box at the front of the house to switch the supply over.
Step 3: Iron shirts. Ten minutes to go on the oven timer. I really only needed one shirt, for the following day... the others could wait.
Step 4: Eat dinner and make a plan for the evening. I decided the best course of action would be to get ready for a shower straight after dinner, then turn the generator off, shower by torchlight, and go to bed. That way I wouldn’t have to go back outside in the diesel fumes, dust and humidity after my shower. But just as I was finishing dinner, the power came back on again - heralded by some gleeful shouts from the kids living next door. So I was able to do some Bible study instead before getting ready for bed.
Step 5: Have a shower. At present, due to the water pump issues, this is not as easy as ‘undress, turn on the tap, wash’. Instead it means scooping water from my container into my shower bucket, scooping more water into the jug to boil, mixing the two, carrying the bucket to the bathroom (along with extra water to manually refill the toilet cistern after using that). Then undressing and washing etc.
Just as I got out of the shower the power went out yet again. I didn’t have my headtorch with me, but I did have the mosquito zapper, which has a built in light. (I have got in the habit of taking the zapper into the bathroom as there always seems to be at least two or three mozzies in there.) So I was able to see what I was doing to get dressed and brush my teeth - using water from my drink bottle, which again I have got in the habit of taking into the bathroom with me for that purpose.
Step 6: Go to bed. Using the mosquito zapper light I was able to locate my headtorch. I remembered to switch off the lights in the bathroom and bedroom so that they wouldn’t turn on automatically when the power came back on, which it did sometime around 12:30 am.
All of these events are not all that unusual here, but what I did find unusual was how calm I felt through it all. The last few weeks I have had some mini-meltdowns about the water pump, but I think now that I have backup systems in places (i.e. water containers and generator) it has given me back at least a sense of having some control over things. It could also be that God has stretched me to a point that these things are not as painful as they once were. It gives me hope for the future that I might be able to adjust to life in a MAF programme long term.
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