Slice of Student Life - Dec '22 / Jan '23
Christmas LIGHTS?
Christmas LIGHTS?
With Christmas and new year around the
corner we all reminisce about 2022. We ponder on the good and the bad as we
hang up Christmas decorations and switch on colourful, festive lights. Bright green
and luminous red penetrate our souls and we are filled with utter gratitude to
have made it this far. Not all, however, are as blessed. About 80 percent of my
South African friends might not be able to enjoy sparkling Christmas lights
this year. No, they will simply stare at the lifeless tree.
Loadshedding has been a dreadful memory of
2022 for me and my fellow students. But we have conquered the dark and
experienced delightful (sic) moments that most Namibians will never
undergo. I share some of these life-changing experiences with you.
As with most things, I often forget to note the loadshedding times, and they sneak on me like a thief in the night. Shocked, I let out a scream and get several in return. “Ah,” I think, “my neighbours have also forgotten. How nice it is to be in this together.”
With no charged lamps, empty cell phone batteries and a lack of lighters, I approach my neighbours for aid.
While they sit comfortably around their dinner table with steaming pots of food illuminated by fully charged flashlights, I knock-knock on their open door (you know, to make sure they hear me above all the silence loadshedding causes).
“So it is you again?” the man growls. “Coming to beg again, are you?”
What a loving neighbour I have. “Could you spare a lighter, perhaps?”
“Here, take this and get lost!”
Whilst I stare at candle flames dancing across my walls and scented fumes entering my nostrils, appreciation for my kind neighbours come over me (NOT) and I wonder whether loadshedding elsewhere brings peace and unity to some people of South Africa. My peace has been shattered.
Although my house is lit, I still cannot enjoy a hot shower nor eat, nor work. But there is (candle)light in the darkness. With no choice I, along with my fellow South Africans, am grounded to my roots. With the increasing silence we can hear our ancestors calling to us and we follow. They managed without electricity, and so can we.
No shower? No problem. With no hot water in the midst of winter, we have no choice but to embrace our primitive instincts and play “piggy”.
No microwave? No worries. Empowered with our newly found scent we refuse to go hungry. Like animals we devour our food (and drink) cold. Slimy soup, compressed fat and a cold cup of tap water coffee has never tasted better.
No laptop? No studies. Motivated by loadshedding and inspired by our ancestors we are forced to abandon the hustle culture. Unable to work we find a new peace of mind as we simply blame our failing degree on the Eskom committee.
Finally loadshedding teaches South African inhabitants the most valuable lesson: Value your time. I often took the early morning hours for granted as my body recovered in a state of peace and rest, called sleep. Loadshedding, however, teaches us to use this time more wisely. It unearths the wonders of ironing your clothes at 2 am and vacuuming at 3.
Loadshedding has stolen the light from our lives, but in return gifted us with (uneasy) unity, animal etiquette and time management skills. Therefore, my fellow Namibians, as you hang your Christmas lights, have a moment of silence for the South Africans who have evolved (backwards) with the purposeful gift of loadshedding.
Sareez Basson
As with most things, I often forget to note the loadshedding times, and they sneak on me like a thief in the night. Shocked, I let out a scream and get several in return. “Ah,” I think, “my neighbours have also forgotten. How nice it is to be in this together.”
With no charged lamps, empty cell phone batteries and a lack of lighters, I approach my neighbours for aid.
While they sit comfortably around their dinner table with steaming pots of food illuminated by fully charged flashlights, I knock-knock on their open door (you know, to make sure they hear me above all the silence loadshedding causes).
“So it is you again?” the man growls. “Coming to beg again, are you?”
What a loving neighbour I have. “Could you spare a lighter, perhaps?”
“Here, take this and get lost!”
Whilst I stare at candle flames dancing across my walls and scented fumes entering my nostrils, appreciation for my kind neighbours come over me (NOT) and I wonder whether loadshedding elsewhere brings peace and unity to some people of South Africa. My peace has been shattered.
Although my house is lit, I still cannot enjoy a hot shower nor eat, nor work. But there is (candle)light in the darkness. With no choice I, along with my fellow South Africans, am grounded to my roots. With the increasing silence we can hear our ancestors calling to us and we follow. They managed without electricity, and so can we.
No shower? No problem. With no hot water in the midst of winter, we have no choice but to embrace our primitive instincts and play “piggy”.
No microwave? No worries. Empowered with our newly found scent we refuse to go hungry. Like animals we devour our food (and drink) cold. Slimy soup, compressed fat and a cold cup of tap water coffee has never tasted better.
No laptop? No studies. Motivated by loadshedding and inspired by our ancestors we are forced to abandon the hustle culture. Unable to work we find a new peace of mind as we simply blame our failing degree on the Eskom committee.
Finally loadshedding teaches South African inhabitants the most valuable lesson: Value your time. I often took the early morning hours for granted as my body recovered in a state of peace and rest, called sleep. Loadshedding, however, teaches us to use this time more wisely. It unearths the wonders of ironing your clothes at 2 am and vacuuming at 3.
Loadshedding has stolen the light from our lives, but in return gifted us with (uneasy) unity, animal etiquette and time management skills. Therefore, my fellow Namibians, as you hang your Christmas lights, have a moment of silence for the South Africans who have evolved (backwards) with the purposeful gift of loadshedding.
Sareez Basson
