Let there Be Light

It's 7:00 in the evening. Ten of my most dedicated adult students sit at tiny wooden desks at a local primary school, clustered around dimming candle light in a vain attempt to see their test papers.

Though this single room at the primary school has florescent lights installed, electricity is unreliable at best. It makes the simplest task a difficult undertaking. Simply printing their tests was a five hour undertaking and took visits to three printing dukas. The effort feels largely in vain as my students struggle to read their papers.

People here desire to live in a modern world. Many of my students are business men and women. Many are travelled, multilingual, and well educated. But modernizing a country that can't keep the lights on is difficult. When my students return home from our evening English class they will cook dinner over gas stoves or charcoal grills. They will check their children's homework over candle light and play dominos by starlight.

Life here is accustomed to going on in the absence of electricity. But everyone here is very aware that where I come from power is continuously available. That where I grew up electricity washed my clothes, cooked my food, heated my water, and light my house at the touch of a button. They say I am very brave to live here, where there is so little... well, everything really. I don't feel brave though. I feel like throwing things when the lights don't come on, when my phone doesn't charge, when the fan doesn't blow and I sweat miserably all night. I feel embarrassed by my own frustration.

Cheers echo through the neighborhood when the power turns on. They quickly turn to groans as it shuts off minutes later. But candles are lit and life goes on. My students finish their tests and walk home by moonlight. They say "Inchallah, tomorrow there will be light."