When suddenly the power goes out in a bar, no one stops talking. Everything continues as if the electricity continued to work. They don’t even flinch. Conversations don’t stop. “Welcome to Lebanon”, the locals say sarcastically to the tourists alarmed by the blackness that suddenly invades the place. In the adjoining room, there is no electricity either but that does not prevent the succession of toasts, laughter and confessions along this bustling street in Beirut, where you can drown your sorrows in alcohol. And it is that the Lebanese are a town accustomed to the dark. They have no other choice. In a country with less than two hours of electricity provided by the government daily, more than four million people try to live in dignity.
Umm Rafi she remembers her long days as a seamstress. In her house with high ceilings and spotless floors in the Beirut neighborhood of Mar Michael, displays a whole sample of creations. Many of his most elaborate embroideries have been done by hand. His neighborhood, very close to puerto, was one of those most affected by the explosion on August 4, 2020 that killed at least 215 people. Umm Rafi kept her life – “but in what way?” she wonders – even though she lost, among many other things, her work tool: your sewing machine. “I really want to work, I just need the machine, but neither can my children buy me a new one nor can any NGO provide it for me,” he told this newspaper.
For this reason, this Lebanese Armenian from 77 years spends his days cooking, cleaning and praying. With no electricity at home, there’s not much else you can do. “Sometimes, the government provides us with an hour or half an hour of light a day, although nothing has arrived for a couple of weeks ”, he denounces. When, without announcing it, the beeps start to sound from the electrical appliances, Umm Rafi runs. Although she is from dawn, Take the opportunity to put a quick program on the washing machine or to turn on the heater for a while. He doesn’t know when the lights will go out again.
private generators
Those Lebanese who can afford it use a private generator that runs on oil. The economic debacle has thrown three out of four Lebanese citizens under the poverty line, so the privileged ones are fewer and fewer. Since the end of the civil war (1975-1990), the population has had to live with a weak public electrical system. The situation worsened after the 2006 Israeli-Lebanese conflict when Électricité du Liban’s poor infrastructure and large volume of debt forced them to implement a daily cut of three hours.
Many people survived without a generator, although those 180 minutes a day were a reminder of the bad management and endemic corruption to its political class. Now, the collapse of the financial system and the ungovernability force the Lebanese to fend for themselves in electrical matters. But having a generator does not mean 24-hour electricity, as Lebanon suffers from constant periods of fuel shortage. For this reason, the always decisive Lebanese society is forced to find alternatives.
$2,000 bills
“We recently installed solar panels to reduce the cost of our generator,” explains Jad Hamdanthe operations manager of the iconic Mezyan restaurant in the vibrant neighborhood of Hammer at the foot of the Mediterranean. Venues like this are forced to invest a large part of their income in ensuring that the current flows to keep their products fresh and, therefore, their reputation intact. Many others have had to close. “Many restaurants are suffering due to electricity: some only have energy for 10 hours a daywhich is why they ask for their products daily to avoid damage”, admits Hamdan to EL PERIÓDICO.
Until now, the electric bill for the Mezyan’s private generator has run as high as $2,000 to $2,500 to finance the fuel that runs it. “We hope that solar energy will help us to cut it in half or even less”, explains this father of a family hopefully. In many homes, they have also seen the need to install solar panels to take advantage of the 300 sunny days a year from Lebanon. Still, its installation is a luxury for a few, since the bill amounts to a handful of thousands of dollars in a country whose currency has lost 95% of its value.
refrigerators as cabinets
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In most houses, actually, refrigerators are used as cabinets. The heaters are full of dust, and the sunset forces many to end their day. As she heats water in a pot to take a shower, Umm Rafi strokes her hip. She still feels the impact of the explosion from more than two years ago. She is recovered but has the limited movement and prevents you from leaving the house. “I’m afraid that I’ll fail when I walk and fall with the boiling water,” she confesses. “I also dread tripping at night on my way to the bathroom and no one notices“, recognize.
The darkness it already stains the entire landscape of Lebanon. Streets that used to overflow with partying and light now languish in darkness. Walking through the iconic avenues of the capital at night causes fear and insecurity as the criminality increases protected by blackness. In public and private spaces, the Lebanese try to live their lives clinging to the resilience that characterizes them. But they are fed up. “Only when I die will I be able to rest,” laments Umm Rafi.