All I want is power

Power to the people! Specifically, the people of Msasani and the northern suburbs, as since a fire fried some big transformer on Tuesday we've had intermittent electricity with no power at night. Unfortunately we're one of the few households in the area without a backup generator, so while we get to enjoy the chorus of deep humming from nearby compounds, we lie sweltering without electric fans.

Now would be a good time to explain that despite my sketches of extravagant life for the wealthy and foreigners here, I don't live in some palm-shaded mansion with troupes of servants and a menagerie of rare animals (one might say that I am the 2% instead). Our house is a good size it's true, but doesn't have air conditioning, a fact that some expats see as bordering on masochistic, nor in fact glass windows. The window frames are instead filled with three layers: mosquito netting, a larger mesh for bigger creatures and debris, and the obligatory steel bars for the biggest creatures of the area, other humans. While it provides plenty of protection, what it doesn't provide is soundproofing, which means despite seeing little of the neighbours when the gates are closed, we get to hear everything. Locals shouting, cars revving, whooping of birds and booming of bullfrogs, and most intrusively the local mosque, which (as mosques do) calls out morning, noon and night. They have a backup generator. The sound these days doesn't disturb me unless my usuallywhirring fan is silent, which is why I'm so sleepy as I type this. Another quirk of our house is the need to pump water into the water tower before we have enough pressure to shower or use taps, which again proves a problem with the power out, but fortunately I have one emergency shower's worth of stored water for such occasions. Oh and staff-wise, we just have a maid, which anyone who's lived with me can attest is a great idea. Even washing up on the weekends, her days off, is quite onerous enough, and if my housemates let me I'd quite happily pile everything up in the sink until Monday morning - but Danes are tidy.

After Monday's baptism by fire, thrown into a recovery, work became a lot more pleasant the next day onwards. Tuesday involved accompanying my first assessment, a tall and smiley man named Brian. Brian at 32 owns a small shop employing a single assistant (making less than a pound a day), stocking goods like Africafe (my daily fuel) and Coca-Cola - the same as everyone else's little shop. He lives with three sisters in a small house nearby, and plans to rent another little shop near a university. We're likely to be able to lend Brian to the tune of about a thousand pounds, and first impressions suggest he can make it work from there. The decision gets made tomorrow, so if we're convinced after running through his figures, he gets the loan. Hopefully six months down the line I'll be able to pop by the university and get my crisps off a smiling Brian there. Unfortunately the way inflation's going those same crisps could cost a whole bunch more... ah dammit, I spoiled a nice human interest story with economics.

So that's it for now, I have a car to view and a dinner to get to. More to come next time. You love it.