I am an early riser. A daily routine is good for productivity and health, and the early hours can help to set the mood for the rest of the day. But where I am, in Beirut, living and working according to the optimum schedule has become very difficult.
Particularly, as a Syrian living in Lebanon, there are many echoes of the darkest days of economic turmoil in Damascus, when even the simplest life could be exhausting.
These days, I stay up until 1AM, when the generator I use turns off, so that I can keep the heating on for as long as possible. Once I hear the sound of the power shutting down, I run around my house to unplug heaters and turn off the water heater. Then I sleep with two layers on under the duvet for five hours, until the generator powers up again.
Lebanon has been facing major power cuts for more than a year. Most areas do not receive government-supplied electricity for more than an hour a day. It differs from one city to another, and within the same city, from one neighbourhood to the other. Especially in Beirut, power cuts in a given neighbourhood can depend on things like which powerful party member or politician lives there.
The cuts used to be two to three hours a day; now, they last nearly 23 hours a day. Nearly all of the average person’s power comes from diesel generators. But even this is a precarious source; with fuel shortages, prices soar and generator power is only available about half the hours it used to be. I, for example, pay nearly $450 a month to get 11 to 14 hours of power a day. In the cold winter, that should be the minimum amount people get, but for most Lebanese it is not. Not to mention that even with a generator, one normally cannot charge devices, have the lights on, heat the water, do the washing or turn on the heating all at once.
So it is hard to speak of anything like a regular routine – life in Beirut is lived according to whether the power is on or off. People have learnt to ration their time and adjust their schedules, and to wake up in the middle of the night to plug or unplug.
Often, when I wake up at 6AM to put some heating on again, prioritising the water boiler so that I can have a shower, I discover that the generator does not work. Ringing the man in charge of it may yield some success after a two-hour wait, but that success is often short-lived. An hour or two later, the power may switch off again, moving my shower to the afternoon.
Then there are the appliances. In major urban centres like Beirut, particularly in the winter and in a troubled economy where most people try to save food for multiple days, things like refrigerators and microwaves are vital. Yet, they are luxuries. The switchboard on my refrigerator is fried, according to a repairman, because of all of the problems with the power grid. The same can be said for my other appliances.
It is easy to forget how interdependent various services are. In an economic meltdown, it becomes apparent very quickly. Sometimes, when there is finally enough electricity for me to have my afternoon shower, I discover there is no water. Water has not been pumped into storage tanks for days because of the lack of power, and government-supplied water only arrives twice a week. Someone has to be called to come and fill the water tank manually. Maybe I will get to shower in the evening. Forget washing anything else today.
In between trying to sort out all of these issues with my utilities, there is also the challenge of finding time to do my actual job in order to actually pay for them. That struggle is multiplied hundreds of thousands of times over with other residents across the city.
And yet, those who have jobs to do are something of an elite in today’s Lebanon. There are so many more who do not have stable employment, and others who are refugees living in tents. They must navigate the power shortages without any money. There are also medicine and food shortages – they must navigate these things, too.
It ought to inspire some relief that Lebanon is due to have elections in the coming months, that there may be some movement out of this dire mess. But when nearly everyone in Beirut is spent trying to ensure their most basic needs, there is little energy or focus available to think about such things. One wonders how meaningful the electoral process will actually be in such circumstances. Many people do not even believe the elections will happen.
There is some solace in the fact that, even after a day of madness, there is always a stunning sunset to be found in Beirut, when one looks out over the Mediterranean. It is a reminder that the city has magic, and deserves much better than what it is going through. But I sometimes reflect on the fact that, not too far away, in Damascus, many Syrians had said the same thing about their own city. While that inspired some to maintain hope, it also inspired many others to leave once and for all for a different life somewhere across the sea.
