Features of daily life that are both reliable and ubiquitous disappear into the background, and require a conscious effort to detect or attend to. We often say that a container is 'empty', even though we know it contains air. People that live near waterfalls barely acknowledge their thunderous churn. It is easy to forget how recent an invention indoor plumbing is.
However, the more accustomed we are to a thing's presence, the more acutely we feel the dissonance or outright distress created by its absence. If a rushing cascade were silenced, the locals would stop and stare. When modern toilets are unavailable, we feel hard done by. When illness, injury or disaster makes breathing difficult, panic ensues.
How, then, would you feel if your electricity were turned off for an hour or more at a time, multiple times a day?
In developed countries, electricity is very reliable, and any interruptions in its supply are considered much more than mere nuisances. Occasional, brief power outages due to storm damage or severe natural disasters are tolerated, but lapses in electrical supply for any other reason are simply unacceptable. Electricity is arguably the most important and widely-used resource upon which modern civilization has been built, and any gap in its supply results in a proportionate slackening in civilization's progress.
Since 2008, Pakistan has been suffering from the most severe electricity shortage in the world. On average, businesses in Pakistan experience the most frequent power outages (an average of 75 times per month; more than Bangladesh, Lebanon, Iraq, and Yemen), and suffer the greatest sales losses (33% of total sales; more than Yemen, Nepal, Ghana, and Nigeria).
My previous long-term stay in Pakistan between 2011 and 2013 coincided with the peak of the country's electricity crisis. Widespread corruption led to the depletion of departmental funds, and vital infrastructure assets were dismantled and sold off. National power generation companies could no longer afford to service or fuel many of their coal and natural gas plants.
I remember how the frequency of rolling blackouts steadily ramped up to unbearable levels. In 2011, there would usually be a 30-minute or 1-hour outage every 4 hours or so. By the time I returned to Toronto in July 2013, we only had power in our relatively upscale neighborhood every other hour. There was even a span of a few weeks that summer when we experienced excruciating, day-long outages.
As factories, shops, offices, and households alike attempted to meet their quotas and maintain their standard of living by using gasoline, diesel, and natural gas generators, the energy crisis spread to these other forms of fuel. The nation's considerable natural gas infrastructure had little to transmit, with kitchens in most cities literally running on fumes. Vehicles running on gasoline, diesel, and compressed natural gas all spent hours (and occasionally days!) in serpentine formation around fuel pumps.
Uninterruptible Power Supply (UPS) devices, attached to one or more 12-volt car or truck batteries, became commonplace. While UPS units undoubtedly offered their owners some measure of relief from long stretches without power, they only made the electricity shortage worse. Customers were now placing an even higher load on the electricity grid: all the power-consuming appliances they were using before, plus these UPS units that were less efficient and required frequent recharging. Everyone cramming their electricity-dependent chores into brief windows of opportunity usually results in dips in voltage, AKA 'brown-outs'. In this way, electricity becomes the vehicle of demise for the very devices it was supposed to bring to life.
Even though the sheer number of hours that Pakistanis spend without power each day is staggering in itself, such statistics fail to convey the magnitude of the impact this widespread power-starvation has had on their daily lives. During the worst years of the crisis, power outages were basically unscheduled. Even now, outage schedules aren't completely predictable. The resulting uncertainty fosters a hurried, desperate attitude in people. Hurry up and switch on the washing machine! Make sure the water tank is full! Microwave those leftovers while we have the chance! I have to iron my clothes! This results in a spectacular display of daily domestic gymnastics, interspersed with frustrating periods of enforced idleness.
Everything that needs to be done must be done at once, and in fewer hours of the day. Many forms of entertainment also become tricky affairs. It's a rare treat to watch an entire feature-length movie in one sitting. TV shows and sporting events usually fare no better. In a country that's crazy for cricket, watching a match is painful. The sport's various formats range from three hours to five eight-hour days. You might not find it surprising that younger sports fans have begun to gravitate towards soccer, with its 90-minute games. Similarly, PC gamers such as myself have had to make compromises. Either stick to old titles that can run on laptops, or switch to gaming on mobile devices.
It isn't clear how people are expected to pursue an education when they can't keep the lights on. Rechargeable electric lamps are very common now, but they can only do so much. Eye strain can be a major issue while studying. Furthermore, work that relies on any sort of computer-related task suffers tremendously. Online research, programming, graphic design and animation, or even replying to email becomes that much more difficult. Laptops, tablets, and smartphones are much more popular than desktop computers. However, most serious, typing-intensive tasks can only be performed comfortably on desktops or laptops. Laptop users are often found praying for the power to turn back on before their computers die.
During Pakistan's long, hot summers, power outages are devastating. Ceiling fans are the norm in buildings, but most UPS setups only manage to power them partially, causing them to groan loudly as their blades spin lazily. During the more humid monsoon months, air conditioning is the only way to feel truly comfortable. However, an air conditioner can't run on a UPS, and trying to cool a room with an A/C that only runs every other hour is tragicomically futile. It's also unaffordable for many people, who can do little more than pray for rain.
People also incur several insidious costs by having to switch tasks so frequently. Imagine that you have decided to prepare a meal, and just as you are about to use the blender, food processor, or spice grinder, there's a power outage. Do you finish the job manually with a mortar and pestle? Do you defer that task and prepare other ingredients? Do you abandon that dish entirely and start on something completely different?
Similarly, imagine sitting down to write an essay, or begin a software project. Partway through your efforts, there is a power outage. Even if you happened to save your work before your computer shut off, the interruption will have taken its toll. Tasks requiring complex planning and forethought cannot be performed efficiently in half-hour or even hour-long segments. Workers are forced to begin each session by asking themselves where they left off, and there are often several other preliminary steps that must be taken before work can resume in earnest. For these reasons, a ten-minute interruption can often result in the loss of an entire hour.
In addition to decreasing the amount of tangible results that workers can produce, power outages also reduce the quality of these results. When people are forced to work in short bursts instead of longer periods of continuous effort, they are discouraged from undertaking complex, high-quality projects. Novels become short stories, and graphic novels become three-panel comics. Emails are replaced with tweets. Three-course meals give way to fast food. Every admirably elegant product or activity is abandoned for an inferior alternative that requires less preparation. Daily power outages lower people's standards and expectations.
It is also important to note that the electricity crisis in Pakistan is different in kind than the situation in many other countries. Unlike many African nations where less than half the population has access to electricity, at least 93% of Pakistanis are connected to the grid. Their daily lives have developed accordingly, and most people, both urban and rural, rely on electricity nearly as much as citizens of developed countries do. Our pre-electric ways of living and working have died off, and are mostly mysterious to younger generations. To be given and then denied something as transformative as electricity is arguably worse than having never had it at all.
Thankfully, the situation is improving, albeit gradually, since late 2013. I've been in Pakistan for four months now, and power outages have receded to 2011 levels. While this might not seem like much to cheer about, the intolerable situation the country faced three years ago makes current conditions seem satisfactory. With further infrastructure improvements slated to be rolled out regularly over the next several months and years, people are hopeful.
Recent advances in technology related to renewable energy are particularly promising, and have the potential to raise the availability, reliability, and affordability of Pakistan's electricity infrastructure to new heights. Since this article is already somewhat longer than I intended, I will continue this discussion in a separate piece. The next part will explore potential solutions that could accelerate the recovery of Pakistan's energy infrastructure. I will attempt to identify options that are sustainable and environmentally friendly, and that are also financially and logistically feasible. Even though my suggestions might not be perfect in every way, I believe that it is far better to explore positive courses of action than to simply complain about the way things are.
Thank you for reading, and check back soon!
However, the more accustomed we are to a thing's presence, the more acutely we feel the dissonance or outright distress created by its absence. If a rushing cascade were silenced, the locals would stop and stare. When modern toilets are unavailable, we feel hard done by. When illness, injury or disaster makes breathing difficult, panic ensues.
How, then, would you feel if your electricity were turned off for an hour or more at a time, multiple times a day?
In developed countries, electricity is very reliable, and any interruptions in its supply are considered much more than mere nuisances. Occasional, brief power outages due to storm damage or severe natural disasters are tolerated, but lapses in electrical supply for any other reason are simply unacceptable. Electricity is arguably the most important and widely-used resource upon which modern civilization has been built, and any gap in its supply results in a proportionate slackening in civilization's progress.
Since 2008, Pakistan has been suffering from the most severe electricity shortage in the world. On average, businesses in Pakistan experience the most frequent power outages (an average of 75 times per month; more than Bangladesh, Lebanon, Iraq, and Yemen), and suffer the greatest sales losses (33% of total sales; more than Yemen, Nepal, Ghana, and Nigeria).
My previous long-term stay in Pakistan between 2011 and 2013 coincided with the peak of the country's electricity crisis. Widespread corruption led to the depletion of departmental funds, and vital infrastructure assets were dismantled and sold off. National power generation companies could no longer afford to service or fuel many of their coal and natural gas plants.
I remember how the frequency of rolling blackouts steadily ramped up to unbearable levels. In 2011, there would usually be a 30-minute or 1-hour outage every 4 hours or so. By the time I returned to Toronto in July 2013, we only had power in our relatively upscale neighborhood every other hour. There was even a span of a few weeks that summer when we experienced excruciating, day-long outages.
As factories, shops, offices, and households alike attempted to meet their quotas and maintain their standard of living by using gasoline, diesel, and natural gas generators, the energy crisis spread to these other forms of fuel. The nation's considerable natural gas infrastructure had little to transmit, with kitchens in most cities literally running on fumes. Vehicles running on gasoline, diesel, and compressed natural gas all spent hours (and occasionally days!) in serpentine formation around fuel pumps.
Uninterruptible Power Supply (UPS) devices, attached to one or more 12-volt car or truck batteries, became commonplace. While UPS units undoubtedly offered their owners some measure of relief from long stretches without power, they only made the electricity shortage worse. Customers were now placing an even higher load on the electricity grid: all the power-consuming appliances they were using before, plus these UPS units that were less efficient and required frequent recharging. Everyone cramming their electricity-dependent chores into brief windows of opportunity usually results in dips in voltage, AKA 'brown-outs'. In this way, electricity becomes the vehicle of demise for the very devices it was supposed to bring to life.
Even though the sheer number of hours that Pakistanis spend without power each day is staggering in itself, such statistics fail to convey the magnitude of the impact this widespread power-starvation has had on their daily lives. During the worst years of the crisis, power outages were basically unscheduled. Even now, outage schedules aren't completely predictable. The resulting uncertainty fosters a hurried, desperate attitude in people. Hurry up and switch on the washing machine! Make sure the water tank is full! Microwave those leftovers while we have the chance! I have to iron my clothes! This results in a spectacular display of daily domestic gymnastics, interspersed with frustrating periods of enforced idleness.
Everything that needs to be done must be done at once, and in fewer hours of the day. Many forms of entertainment also become tricky affairs. It's a rare treat to watch an entire feature-length movie in one sitting. TV shows and sporting events usually fare no better. In a country that's crazy for cricket, watching a match is painful. The sport's various formats range from three hours to five eight-hour days. You might not find it surprising that younger sports fans have begun to gravitate towards soccer, with its 90-minute games. Similarly, PC gamers such as myself have had to make compromises. Either stick to old titles that can run on laptops, or switch to gaming on mobile devices.
It isn't clear how people are expected to pursue an education when they can't keep the lights on. Rechargeable electric lamps are very common now, but they can only do so much. Eye strain can be a major issue while studying. Furthermore, work that relies on any sort of computer-related task suffers tremendously. Online research, programming, graphic design and animation, or even replying to email becomes that much more difficult. Laptops, tablets, and smartphones are much more popular than desktop computers. However, most serious, typing-intensive tasks can only be performed comfortably on desktops or laptops. Laptop users are often found praying for the power to turn back on before their computers die.
During Pakistan's long, hot summers, power outages are devastating. Ceiling fans are the norm in buildings, but most UPS setups only manage to power them partially, causing them to groan loudly as their blades spin lazily. During the more humid monsoon months, air conditioning is the only way to feel truly comfortable. However, an air conditioner can't run on a UPS, and trying to cool a room with an A/C that only runs every other hour is tragicomically futile. It's also unaffordable for many people, who can do little more than pray for rain.
People also incur several insidious costs by having to switch tasks so frequently. Imagine that you have decided to prepare a meal, and just as you are about to use the blender, food processor, or spice grinder, there's a power outage. Do you finish the job manually with a mortar and pestle? Do you defer that task and prepare other ingredients? Do you abandon that dish entirely and start on something completely different?
Similarly, imagine sitting down to write an essay, or begin a software project. Partway through your efforts, there is a power outage. Even if you happened to save your work before your computer shut off, the interruption will have taken its toll. Tasks requiring complex planning and forethought cannot be performed efficiently in half-hour or even hour-long segments. Workers are forced to begin each session by asking themselves where they left off, and there are often several other preliminary steps that must be taken before work can resume in earnest. For these reasons, a ten-minute interruption can often result in the loss of an entire hour.
In addition to decreasing the amount of tangible results that workers can produce, power outages also reduce the quality of these results. When people are forced to work in short bursts instead of longer periods of continuous effort, they are discouraged from undertaking complex, high-quality projects. Novels become short stories, and graphic novels become three-panel comics. Emails are replaced with tweets. Three-course meals give way to fast food. Every admirably elegant product or activity is abandoned for an inferior alternative that requires less preparation. Daily power outages lower people's standards and expectations.
It is also important to note that the electricity crisis in Pakistan is different in kind than the situation in many other countries. Unlike many African nations where less than half the population has access to electricity, at least 93% of Pakistanis are connected to the grid. Their daily lives have developed accordingly, and most people, both urban and rural, rely on electricity nearly as much as citizens of developed countries do. Our pre-electric ways of living and working have died off, and are mostly mysterious to younger generations. To be given and then denied something as transformative as electricity is arguably worse than having never had it at all.
Thankfully, the situation is improving, albeit gradually, since late 2013. I've been in Pakistan for four months now, and power outages have receded to 2011 levels. While this might not seem like much to cheer about, the intolerable situation the country faced three years ago makes current conditions seem satisfactory. With further infrastructure improvements slated to be rolled out regularly over the next several months and years, people are hopeful.
Recent advances in technology related to renewable energy are particularly promising, and have the potential to raise the availability, reliability, and affordability of Pakistan's electricity infrastructure to new heights. Since this article is already somewhat longer than I intended, I will continue this discussion in a separate piece. The next part will explore potential solutions that could accelerate the recovery of Pakistan's energy infrastructure. I will attempt to identify options that are sustainable and environmentally friendly, and that are also financially and logistically feasible. Even though my suggestions might not be perfect in every way, I believe that it is far better to explore positive courses of action than to simply complain about the way things are.
Thank you for reading, and check back soon!
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