SARAH BUITENDACH: 28 stages of load-shedding grief

Never mind a simmering stage 2, or the possibility of jumping to a 4 by this afternoon, it’s the emotional stages of load-shedding that really deserve a shout-out.

A setback like the death of a loved one is often framed by the classic Elisabeth Kübler-Ross model of grief. It defines the seven stages a person goes through after losing something important: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing and acceptance.

Having spent much of her career in the US, Kübler-Ross wouldn’t have appreciated how apt the formula is for that most modern of losses in SA: the sudden sensation of being plunged into darkness, courtesy of Eskom.

And it’s a shared loss: the erratic horror of load-shedding distresses almost all the 60-million population, it’s insidious and discombobulating and, as we’ve learnt, evokes surprising feelings. Here, to help you understand the process, is my (possibly less scientific) metric of power loss.

Your inverter is working like a charm and putting in that gas stove was genius — are you ahead of the game, or what?

Anger: Load-shedding is suddenly announced, with two hours’ warning. F#cking Eskom.
Disbelief: But seriously, not again? How much wet coal can there be?
Preparedness: You’ve panic-bought candles like a white person before the 1994 elections, eaten dinner at 4pm, and now your house is lit by so many smouldering wicks, it looks like a Boyz II Men music video. You are ready.
Hope: Load-shedding was supposed to start at 8. It’s now 8.10 and you still have lights. Could this mean your area is being passed over?
Deflation: Nope, it’s off.
Comfort: You take the dogs out and look up at the night sky — so many stars — and all around, the rhythmic chugging of generators. The familiar can bring great solace.
Smugness: Your inverter is working like a charm and putting in that gas stove was genius — are you ahead of the game, or what?
Amusement: Oh, how you laugh at that Eskom meme you were just sent. South Africans are so funny in adversity, gallows humour and all.
Denial: Load-shedding finished 20 minutes ago but your power isn’t back on. It can’t be anything serious — someone probably just forgot to flip a switch.
Blame: Still in the dark. This wouldn’t happen if people switched off their geysers like they were asked.
Confusion: 45 minutes later and still nothing. You’ve called City Power; it doesn’t know what has caused the problem. The neighbourhood WhatsApp group says it’s all houses up to Jan Smuts, but Jellicoe Avenue has power. Someone is mumbling about the substation — it can’t handle surges, you know.
Speculation: “Did anyone else hear the bang?” asks someone on the WhatsApp group.
Eagerness: Donald up the road has gone to the substation to check it out. But he can’t see anyone over the fence.
Tolerance: Wait, City Power has tweeted. It’s just an overload on the system.
Resourcefulness: You started the day with tea made on a camping stove; you can do it again.
Irritation: 14 hours of no electricity, and Kate on the neighbourhood group asks: “Is everyone else’s power off?” Read the room, Kate.
Jealousy: Your mate Khaya never gets load-shed. It’s because he lives around the corner from some ANC bigwig.
Panic: 24 hours in. Darkness. Is your phone charger pack going to last until morning?
Calm: This isn’t so bad. Candlelight is meditative — it’s like being in a Jane Austen novel. Maybe Dark and Darkness.
Mania: 36 hours without power. You’ve phoned 12 solar power providers and mailed a recruiter in Toronto.
Love: The guys next-door are great. They’ve run an extension cord over the wall, so you can charge your laptop from their generator. Man, you live in a great street.
Clarity: 50 hours and no electricity. The technicians are allegedly on site, but without the intrusion of man-made light and screens, everything seems so much sharper and crisper. It’s all so real.
Hysteria: The alarm won’t switch off. It’s the battery dying. The noise won’t stop.
Defeat: You’ve had another cold shower and you can’t face going to work in the coffee shop where they have Wi-Fi. Instead, you lie on the couch for three hours.
Delusion: 75 hours of no power and you’re contemplating returning to a simpler life. Off-the-grid seems like a good idea. Could you live in the Karoo? Is it easy to grow sweet potatoes? Was the Unabomber right about self-sufficiency?
Retribution: You’re going to send the claims for the broken alarm, gate motor, blown fridge and spoiled food to Eskom. They will pay.
Elation: The power is back! Praise be!
Amnesia: As with having a baby, you immediately forget the extensive trauma you’ve just been through, and switch on the kettle.