Photo copyright © by Richard S. Ehrlich
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KATHMANDU, Nepal -- When this nation's capital is cut off from
electricity, survival becomes a surreal mix of medieval streets lit by
candles, people stimulated as if in a Pavlov experiment, and concern
that climate change and poverty may doom Kathmandu.
All text and photos © copyright by Richard S. Ehrlich
Photo copyright © by Richard S. Ehrlich
by Richard S. Ehrlich
If it's Monday, and
you are living in Kathmandu's trendy, tourist- packed Thamel
neighborhood, take your hot shower and go online before 9 a.m., because
this prosperous section of town will not get electricity again until 1 p.m.
Also plan for a blacked-out dinner on Monday evenings, when Thamel's
electric supply stops again from 6 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. The next day,
stagger your electric needs differently, because on Tuesdays, Thamel's
supply stops from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m., and from 8 p.m. to midnight.
Kathmandu's electric "load shedding" schedule changes daily, while
rotating throughout the city, making it impossible to do the same things
at the same time each day, even in the same neighborhood.
As a result,
life here evokes comparisons to an experiment by Ivan Pavlov, a 1904
Nobel Prize-winning Russian physiologist who proved dogs salivate when
stimulated by the sound of a bell linked to the supply of food.
People in Kathmandu check their calendar and clock before bathing,
eating, using computers, watching TV, recharging batteries,
refrigerating food and medicine, powering their homes, offices, shops
and factories, and doing anything else which requires an electric socket.
Photo copyright © by Richard S. Ehrlich
Refrigerators frequently go dead in Kathmandu, so some butchers sell
meat on tables in the street, hoping people will make their purchases
before the animals rot.
The government publishes grid-by-grid calendars warning of the emaciated
electricity, which averages six to eight hours off every day, according
to which neighborhood you are in.
On one day a week, each zone's supply is kept on.
"Fridays are like a holiday for us because, in this neighborhood, we get
electricity for 24 hours on Fridays," a shopkeeper in Thamel said while
trying to sell clothing from his small, low-ceiling shop.
Another
merchant, when asked about the problem of no electricity, silently
replied by gesturing with his hand, as if slitting his throat.
Wealthier
homes, businesses, hotels, restaurants, embassies, offices, factories
and hospitals install gasoline-powered generators to provide electricity
every time the energy is cut.
A man yanks a rope to start up a gasoline-powered Honda generator, to
create electricity inside his cloth shop in Kathmandu.
The generators moan like motorcycle engines, and their nauseating,
blackish-blue exhaust fumes pollute nearby sidewalks.
For many of those
buildings, the generators support only emergency lighting while
sacrificing most other needs, leaving inhabitants to suffer a slew of
deadened services.
Those lucky enough to have a generator must also pay the spiraling cost
of gasoline.
A lack of electricity means Kathmandu is unable to correct many of the city's problems, or provide opportunities for people to thrive, resulting in scenes such as this one where a group of street children openly sniff glue on busy New Road while pedestrians walk by.
Many people in Kathmandu do laborious work normally performed by machines, including the transportation of heavy loads, because of poverty and a lack of inexpensive energy to power vehicles.
Kathmandu may serve as an example for Earth's other cities, which are
worried about the punishing effects of climate change.
Some critics of
Nepal's energy problems point north to the snow- covered Himalayas.
They
speculate that this season's electricity shortage may have been worsened
by a recent burst of unusual cold weather, which inhibited the
mountains' glaciers from thawing.
Melting snows are supposed to nourish Nepal's rivers and crank up the
country's hydro-electric power plants.
During January and February, however, icy weather gripped the Himalayas,
thanks to deadly cold fronts which caused havoc across northern
Afghanistan, Tibet and much of China.
Severe snows paralyzed China's trains, planes and other traffic, and
also hurled freezing wind south across the Himalayas near Mt. Everest,
which straddles the border between Nepal and China's Tibet.
Other
climate watchers say Kathmandu's problem is actually due to global
warming because, during recent years, the Himalayas' glaciers have shrunk.
Either way, whatever water does flow from Nepal's mountains, it is now
not enough.
Kathmandu has suffered electricity shortages for several years, and also
has itself to blame for its lack of sufficient energy.
During the past
few decades, Kathmandu has experienced a real estate boom, aggravated by
an exponential population increase, and poor planning.
Kathmandu's ancient Hindu pagodas, temples, and shrines now compete with
new slabs of cement apartments, shops and other buildings -- all
straining the city's creaking energy supply.
The government is trying to
import more electricity from India, while planning to build additional
hydro-electric stations in Nepal.
But when the power fails, people have
little choice except to pay extra for whatever goods and services they
can scrounge.
Each night, people in shops, homes and other places
hurriedly light candles, but the tiny glowing flames do little to
illuminate Kathmandu's medieval ambiance.
Maoists, including this group of young men, are scheduled to compete against other political parties in a nationwide election in April, but whoever wins will face problems fixing Nepal's energy woes.
email: animists *at* yahoo *dot* com
Richard S Ehrlich is a Bangkok-based journalist who has reported news from Asia since 1978. He is co-author of "Hello My Big Big Honey!", a non-fiction book of investigative journalism.
His web page is
http://www.oocities.org/asia_correspondent