All of us will have our stories to tell about this particular cut which lasted for 10 hours in Gaborone and its environs, and was probably also experienced by much of the rest of the country. Having spent the whole day in Gaborone - being in an out of the large scale History Conference at UB - I give a vote of thanks to the traffic police who presided at all the major junctions through which I had to pass. The worst possible time for an extended power cut to occur has to be at an end of the month Friday when traffic in Gaborone is always congested. Somehow the traffic police coped throughout the day with this mess.
At most junctions I only caught sight of them out of the corner of an eye and was usually unaware of which stream they were beckoning on and which they were blocking. The only way to deal with the situation seemed to be to follow the car immediately ahead and move when it moved and hope for the best. But I did wonder, when twilight became night, if those traffic police were wearing the luminous jackets which would certainly help to make them more visible? By now we are all familiar with the stories about the domestic difficulties caused by these cuts but I do dearly hope that one day the newspapers will make it their business to tell us how they most affect other areas of life. For instance, how does a dentist respond when the power goes off and the patient's mouth is wide open and the tooth still half in and half out? Do both decide to sit it out until the lights come on again? Or do they conclude that the situation is hopeless and that it might be better to try again tomorrow when, who knows, that procedure could be finalised after, of course, another jab or two. But it is not just dentist's patients who are caught with their mouths open. What happens in hospital theatres when the backup generators don't work, or in restaurants or when no one can buy power because the power is off or when lifts stop mid-way and doors won't open.
