Mutually assured frustration
I smell. I’m tired and itchy and fed up. So I know, I’m not in the most friendly and approachable of moods.
I’m smelly and itchy and fed up because there hasn’t been any power at home since Friday night. A wind storm crossed some lines, the power went, and that was that.
I went to the ZESA offices on Saturday morning to report the problem, and the friendly and efficient customer service person there assured me that they were already fixing another problem in my suburb, and they’d get onto my problem straight away. “Your power will be restored today,” he told me with a confident smile.
On my way home late Saturday afternoon, I saw the ZESA truck driving out of my suburb – and I was sure they’d been to the house and sorted out the problem.
So you can imagine my devastation when I got home to find the power still out. I heaved a sigh, and figured no matter, I’m sure they’ll come tomorrow.
When they still hadn’t come by Sunday night, I was less equanimous in my attitude.
I phoned them on Monday morning, and was again assured that they had my report on file, and that someone would be coming to fix things that day. I held my breath and resisted the temptation to phone the house every hour, to find out whether they had come to fix things yet.
I came home on Monday to find the fridge door still swinging proudly open, a sure sign that ZESA hadn’t come yet. When there’s no power, I’ve found the refrigerator is better conceptuatlised as a cupboard. Pity about the spoilt perishable goods which were inside it.
It hasn’t helped my mood any that winter is here, and I’ve been running a lot, so a hot bath or a boiled kettle would really be most welcome. It hasn’t helped that the power’s been out so long that my freezer is also starting to defrost, soaking through the newspapers I’ve put out on the kitchen floor, and leaving me with a second new cupboard – this one filled with rotting pets food. And it doesn’t help that there also isn’t any municipal water either, so the taps are dry. I’ve been through every jug of stored water in the house just to try and wash my face, brush my teeth, and flush the toilet (once in four days). I guess the good news is that even if there was electricity, I still couldn’t have a hot bath.
So yes. My temper is frayed.
I went back to ZESA this morning to follow up on my report. I didn’t get a reference number the first time, because the attendant was so confident I’d have my power back on Saturday, I didn’t bother. Now they’ve lost my report – never mind that I phoned again yesterday. It’s so old, it’s in a different book.
My stinking underarms were further aggravated by the customer service person there today, who appeared just as frustrated as I am. I outlined my case in plaintive detail. I explained how I pay my bills each month and do my part to help them, but I expect better service for my monthly payments. He pointed to the person seated next to me, who works at a clinic in a high density Harare suburb. They also haven’t had any power since Friday. You can imagine what this means for their work as a clinic. He’s also been coming to find out what the story is. But, the attendant told me, the problem is transport.
“I have a book of over 50 faults that need to be fixed. I have ten artisans sitting waiting to attend to these faults. But I have no trucks. Look around my yard. There is one truck to attend to all these problems,” he told me, slapping the report book on his desk.
Basically, if I had an open truck, I could load a ladder and technicians into it, take them to my house, they’d fix the fault, and I could drive them back to the depot. But without a truck? All I can do is wait.
Had I known that Saturday drive by was the last I woud see of the ZESA truck in my suburb, I would have hijacked it and driven it back to my house.
As tetchy as I’m feeling for the lack of power, he is clearly even more embittered by his powerlessness. He’s been working for years, and likes doing his job. He wants to resolve things for people. He hates seeing ZESA employees just sitting at the depot unable to do their jobs either. But without transport to carry the ladders, equipment and technicians to the job sites, what can he do?
His irritation was palpable, and I tried to diffuse things. “How can we help you get more trucks,” I asked him.
“It’s a national problem,” he responded. “Go to any other depot in the city and you’ll find the same situation. It’s not even a secret. I don’t even mind telling you about it. Everyone knows transport is our biggest problem.”
I am stunned by the injustice of it. If you have a truck, or access to one, you can get your fault fixed within a day. If you don’t? You have to wait until the “round robin rotation,” as he put it, makes its way to your place. There is no sense of triage or prioritisation based on need or severity or duration of the fault. The high-density clinic doesn’t get any special treatment. Instead, if you already have resources (like an open truck) you’re rewarded with more resources (access to a ZESA repair team).
The employee I spoke with blames the ZESA leadership, and he mentioned the recent detention of energy minister Mangoma. As a coordinator faced with a striking lack of vehicles, he isn’t surprised by the corruption charges. If the minister weren’t corrupt, he intimated, surely ZESA would have more vehicles? He’s frustrated by what he sees as the politicisation of what should remain strictly professional – the provision of an essential service to ZESA customers.
I don’t know enough about the Mangoma case to know whether the allegations have any merit. Before his arrest, he issued a press statement outlining challenges in the energy sector, including ZESA. He described himself as “particularly allergic to corruption, greed and patronage.” He appealed for transparency and accountability for the sector, and pledged that he would fight corruption across his ministry.
Certainly, it’s difficult from the outside not to view the issue as one more based on political grievances than any substantive charges. But if this is the view of the Minister’s own employees in companies like ZESA, Mangoma’s problems will extend far beyond the courtroom.
And whilst of course I can sympathise with the frustrated ZESA employee who just wants to do his job, I also just want a bath. I’m thinking about taking my smelly clothes and rotten pets meat to Chaminuka Building, headquarters of the Ministry of Energy. But if depots across the country lack the basic resources they need to work efficiently, I have a feeling even my stinky running vest might not do the trick.