You know, I'm not usually a paranoid person, but there's one thing I get paranoid about quite often. What? Well, I think that I may perhaps offend people with the things I write about. So as Lupita (my wise friend) would say, "Then just don't write it." Yeah, well, that doesn't work for me. Because what I write ... that's who I am. So telling me not to write those things is like telling me not to be DACIA ... that one, unique individual. Okay, it's mostly my name that makes me unique, but still ... :D
Then what's the story behind the electricity? Why do I rant about it so intensely? Are you sure that you really wanna hear that sad, sob story?! *grin*
Okay, you asked for it.
It really dates back to my traumatized childhood. *chuckling*
See, when we first moved to Mexico we were so poor that we had to rent the cheapest "house" we could find. So this man (who no longer comes to church) offered to help us find a house. Well, he was a spiteful type of man who wanted to see just what the "priviledged" Americans could handle. So he took us around to some unholy places that ... had holes in the walls (like the walls to outside), and all sorts of crazy stuff like that.
Well, out of desperation we ended up renting one of those places. It was a red, rat-infested "house" that had low voltage and reeked of mold. Let's focus on the "low voltage" part. Because a lot of problems stemmed from there. See, by that time some kind people had given us money to buy a washer (and maybe dryer), but we couldn't use them. Thus, we had to still wash and dry clothes by hand. Which is not really that hard, just a bit frustrating with all of the rain ("It's raining!" *run outside to pull clothes off the line*).
Hence, nothing worked. Not our refrigerator. Not our washer. Dryer. Or the pump with which to pump water to the tank (I have explained that process before. Here: Subjects 1-5). So where did that leave us? With no water. At first my dad tried everything he could to fix the electricity problem, to no avail. Because as it turns out, it's whole colonies who have those electric problems, not individual houses (no transformers, or something like that).
Therefore, we had to do something else. As they say, drastic times call for drastic measures. And, well, that's what happened. So guess what we had to start doing? We had to start filling up the tank by hand. Someone, for example my dad, would get a bucket of water out of the cistern, hand it to Kristen, who would carry it to the ladder to Jacob. Then Jacob would hand it up to my mum on the roof, and she would carry it over to the thing with the tank on it and I would pour the water in and hand the bucket back down.
It seemed to take hours (it probably didn't, but when you're a kid everything seems long). And we had to do it about every other day. We had quite a routine going on.
Now that I am older I look back on those days and I actually smile. Why? Because I am going to have some unique stories to tell my kids someday (if I ever have any, that is).
Okay, so that is the story behind why I hate low electricity. It's like deja vu. But that was years ago, and now I am grateful for tough times because hardship builds character (as my dad always reminds me). I guess you can say that we "toughed it out"! And even though I am ready to leave Mexico now, I appreciate all of the things that this place has taught me. I wouldn't change it at all. And don't worry, I'm not leaving just yet. I figure I'll stick around for at least a couple more years (maybe). ;)