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Damascus in the dark: Powerless without power

In any Arab city, there are certain certainties throughout the day

  • By Mick O’Reilly, Senior Associate Editor
  • Published: 21:11 February 13, 2012

  • Image Credit: AFP
  • An image grab taken from a video uploaded on YouTube on February 10, 2012 shows Syrian troops patrolling a street in the Qabun district of Damascus. The Arab League is likely to launch a "Friends of Syria" coalition and appoint a special envoy to the strife-torn country at a meeting this weekend, a western diplomat said.
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Damascus In any Arab city, there are certain certainties throughout the day.

This city is no different. The call to prayer. The smell of shisha smoke. Chaotic traffic.

“

Welcome. How you like Damascus in the dark?

”

Storekeeper

But in Damascus, you can virtually set your watch when the electricity goes off and on.

Every afternoon, between 1 and 3pm, the power is off. And again, between 8 and 9pm, it’s blackout.

For residents of this city, it is their power struggle. Elsewhere in Syria, the power struggle is bloody and has taken more than 5,000 lives.

Batteries, not bullets

Here in Damascus, it’s about volts, not votes, batteries not bullets.

“This has been like this for the past three months or so,” says Qassim, standing outside a barber shop in central Damascus.

The street resonates to the mechanical rattle of generators outside most businesses.

“I can’t afford a generator,” Qassim says. “No one wants to have a shave with an open razor when there’s no light.”

Worry beads

Down the street, Alladin is peddling scarves and worry beads. No one is buying, and he can’t afford a generator either.

“It’s all part of business now in Damascus,” he says. “It’s a small price to pay when the country is facing a crisis.”

The power outages haven’t hampered custom at the shisha cafe next door. There, charcoal boys are kept busy running hot coals through a thick cloud of scented smoke as pipes puff and gurgle. And the tea and coffee there is brewed on gas rings unaffected by the lack of electricity.\

“Just like the old days,” Alladin says as he retreats to the cafe for shisha and a tea.

Kerosene lamps

Around the dark ornate and stained wood-panelled walls, kerosene storm lamps hang, some lit and adding their fumes into the thick cloud of scented smoke.

Business is booming at the shisha cafe with the power cuts, many Damascans opting to sit out the cuts over a hot brew and a smokey pipe.

Severe-looking men in dark suits and woollen pullovers and dark-grey winter coats debate heatedly in Arabic as newspapers are waved and folded and the television in the corner is tuned to the Syria state news channel alongside framed portraits of President Bashar Al Assad and his father, Hafez.

On street stalls, vendors are selling rechargeable LED flash lamps for a premium. And candles too are selling like hot cakes for those who can’t afford the LED flash lamps.

On a bridge over a busy street, a young girl sits on some ripped cardboard. In front of her are some candles – who ever placed her there to sell hoped that she would pick up more sales than the vendors in the stalls at street level.

In a clothes shop selling designer knockoffs, scanty underwear and Manchester United football jerseys, Abdullah has rigged up three car batteries. The loud Arab rap music is drowning out the sound of the generators outside – though it’s hard to tell which is easier on the ears.

'No power? No problem'

“No power? No problem,” he says. “Car batteries work just as good. You want a Manchester United shirt? Chelsea? Liverpool? Barcelona?”

He may have no power but he’s a powerful and determined salesperson.

“You like some nice shirts? Good quality. From Pakistan. Underwear very good. For you special price today. All good quality.”

Despite the power outages, the main souk in the Old City is thriving as shoppers mingle through the warren of covered alleys and streets.

“Welcome,” one storekeeper says. “How you like Damascus in the dark?” he asks, his store lit by a dozen or so candles dripping their spent wax into open containers of teas and coffee beans.

LED light strapped to burqa

One woman walks with a small LED light strapped to the top of her burqa – the black material of her attire glowing grey as she bends to look into a bargain bin of hairbrushes.

At one street corner, four plumbers hunch beside their toolboxes and plumbing snakes, waiting for customers to come to hire them for odd jobs.

Over a curved tawal, one vendor is doing a brisk business selling fresh flat breads and melted cheeses. The tea stall next to him is also doing nicely, columns of glasses and lemons stacked beside a steaming propane-fuelled boiler.

It’s 3pm, and the generators go quiet. The power is back. The machines, though are still left on the footpaths, ready for their next hour of need at 8pm.

Back at Qassim’s barber shop, a customer is in the chair and another is waiting. The lights are on, and Qassim has his open razor at the chin of a lathered patron.

Candles

On a bridge over a busy street, the young girl still sits on her ripped cardboard. And she still has her candles.

She’s still there when the power goes out at 8pm, on her ripped cardboard, her candles in front of her. Except now she is asleep.

Here in Damascus, most times there is power. Sometimes there is none. The little girl on the ripped cardboard selling her candles is just powerless.
 

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