There’s a great word in Afrikaans (admittedly, a bit rude) that sums up how a lot of South Africans are feeling at the moment with all the rolling blackouts thanks to our failing energy utility, Eskom. “Gatvol” – fed up. I think the novelty of candles and playing cards at night has worn out. Much as we greeted the thought of the first Covid lockdown with optimistic expectations that it would bond our family together and help us to focus on all that is good and wholesome, including family cookouts and happy homeschooling moments, after two weeks of being locked together in the same house, we started to fall apart spectacularly, one messy meltdown after another (except for my saint-like husband).

That is sort of where I am right now. After six months of loadshedding, I’m gatvol. I think when we first started with intermittent power, there was a kind of “vasbyt” attitude (another great Afrikaans expression, meaning to grin and bear it) that things would get better if everyone just did their bit. But now the realisation has slowly dawned on us that this spectre of darkness is not going to leave us anytime soon. In fact, it’s here to stay.

When Andre de Ruyter resigned as CEO of Eskom, that was exactly how I felt – resigned to my fate. I am now living in a failing state whose government can no longer be trusted. And that grieves me. For someone who loves this country and whose family on both sides has lived in it for generations, I wanted to believe that there could be a better life for all when the ANC took power in 1994. I remember covering the joyous budget speeches of former Finance Minister Trevor Manuel when he announced a budget surplus and the pride that I took in living in a country whose transition to democracy was nothing short of miraculous. Now I feel betrayed that those bright hopes of the Mandela and Tutu era have not been realised. South Africa deserves better than the last two presidents we have endured.

When the power goes out for four hours in a row and then returns (my laptop battery having amazingly endured), only to trip out again for another hour, it’s difficult not to entertain dark thoughts. Should we be leaving? Maybe all those friends and family members who emigrated years ago saw the writing on the wall long before we did. Are we being foolish to stay behind?

But leaving feels like cowardice – and we all know the grass is not necessarily greener on the other side. My love for this country and the diversity of its people is so strong. Surely that faith is not misplaced? And I do live in the Republic of the Western Cape where things are relatively better than in other parts of South Africa. Then there’s our children’s schooling to think of… And has God really called us to leave? my saint-like husband reminds me. So no, we’ll stay. For now. And hopefully we will become more resilient and better days will come with renewable energy from independent power providers who do not waste taxpayers’ money. We wait, we hope, we pray the lights will come back on again.