I have never seen a shooting star in all my life. While friends look at the star-studded sky pointing one there, another one there and practically all over the place, I see nothing but fixed stars and too many twinkling light of airplanes – so many, in fact, that I can register a record in the Guinness Book of Records for plane-gazing.

I had all but resigned myself that shooting stars will never come my way. However, on Tuesday, as the country went into a national blackout during the peak of the August meteor shower, I felt a surge of hope. Surely with no light pollution whatsoever, this will be the night. However, I reckoned without the super moon – which as bright lit as it was, seemed to dash all prospects.

However, we stayed up there, on the roof; contemplating the heat, the mosquitoes and the power cut. As my seven-year-old swayed back and forth idly on her swing she said: “Mama, what if we have no electricity tomorrow as well? We cannot use the washing machine! How can you wash all the clothes?”

This comment made me sort of semi-glad: she had not even mentioned television once all the while we were candle-powered – good; she thinks of her mother and the washing machine as one – bad.

In truth I had been contemplating the very thought. My hair was dripping wet with no blower to dry it; we had no fan to stave off the mosquitoes; the battery of my mobile phone had gone flat; the iPad and the laptop had died too. I had no means to access timesofmalta.com to check why we were suddenly in pitch darkness. Everything is so linked to electricity – even the cordless landline was not working.

However, in the grand scheme of things, living without electricity has been something humans have done since the dawn of man. It’s only in the last 100 years, out of millennia, that we have the luxury of electricity.

Just to put it in context, Japan’s first washing machine was launched on the market in 1953. Prior to that we were hand-washing every single item with carbolic soap. Television broadcasting also started in 1953. No wonder it is referred to as “year one of electrification”. By 1973 most households had the washing machine, black-and-white television set, and a refrigerator.

“Oh no, no freezer?” fretted the daughter.

“Oh no, the tuna steaks will go off” (me).

“Oh no, no ice-cream!” (her).

Because it was a brief lull into our constantly plugged life, the night had a frisson of adventure

Now as a friend pointed out, the likelihood that we’d ever be off the grid for more than 24 hours is largely remote – “mela it-Turkmenistan hawn jew” – but you never know. In a world where – according to London’s Independent – we’re running out of gold, seafood, wine and chocolate, anything doomsdayish goes. And the Tuesday blackout does make you reflect on the ‘what if’ aspect.

The UK Channel Four even have a series, Blackout, which plots the days following a nationwide power cut – and the disastrous impact of the prolonged blackout on hospitals, law and order, transport, and our food and water supplies. In short, it’s chaos and anarchy without power. I am not sure I recommend it – I watched couple of episodes and started suffering hyperventilation.

But not all is doom and gloom. As the moon shone on that still dark Tuesday night, from our vantage point on the roof, we could observe the great change in mood that the power cut brought about: the eerie pitch dark streets were full of chatter.

With no screens to glue them inside, people sat on their doorsteps, others got their chairs out and chatted the night away. Children took to playing in the streets. The smell of roof barbecues wafted away. People set up tables and played chess, draughts and card games by candlelight. Tablets were shelved and books came out. Hammocks were swayed to the bare breeze. And from the rooftops, the candlelit windows looked straight out of a crib.

Because it was a brief lull into our constantly plugged life, the night had a frisson of adventure, that happy feeling of je ne sais quoi, with an odd touch of romance.

Lest you think otherwise, all the while I was squinting at the stars. Not much luck: because even the runway lights had gone bust, and because flights were diverted to Catania, I could not even count on spotting a good old plane light in the dark sky.

Eventually my daughter spotted a shooting star. Great excitement. Where? How? What was it like? Her answer made me almost wish we have a power cut every night: “Oh mama! It’s like the moon is blowing a kiss to the earth.”

krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @KrisChetcuti

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