Please Pass the Gas

In a conversation with a family member this week, I was asked, "Are people talking a lot about Ebola over there? We sure are!" I am sorry that the threat of the virus is now a reality in the States, and I have been keeping up on the news to track its spread. On the television at night, I see plenty of images of doctors and scientists, dressed from head to toe in those special neon Ebola-suits. And on one channel catering to Chad, I'm accustomed to sitting through a long PSA about how to protect yourself against the virus. People know it is out there, but I don't get the sense that there is all that much to talk about right now. Here, where the disease has not penetrated our border, we have other, more immediate issues that require our attention. At the top of the list right now, far overshadowing the others, is the matter of gas.

I became aware of a problem one month ago in N'Djamena, when a usually dependable taxi guy charged us three times the acceptable taxi fare. When we assured him that MCC would not be calling on him again, he stood his ground. Gas prices were up. It was when I returned to Moundou that I noticed everyone was talking about gas. Suddenly it was twice the price.

The first explanation I heard was that the facilities were being cleaned, so production had halted. The next day when I repeated this to someone, they said that was a weak excuse. I've since come to understand he following story. (I asked our MCC Service-Worker, Gene to explain it to me as if I was 12.) Basically, Chad has one refinery, which is Chinese-operated. The Chadian government checked up on them and said, "You are doing a poor job with this facility, polluting the environment, so you need to clean up your act, pay us a fine, and remediate the damage." The refinery guys, who have always had terrible environmental records and never have to do anything about it, replied, "No way. You know this is the way we operate and you've never done anything about it before. Now you just want to get money from us but we the ones with the power here. Your country will fall apart without us, so you let us know when you're going to let this drop, and in the meantime we are just going to go ahead and stop making gas for you."

So here we find ourselves, waiting for someone to cry "Uncle."

A few weeks ago, after my return from N'Djamena, my eyes widened at the sight of the local gas station. Usually it is either empty, or containing one car. From what I've noticed, people don't use the gas station all that much for their motorcycles. Instead, merchants all around town fill up beer bottles with fuel and sell them at stands along the road. My first day here I must have assumed that these merchants were preying on people who couldn't refuse a quick sip of something strong, but fortunately I asked and had this point clarified. So, considering that the vast majority of vehicles in our city are motos, and motorcyclists like to simply purchase a bottle of fuel, there usually aren't many people electing to visit the local gas station.

So anyway, my first big shock came when my taximoto man and I turned the corner and I saw about 50 moto guys, many of whom wore their yellow vests, crammed around the couple of pumps waiting for a bit of gas. The crowd seemed to be stopping traffic because there was a line of unmoving cars in the street, but I learned later that day that those cars were also waiting in line.

From there things got worse. Each day, I've been eager and almost nervous to pass the gas station and see just how many people can fit inside the space, and how many people have left their cars parked, and often empty, in the road to wait. The very next day the number had jumped to well over 100 people, and shortly thereafter I would guess that we were talking about more than 200 men and their motorcycles loitering the the sweltering heat, for what must verge on the whole work day, to get a liter of gas. There are not currently any merchants selling fuel out of little beer bottles. Due to the increased demand, I hear that many of these people had been buying fuel at maybe 1000 CFA per liter (about 2 dollars) and selling it for twice times that much. To correct this problem, people have been prohibited from selling above a price, which makes such a venture far from lucrative, if not illegal.

It is eerie to see dozens of vehicles abandoned on the road, though their owners are surely just yards away with the rest of their neighbors rather than spending their hours in hot, unmoving cars. Nonetheless, the image is too reminiscent of scenes I've become familiar with from post-apocalyptic movies- skeletons of cars lined up along the streets, abandoned by people who tried in vain to escape the tumult ensuing around them... later to be pillaged by cannibals, or zombies, or maybe the few remaining good guys searching for a new beginning.

Ok, I definitely digress. But the other thing that gives me the creeps slightly is the utter lack of people on the road as the days stretch on. This is not what you would consider a big, booming city where traffic jams are the norm. However, it is definitely noticeable when half of the drivers stop driving. I feel more and more part of an elite just by virtue of being seated on a running vehicle, while other people must either be staying home or resorting to walking. I wonder to myself how much longer this can go on.

Now, the gas station that I pass every day is empty again. No one is waiting in line because there is no gas to be found there. That well has run dry, so to speak. My parents were driving around for over 2 hours yesterday looking for fuel, and they came back tired and disappointed. I can't picture people of their standing waiting around all day in a packed crowd under the glaring sun, so it's possible they have been trying to use some connections to acquire fuel elsewhere, but nevertheless they were unsuccessful. From others willing to put more time into the search for gas, I've heard of people waiting from 8:00 am to 9:00 at night. There goes a day's work.

I wonder what the men who usually work as moto drivers are doing these days, besides standing in ridiculously disorganized masses around a gas pump. My moto driver, who mysteriously still has gas, has almost doubled his price this month, but even so I actually feel guilty for using his services because I realize he has not increased his prices in proportion to the amount he is now paying. I think how insecure it must be to make your living with a commodity that may be unavailable tomorrow. And as I ride freely through the recently cleared-out streets, I worry about how people are getting to their jobs... children are getting to school (many schools have begun canceling classes)... how people are coping when confronted with emergencies.

In French, the word for gas is "essence." Indeed, without gas, our community is missing an essential part of life. Of course, that isn't to say that there are not other pieces of culture here that are as important and life giving, and to say otherwise feels awfully materialistic, but I never realized how important this commodity is until it's been torn away. I hear the word come up in almost every conversation, and I am probably only catching a fraction of the significance. From what I hear, we just have to hold out a little while longer. The plan is to have the factories up and running like new by the middle of November, but nonetheless the whole thing makes me realize to what extent we are at the mercy of things and people we can't control. The elements. Gas companies. Politicians. They all help dictate to some extent what our lives look like and what the people here are able to accomplish. It's sobering, and though this may be hackneyed, it makes me grateful to live in a place where I can take for granted such essentials as gas, water, and food that magically comes to the grocery store regardless of the season. We rely on so much, and yet I don't think we know it.