Print

Email story

Comment

Email editor

Sunday Journal

Power failure kindles sparks of brightness

Editor's note: Miami-based Times staff writer Tamara Lush e-mailed this letter to friends last week.

By TAMARA LUSH
Published November 6, 2005

Day Seven, no electricity.

The good: getting to know my neighbors and being able to sit quietly without TV or Internet as distractions. The bad: cold showers and not being able to work much inside the house.

I am writing this from my neighborhood Starbucks, which has electricity. Earth, Wind and Fire is cranking on the radio, and the large man who has been here every day (along with me) is singing along to the music. Out loud. His name, I have discovered, is Willie. He is an ex-lawyer turned writer. He has electricity, yet he still comes to Starbucks every day.

I have brought my laptop, cell, PDA and a power strip to charge everything. I even offered space on the power strip to a fuzzy-haired man in the chair next to me.

If it is at all possible, Miami has become even more Third World. There is a thriving black market, at least in my neighborhood of Little Haiti. People are selling everything from lighter fluid to women's dresses on the street.

Yesterday, my neighbor Ivon (the music teacher who prefers to date strippers) and I stood in a FEMA line for ice. We also received small boxes of food/snacks. (The boxes were packaged in St. Pete, BTW). Everyone in line was Haitian and shouting in Creole. The air smelled like burning charcoal, and we heard roosters crowing in the distance. Earlier, I saw two backhoe tractors driving down Biscayne Blvd. Five Haitian men were hanging off the backhoes, many with sweatshirts wrapped around their heads and faces.

The ice came in handy to chill my bottle of chardonnay.

The boxes of food were oddly comforting. Inside were ravioli, jello, raisins, juice, cereal, a little carton of milk and CHOCOLATE PUDDING. I ate that first.

For those without electricity, meals in Miami have lately consisted of the following:

- Whatever is on your neighbor's barbecue.

- Pollo Tropical (a Caribbean/Latin fast food restaurant that invested in generators and lotsa chicken, rice and beans before Wilma).

- That bottle of Jack Daniel's in the cabinet.

Many people have had their electricity restored, including about three-quarters of my apartment complex. For some reason, my cluster of buildings is still in the dark.

My neighbors and I have all bonded, including James the Broker and Darrin the Teacher. On more than one night, we have sat in Darrin's house, while Darrin sings and Ivon plays guitar. Darrin sounds like Elvis, and Ivon is a classical guitarist.

Darrin and James have become best friends, in the way two small boys bond quickly and fiercely. They have also been on a week-long booze-induced bender. When they are not drinking, they sit in the car and listen to music together. Sometimes they throw a football around the parking lot. It's sweet. I think Darrin's girlfriend is getting a little jealous. Today, they all went to church together.

Only one neighbor has a generator. He has literally chained it to the building, for fear someone will steal it.

Pockets of normality are springing up, though. Right now, I'm watching a well-dressed man climb out of a Mercedes with a balloon. He is tying it to an open house sign that advertises $1-million ranch for sale in Morningside.

So, this is a long letter to say that I am fine. My home is intact. My car didn't fare so well: It got into a tussle with an aluminium post and needs $4,000 of body work.

But I am actually, in a twisted way, having a lot of fun.

Hope you all are well.

- Tamara

Tamara sent this postscript a day later:

FPL granted the folks in Little Haiti electricity.

I had just finished eating a cup of applesauce by candlelight. I was listening to Phil Hendry on AM radio and was a little sad. Darrin's grandmother died today, and this made me think of my mom, who died in November four years ago.

It was 9:30 p.m. and I was contemplating whether to open the FEMA Chef Boyardee Overstuffed Beef Ravioli when THE LIGHTS CAME ON. Just like that.

People started hollering outside. "YES!" one man screamed.

I called my husband in Spain (woke him up; it was 3:30 a.m. there).

I turned on the big radio and turned up the jazz station. Closed the windows and put the A/C on full blast.

I can't stop smiling . . . I'm going to take a hot shower. Then I guess I'll turn out the lights and go to bed.

[Last modified November 3, 2005, 12:08:03]