TI’m writing today from the mini internet café at our hotel on Kendwa beach, on the northern coast of Zanzibar. It’s gorgeous here - fine white sand, palm trees, water so clear you can see past your toes. . . the works. We’re having a great time relaxing on the beach and enjoying the luxury of our hotel, though it is certainly unsettling that I can be sitting here writing this while the rest of the island goes without electricity.

The cable bringing Zanzibar’s power from the mainland broke over a month ago, and the only places with electricity are those with their own generators. While people have been remarkably patient, their patience is quickly running thin. Tourism’s high season is about to start, and people are afraid that now the tourists won’t come. Or they’ll come and the island won’t have the infrastructure to support them.

Sam and I made dinner reservations yesterday by telling the restaurant seven hours ahead, so they would have enough time to go to the market to buy the fish they would be serving us. That’s how it goes if you can’t refrigerate anything. As dinner time rolled around we walked down the beach to the restaurant, stopping along the way at a store to buy water. “You don’t want cold?” The shopkeeper asked us, grinning from ear to ear, as we brought a bottle from the shelf up to pay. He pointed to the refrigerator, now full of cold water. The power was back! We all stood there a moment, celebrating with one another, before Sam and I continued on to the restaurant. What a difference! There was music blasting, twinkle lights shining, and an excited group of men clustered around the bar watching the TV. Our waiter ran over to us, beaming. The excitement was palpable.

Dinner was incredible. The food was delicious, and the mood euphoric. Then just as we were finishing, the lights cut, the music stopped, and the TV went dead. We all paused a moment, not knowing what to say, while the owner rustled up some candles. The mood dead, they rushed us out while we lamely told them how we hoped the power would come back soon. But as the owner said, “who knows, maybe tomorrow, maybe another month. We just don’t know.” Not knowing what to say, we awkwardly said our goodbyes and walked back down the beach to our hotel. . . still lit and blasting music into the night.