You want to know how it feels to be powerless?

Sit in the dark for a while.

If there’s one household hardship that makes me aware of our vulnerability, it’s losing power—being without electricity. Or, as it’s called in Portuguese, a luz, and la luz in Spain. For, while many believe that Jesus is the light of the world, electricity is the light of our homes.

Occasionally, we all lose electricity.

Sometimes it’s just us; other times it’s our entire neighborhood.

¿Tem luz? One neighbor will ask another gathering in the street to assess the situation. Except for the verb form – tiene instead of tem – it’s the same question in Spanish.

Interesting how both the Spanish and Portuguese refer to electricity as “light.”

You sit there in the dark, shivering, waiting for the electrician.

Without any coffee.

It dawns on us how dependent we are on a steady flow of “leccy.” All the food that may spoil in the refrigerator and freezer. No warmth in most Portuguese homes without insulation, built to keep the heat out but the cold (and mold) inside. No flickering pictures on the television or ability to reach out and touch someone online because the mobile hasn’t been charged. No shower or shave. No coffee. The dreadful darkness.

Yes, of course, we have had outages from time to time.

Most often, it occurs when we overload the circuits. Electricity in Portuguese houses is typically set at 2.3 kVA (or 3.45 kVA)—not enough to run a stove and refrigerator or aircon inverter, microwave, and coffee pot simultaneously. To upgrade our “potencia” to 4.6 kVA, the thin old wiring had to be upgraded to newer and thicker wiring on (not inside) the walls, which then are covered with conduit. Then, your meter and circuit breaker box need to be replaced to sync with the higher surging current. We had taken care of this when we first moved into our property, to the tune of about three thousand euros—which also included replacing the old light switches and adding almost two dozen new outlets, especially in the kitchen. Few Portuguese homes of our vintage have more than one socket per room. All are placed midway up the wall, at light switch height, rather than at the bottom as we were accustomed to.

Lowering our power could save us up to 33 euros per year, while increasing it might imply another 26€ years per year. No big deal, right?

Anyway …

This past Wednesday we lost our electricity at 1:30 AM while we were asleep. How did we know the time it went off? Because our water heater is hooked up to a timer. It told us precisely when the power failed.

I opened the circuit breaker box and saw that the main one – which controls all the electricity throughout our house – had flipped. I toggled it up and the lights came on. But not for long. I noticed the red light near the meter flashing … quicker and quicker. Within 15 seconds, I heard a *Pop* and the circuit breaker flipped off. Again and again, I tried, with the same results. It was Thursday morning at 10:30 AM and time to call the electrician.

Francisco arrived within 20 minutes. Methodically, he first checked the circuit breaker box and the meter, confirming the results I had experienced. Next, he checked every outlet he’d installed for us two and a half years earlier when we purchased the house. Ultimately, he tracked down the problem.

“I have some good news and some bad,” he informed us.

He’d identified the cause of the problem. That was the good news. The bad? The problem was the “American style” refrigerator we’d purchased with the rest of the kitchen appliances when we moved into the house. Evidently, something – possibility the weather or lightning – had caused the refrigerator circuits to short and give up the ghost. It couldn’t be fixed. At least not easily or quickly or cost-efficiently. We’d be better off buying a new one.

With a twinkle in his eye and smile on his lips, Francisco told us about something he had done before leaving: He’d installed some sort of electronic device that divided our electric zones in half. So, should we lose power in the back of the house where the kitchen is located, the rest of our dwelling wouldn’t be affected. We’d still have some electricity.

God bless you, Francisco, our certified electrician and plumber!

Time was wasting, however. It was now about noon on Thursday and the stores would close shortly. If we were to purchase – and have delivered – a new fridge by the next day (wishful thinking) or Monday at the earliest, we’d need to dash off to Castelo Branco immediately.

We checked out the inventory and stock at three separate stores and decided to purchase the new frigorifico from our tried-and-true appliance shop. As suspected, considering the weekend, the earliest delivery would be Monday. “Certo?” I asked. The proprietor nodded affirmatively.

Next stop was the supermarket to pick up a couple of bags of ice. We needed to keep everything as cold as possible in the refrigerator and freezer chuck full of food—including plenty of meats.

Mission accomplished.

I tried contacting the dealership where we purchased the terminally ill unit. Based on our paperwork, we should have a three-year warranty. Emphasis on the word should. Our warranty had expired, even though it still had four more months to go on it. Back and forth we emailed, the store’s customer service rep trying to explain to me why the warranty had lapsed. His words made no sense to me; it must have something to do with the way the Portuguese count.

Friday morning:

I wondered if our homeowner’s insurance would cover the damage and cost to replace the broken refrigerator. Pulling the policy – which included “all risks” and electrical coverage – we headed to the insurance agency.

Fortunately, a portion of the new refrigerator’s cost, as well as the food spoilage (but not the electrician’s charge), would be covered. The agent filled out some forms online, which he asked me to sign. “All I need now,” he said, “is a copy of the paid invoice for the new refrigerator … pictures of the food in the old fridge and freezer … and, most importantly, a letter from the electrician stating that the refrigerator cannot be fixed.”

We collected the documents, took pictures, and emailed them to the agent later that day.

I never realized how vulnerable we are to the whims of the “luz.”

Let there be light!

Bruce H. Joffe is the author of Expat: Leaving the USA for Good and Spanish Towns, Portuguese Villages: A Journal for Expats and Immigrants. This post is from the new book he’s working on: Vulnerable. Why Do We Fear So Much?