By Mark Allewell
Many of us have made a conscientious decision at some point in our lives to widen our horizons and deepen our understanding of the world we inhabit; if you have, you might well have crossed paths with the shallow philosopher archetype.
Whether you are trapped in a conversation at a braai, cornered in the kitchen while making tea at work or are socially inclined to make polite conversation with an acquaintance, the navel-gazing types will undoubtedly attempt to stun you with their “profound” insights, gleaned from the various pop science books, podcasts and film media they have most-recently consumed.
We all know the type, as they might, at some point, have asked the question that has piqued a thousand first-year philosophy students’ interest in the subject: “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”
Existential dread and the Eskom machine
So cliche has the phrase become that it has somewhat receded from philosophical debates for more striking thought experiments, such as the much more applicable morality of the trolley problem, the attributions of the Ship of Theseus or the economic behaviour of the prisoner’s dilemma.
But, the triteness of the “fallen tree” inquiry is as much a victim of its own popularity, rather than any perceived unimportance of the idea itself. Case in point: Does a government exist if it is not perceived and acknowledged as such by the public? What about when the private sphere – the citizens and industries of a nation – usurp the roles normally worn by ministries and MPs?
In South Africa, spheres of traditional governance are increasingly toeing this line; the service delivery crisis in many parts of the country has left significant gaps, which have, in some cases, seen an uptick in private enterprise involvement. Unfortunately for us as citizens, power provision is the poster child for this phenomenon, with private entities and businesses opting to seek alternate, private means of generating electricity.
The surge in private generation over the past decade has produced a net positive for all South Africans: as more and more consumers become less reliant on national providers, the lower the burden that needs to be shouldered by the creaking parastatal that is Eskom.
But the role played by citizens does not stop there; private generators are also starting to play a more active role in solving the power debacle.
Earlier this year, City of Cape Town mayor Geordin Hill-Lewis announced the city’s move to allow households the ability to sell excess power back to the grid. The concept has slowly been rolled out over the past few years, mimicking the success it has had in other countries and global cities (in certain parts of Hawaii, for example, solar power generation surpasses their needs).
The idea is a promising one, incentivising more households and businesses to opt for private generation solar capacity (solar is generally the only financially feasible option for most people).
Eventually, with incentives such as this, the dream of neighbourhoods powering themselves will start to become a reality. Ironically, as we decentralise our power grid, so do we decentralise the other form of power as well.
Take a step back and you might be forgiven for thinking that, in this specific niche of our country’s make-up, the government's existence is hindering progress and leaving the public to clean up a mess of its own making.
I provide services, therefore, I am (the government)
But therein lies the catch. At this stage, the monetary incentives proposed for asking private citizens to solve the problem by selling back to the grid are too little and undercut the potential of private generation.
Take, for example, a household with four solar panels mounted on its rooftop and an inverter that can power any essentials during load shedding. With a solar system comprising 3.5kW of panels and a 5.5kW inverter, you can store and use a significant portion of the power you generate and sell the excess back to the City of Cape Town for R1.05 per kWh. Given that electricity from Eskom costs between R2.59 and R3.70 per kWh, the financial benefits of using your own solar power are substantial.
An average geyser uses 8 to 12 kWh a day, costing approximately R36 daily if powered by Eskom. During peak sunlight hours (generally between 1pm and 3pm), your solar set-up can generate up to 10 kWh, though output might be slightly less due to environmental factors (bear in mind that energy generated will differ based on the weather and if you have a north-facing home, for instance). With smart technology, though, your excess solar power can be directed to your geyser towards reducing your water heating costs to around R13 a day.
By using solar power for heating water, you save up to R23 daily compared to selling the power back to the grid. For most households, the savings far outweigh the benefits of selling excess power back to the city.
It is difficult not to sympathise with the DA-run Western Cape government here; the idea is pragmatic, promising and attempts to strive head-first into the (literal) dark, all for a problem not of its creation.
The assumption as to the existence of a monetary gap (between the power we buy from Eskom and what is proposed we would get in return) is the need to finance the infrastructure to run such a grid. Clearly, we are not there yet, but that’s not to say that it is out of reach either: A tipping point is needed – a point at which Eskom’s prices match that of the selling rate.
To get there, the private sphere’s crusade against sitting in the dark must be enabled and promoted. Beyond solar, smart power utilities, like those that monitor and regulate electric geysers, will continue to be a more financially viable option than selling back to the grid.
Does a falling tree make a sound if no one witnesses its fall? I do not know. But a government unable to effect change is equally pointless. Let’s hope that the real seat of power, the public, can continue to be empowered.
Mark Allewell is the CEO at Sensor Networks
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