Jesus hasn’t come yet

Jesus decides on light and darkness. He also seems to do it exclusively out of his own will. My landlady keeps telling me that he’ll come, but so far he really hasn’t. In the mean time I’ve spent many of these nights on candle light, which is, to say the least, not the easiest way to get acquainted with your new house. You see, there is a problem with the fuses in the building: they burnt the night before my arrival. Sort of “a big panic evacuation”, the neighbour commented the other day, when I finally thought somebody had to be asked about why I have no electricity since I arrived. The thing is I rented this room from my to-be-met flatmate, who happens to be somewhere else in Africa at the moment. There is a landlady, but I didn’t have her contact. And Jesus? Well, he lives somewhere in this same building, and he commands a power generator which, I’ve been told, we share. The problem is obviously that the generator’s switch, along with its intrinsic problems, lives happily with Jesus, in his flat. I later got the number of my landlady - through the girl who lived in this room before me, and whom by sheer coincidence I actually knew from Portugal -, and basically called her for help. The landlady then patiently explained to me that things here tend to take a time of their own and are generally a bit confusing. This somehow reassured me, as it helped me realize that perhaps it is not my fault I’m failing to have a grasp on things. So I carry on, waiting for Jesus to come and help me.