Forget the current fuel crisis—paraffin vanished from our filling stations long ago, slipping quietly into oblivion. It seems the once-essential commodity has been deemed obsolete, cast aside like a relic of the past. Yet, for those who still swear by its cleaning power for machines and gadgets, finding a drop is like searching for gold dust. The only lifeline? Shady vendors smuggling it in from Mozambique, their jerry-cans holding what the fuel pumps no longer offer.There was a time when paraffin was a household essential, a lifeline in the darkness. In the 1960s and 70s, an improvised lamp—crafted from a discarded can or bottle, with a wick fashioned from cloth—was a common sight. This humble invention, known as koloboli, illuminated countless nights, especially for those determined to excel in their studies.At Robert Blake Secondary School, where I studied, our missionary headmaster had a deep dislike for koloboli. He strictly banned its use in the hostels. Lights went out at 10 p.m., but some die-hard scholars, unwilling to let the night steal their study time, would secretly ignite their koloboli lamps. The headmaster, ever the enforcer, would patrol the rooms under the cover of darkness. If he caught anyone hunched over their books under the flickering glow of a koloboli, he wouldn’t just confiscate it—he would seize it with righteous fury and hurl it out of the window with all his might, sending both the lamp and the student’s hopes of extra study time crashing into the night.In the villages, koloboli was everywhere—its dim but dependable glow flickering in nearly every home. No trading centre was complete without at least one tradesperson, sometimes several, who kept a steady supply of paraffin. It was a prized commodity, not just for lighting but also for cooking.Paraffin stoves of all shapes and sizes were common in households, their blue flames dancing beneath simmering pots. From simple wick stoves to the more advanced pressure stoves, they were a staple in kitchens before electricity and gas took over. Back then, paraffin was not just another fuel—it was a way of life.The more affluent villagers had the luxury of Tilley lamps—the gold standard of paraffin lighting. These were not your everyday koloboli; they were towering lamps with large fuel tanks, built for brilliance. To get them going, one had to pump a mechanical pressurizer attached to the tank, forcing jets of paraffin to spray onto a delicate filament element. Once ignited, the filament glowed white-hot, flooding the room with a dazzling brightness that made candlelight and the less fancied koloboli seem like mere flickers in the dark.When I was a boy, my father brought home something that felt like a marvel of engineering—a paraffin iron. Much like the Tilley lamp, it had a pressurized tank that, when pumped, forced paraffin through tiny jets onto a filament. Once ignited, the filament produced intense heat, turning the iron’s heavy metal base into a scorching-hot plate, ready to smooth out even the most stubborn creases.Today paraffin is as rare as the fur of a reptile—tsitsi la njoka, as the Chichewa saying goes. This columnist believes the disappearance of paraffin is a positive development, and here is why.First and foremost, paraffin is a pollutant. When burned, it releases fumes that are not just unpleasant but outright harmful. In poorly ventilated rooms, these fumes turn into an invisible enemy, slowly compromising the health of those inhaling them. Prolonged exposure can lead to respiratory complications, eye irritation, and a host of other ailments.Beyond personal health, paraffin’s impact extends to the environment. The soot and emissions contribute to air pollution.
The second reason paraffin’s disappearance is a good thing is that it is not a renewable resource. Like all petroleum products, paraffin begins its journey deep within the Earth, extracted from crude oil—an ancient treasure formed from organic matter buried millions of years ago. Under immense pressure and heat, this matter slowly transformed into the petroleum we drill today.
But here is the catch: while it took nature eons to create petroleum, we are burning through it at an alarming rate. In just over a century, we have consumed vast reserves that took millions of years to form. The reality is sobering—one day, there will be no petroleum left anywhere on Earth. The decline of paraffin, therefore, is not just about shifting consumer habits; it is a glimpse into an inevitable future where fossil fuels become relics of the past. The sooner we embrace alternatives, the better prepared we will be for the day when the wells finally run dry.