Fun with heat exchangers

I spent a generally quiet weekend in Secunda, the principal highlight of which was my much-anticipated tour of the Sasol facility. Due to the fact that most energy-related companies in SA are considered ‘strategic assets’ on account of the fact that they have no competitors – and hence if they are bombed, such attack would result in serious disruptions to the country’s day-to-day running – the security at Sasol is pretty high. The Gilb waited for me outside entrance Charlie 1, and after smothering him silly with kisses by way of greeting, we approached the fearsome gatekeeper at the “key point facility” where he proceeded to explain that he wanted to give his… friend a tour of Sasol (“I asked my supervisor Liefie, he said that was the best way to convince them to let you in!”). What. Ever.

The first thing that smacks you about this place as you pass the gates is the veneer of safety plastered over everything. “Safety first” your cell phone tower signal proclaims. “I work safe for my family” signs obscure your visibility as you drive down the plant’s roads (“Thank you for working safely”, they say as you leave the plant). And the cherry on top, all of the little gifts they give to staff (such as a torch-cum-screwdriver, an overnight bag) have “Safe and beautiful for my family” emblazoned on them. They have electronic billboards counting the number of accident-free hours worked and the current accident rate. Given the number of deaths the company experiences each year, I guess it’s hardly surprising they’re obsessive about it. They have speeding limits, and you can even get fined for not wearing a seatbelt as you’re driving around the plant.

Anyway, the Gilb drove me around the gigantic premises, and it was really cute to see how puffed up with pride he was when showing me the maze of pipes and smoke stacks and fractional distillation columns and flares and pumps and heat exchangers and tanks and and and. “I worked on that heat exchanger over there!” he proclaimed. “See that flare – it’s burning quite cleanly, that means today they’re burning hydrogen!” “Liefie look over there – that’s where they crush the coal before sending it to the gassifier!”

The place truly is amazing, I have to concede. So here are some random little facts about the Secunda plant of the company that produces 38% of the country’s petrol (for which it becomes profitable when Brent Crude sells anywhere above $22 per barrel):

1. The Secunda plant employs 8,000 people and 6,000 contractors
2. Secunda residents have the highest per capita GDP generation in the country
3. The plant alone – excluding any offices, mines and empty land – spans a whopping 4 km by 2km
4. It produces 160,000 barrels of petrol per day
5. The plant is split into two identical sides: east and west, each producing both diesel and petrol
6. The only non-identical thing about the plant is that one of the smoke stack chimneys is 1m taller than its partner, to break some height record for smoke stacks
7. The fact that the plant reeks of chemicals and all staff are required to wear protective ear muffs means that one can fart with smelly abandon and not be caught in the act, the Gilb happily informs me.

Oddly, while the overall 4-weeks’ maintenance shutdown is officially over, not all the units of the plant are up and running yet. Which means that for those that are running, the excess products that can’t be stored or fed into the next stage of the process are being burned. Yes ladies and gentlemen, Sasol is currently burning away petrol precursors – I say, give me the damn stuff for free and I’ll refine the shit myself!

The rest of the weekend was mostly quietly spent snuggling up on a couch due to the miserable weather, bar a foray into the town for dinner on Friday, a visit to the Graceland driving range where I got to show off my profound lack of golfing skills (oh yes, in my mini-mini-mini skirt), and a stop at the video store.

And I finally got to witness the rumoured violence of the town’s male inhabitants – one of the Gilb’s housemates kissed a girl at a dodgy pool bar, and one of her friends was so upset about this that he felt the need to punch him on the eye socket and lip. Small-town rage, go figure.