Solidarity

Over the past couple weeks I’ve had the absolute joy of spending some quality time with the Kurian people, who have warmly welcomed me, opened up their homes to me, cooked for me (or begged me to let them), and kindly answered my million strange questions about magi na choo (water and sanitation). The most generous has been my translator, Eunice, who has made it possible for me to navigate conversations beyond the few lines of Kiswahili I know. I’ll definitely write more on Eunice later- her story is heartbreaking and inspiring. For now, a few reflections on water and sanitation here.

My biggest observation so far is this: water and sanitation is hard work here!

You might wonder like I did, “What’s the big deal- wash your hands often, boil your water. Simple stuff; no problem. Right?”

But, imagine that you have no toilet- only a pit in the backyard with four walls around it; and you have no sink, no running water, no bathtub and no tables. I know, it might be hard to imagine living with such conditions, but I get it (at least a bit), because this is my life too now.

The very nice choo in our backyard that we are using. It's a ventilated pit latrine. That's Mama Chacha, who helped us move into our temporary home (the Nuru house is still under construction).

A latrine in Nyemataburu. Just a hole in the ground with wood placed around the hole and maize husk walls.

So, you go out back and use the choo (toilet). Maybe you have toilet paper and a cloth covering the doorway for privacy, but probably not (we have tp and a door on our choo, but most here do not). You finish your business and then you have to come in the house to fill a basin with water from the cistern, grab pitcher and some soap, and lather up and rinse (which isn’t the easiest thing to do one hand at a time unless you have another person around or unless you double dip, which of course re-introduces the germs). Then, you have to get rid of that water you just dirtied up with invisible germs, and of course you had to collect it in the first place (from the well down the road or out in the backyard if you’re really luck). And you don’t own towels, so you just drip dry.

Not so easy or quick. So what do you do? Maybe it’s too much trouble to spend the few minutes it takes to do that routine or maybe more water used means more trips to the well, so you skip the hand-washing sometimes. Honestly, I’m often tempted to skip the basin routine myself (and I’m grateful that we have hand sanitizer around the house, but they definitely don’t sell that at the market here).

After all this work going to the bathroom and cleaning yourself up afterwards, you’re thirsty. It shouldn’t be a big deal to get yourself a cup of cold, clean water, right? First, you have to walk to the spring. Then, you scoop as much water as you can carry on your head into a bucket.

A woman I met at the spring. She does this five times a day.

You get the water home and it has all kinds of things floating it in, like dirt and even worms. So, you have to get that water into a kettle and over a fire to boil it to kill the gross stuff. But, now you have super hot water and that’s not too tasty, so you have to cool it down, which takes time. And after that, you still have a few floaties left, so you have to run it through a cloth to catch the gross stuff. Then, you have to be sure to wash that cloth with detergent so it’s clean for next time and doesn’t contaminate the rest of your dirty laundry. So, after the long walk, the boil, the cool and the cloth you have yourself a lukewarm (because you definitely don’t have a fridge) cup of water. All that to fend off the myriad of waterborne diseases ready to plague you and your family if even one step is skipped.

This is actually a decent representation of our daily routine (the Nuru team). But fortunately, the spring by our place is only a few minutes away (although it’s at the bottom of a pretty good-sized hill) and we could afford to buy a ceramic water filter (so we can forgo the cloth regime) and a 2-burner gas “stove” (that sits on the ground because we don’t have tables yet). Even with such luxuries, getting a clean cup of water is even quite a task for us (and it’s lukewarm, because we don’t have a fridge). So, I now understand why some in the community don’t bother to boil their water.

Janine, my co-worker, and I joke around that after getting water, shopping (a whole other adventure that will probably become its own post), cooking, going to the bathroom and cleaning it all up, it’s bedtime. Not to mention the kids, the shamba (your farm), the animals and a social life. The burden of most of these jobs falls on women (and girls). I’m really grateful that we share household chores around here. But, when we tell people that Jake fetches the water and the guys do the cooking, they laugh in disbelief. (Janine and I take care of cleanup and shopping, another crazy post-worthy adventure).

I’m promise I’m not complaining at all. I’m actually quite grateful to have this opportunity to live in solidarity with the extremely poor (and we have it much, much better than they do, believe me). It helps me frame the water/sanitation program I’m in charge of developing and get realistic ideas about might work to improve conditions here.

So, today, when you wash your hands in your bathroom sink and get a cup of cold water from the tap, think of me. But, more importantly, think of the Kurian people who would cry tears of joy if they had such luxuries. Maybe even send up a quick prayer or thought for us, as we learn together…how to help the Kurian people of Nyametaburu lift themselves out of the extreme poverty.