why water.
Posted by kristin on Sunday, August 8, 2010
This week the final phase of work on our project in Ilbissil, Kenya begins. They are constructing a pumphouse, and completing the piping, as well as installing tanks to each place they need to go. They will be able to collect rainwater during the occasional rain in this dry land. It has been a long time coming, but COME UNITY looks forward to celebrating with the people of Ilbissil when all is said and done.
We have had two impeccable partners for this project in Ilbissil. One, is Sol Garcia and Project X. Sol and I have been to Africa twice together and have been working together and making decisions. She lives in LA, so our relationship has largely been long distance, and thank God for the world wide web. Another partner has been Charles Mokaya at Help a Child Africa. Charles is Kenyan, and has overseen every small detail of this project and advised us. Especially essential when we are not there. We trust him completely. Sol recently asked a few of her friends to reflect on why they are devoted to the cause of bringing water to people in need. More specifially, why the UN should deem water as a basic human right for all. Here's what I wrote...Oneday the teachers at the school I was working at in Gataka, Kenya, asked me if
I wanted to come see where they get water. Gataka is a tiny slum outside of
Nairobi. It is poorer and smaller then Ongata-Rongai, where I spent most of my
days volunteering. But there was something I liked about Gataka. The kids in
Ongata-Rongai were poor, some of the poorest I've ever met. The children of
Gataka are poorer. Sicker, hungrier, more fragile, and most had a genuine light
in their eyes.
I walked with the teachers about a mile down the slope out the backyard of the
school. I walked carefully to not loose my footing. Eventually we came near
the place in the river, and the teachers began to speak Kiswahili with some of
the other women in the community who had come to the river as well. The women
were stark naked and bathing in the river, many small children in tow, and they
were bold in their excalmations to my Kenyan friends. I felt so ashamed that I
had interrupted their bath. We skipped over rocks and my friends were careful
of me, not wanting their guest from a world away to slip in the river. They
know this is not a normal task on my daily to do list. We trekked to the
opposite side of the river and up stream a ways. Finally we plucked the spot
from the hillside, and they asked for the empty jerry can I had in my hands.
"Here is the best place to fetch water," they said. It was the place where a
trickle of water ran down from the town above. Where the water entered the
river cleared a bit of the silt, mud, parasites and other unimaginable things to
drink away so they could partake of clearer water. Or so they hoped.
It was a monumental moment for me. We trekked back to the school, being even
more careful with the 40lb jerry cans in our hands. They didn't let me finish
my journey up the hill with the water. I was not well versed in this skill, and
I think they didn't want to see any water spilled. People shouldn't live like
this. Not you or I, and not our neighbors around the world. A spark was lit in
me in those days, and I began pursuing what it means and what it looks like to
provide clean water for communities that have none. Clean water is a right for
all, it is essentail to human life as much as air and food and love.
I wanted to come see where they get water. Gataka is a tiny slum outside of
Nairobi. It is poorer and smaller then Ongata-Rongai, where I spent most of my
days volunteering. But there was something I liked about Gataka. The kids in
Ongata-Rongai were poor, some of the poorest I've ever met. The children of
Gataka are poorer. Sicker, hungrier, more fragile, and most had a genuine light
in their eyes.
I walked with the teachers about a mile down the slope out the backyard of the
school. I walked carefully to not loose my footing. Eventually we came near
the place in the river, and the teachers began to speak Kiswahili with some of
the other women in the community who had come to the river as well. The women
were stark naked and bathing in the river, many small children in tow, and they
were bold in their excalmations to my Kenyan friends. I felt so ashamed that I
had interrupted their bath. We skipped over rocks and my friends were careful
of me, not wanting their guest from a world away to slip in the river. They
know this is not a normal task on my daily to do list. We trekked to the
opposite side of the river and up stream a ways. Finally we plucked the spot
from the hillside, and they asked for the empty jerry can I had in my hands.
"Here is the best place to fetch water," they said. It was the place where a
trickle of water ran down from the town above. Where the water entered the
river cleared a bit of the silt, mud, parasites and other unimaginable things to
drink away so they could partake of clearer water. Or so they hoped.
It was a monumental moment for me. We trekked back to the school, being even
more careful with the 40lb jerry cans in our hands. They didn't let me finish
my journey up the hill with the water. I was not well versed in this skill, and
I think they didn't want to see any water spilled. People shouldn't live like
this. Not you or I, and not our neighbors around the world. A spark was lit in
me in those days, and I began pursuing what it means and what it looks like to
provide clean water for communities that have none. Clean water is a right for
all, it is essentail to human life as much as air and food and love.