| February 7, 2012 David Robinson (Engeye Scholars Fellow) I returned to Ddegeya a week ago today and, although there is much I want to write about – part of my role here is to share updates of the work I'm doing for the Engeye Scholars program – tonight the only thing on my mind is water, and I cannot sleep. We ran out of it this morning. Or, more specifically and perhaps less dramatically, our rain collection tanks ran dry. Now, and until the next rains come (and we're just halfway through the historical dry season), we must head down the hill to fetch water at the bore hole or pond. Please understand that this is not our drinking water (we purchase 5-gallon canisters of drinking water in Masaka) but the water with which we are to cook and bathe, the water needed for everything from washing hands after using the latrine or seeing patients to water boiled for a cup of tea. Suddenly these things, and all activities and “necessities” in between, require work and planning. In this, the clinic is suddenly no different than the dozens of families in Ddegeya, who begin each day down at the well, pumping water into five gallon jerry cans to lug back to their homes. I watch children, probably age six and up, men and women haul water all day – balanced on heads, strapped four-deep to bikes, or grasped in each palm. (I witness this scene most often as I sit on the bunkhouse porch, sipping my morning coffee, made from water from our rain collection tanks that Prossey, our cook, has boiled.)  Five days ago, when water seemed plentiful and I was still sleepwalking through the latter stages of jet lag, I was reminded sharply of how precious water is here. Or anywhere. I'd stopped to wash my hands at the smaller of the two catchment tanks, where I twirled the handle thoughtlessly so as to provide a good and respectable flow. Richard, a local who currently works with Engeye, stood quietly beside me while I washed all the red dirt from my hands. When it was his turn to wash, I noticed that he opened the spigot just enough to allow a thin thread of water to stream into his hands. At first I thought the scene was a bit ridiculous or that he didn't understand and then I was slapped by understanding. In that moment I was reminded that I must pay attention to my use – and misuse – of water. Embarrassment aside, it was a good and early lesson, and one I cannot forget. Not now, after today's two trips to the well with Mbaziira Edie to fetch water for the clinic compound.Standing in line with the half dozen or so kids and teens waiting to fill their cans, I realized how little I think about water even now after three previous trips to this area. Every single day, from the beginning until today and into tomorrow, these kids, their parents and grandparents, what they know about water is that it is precious and it is hard work. Though I've never heard complaint -- far from it: rural Ugandans are not prone to complaining. (I hear that there's even something like a "teen hour" at the pump around dusk, when teens gather and do as teens the world over do, give or take a gadget or three.) The clinic is fortunate to have two tanks that catch rainwater from the guttered tin roof of the laboratory building. It is a grand luxury, one paid for by donors and visiting doctors and volunteers. But it is not enough. As the clinic continues to grow and to expand its services, and as more volunteers and staff move into the bunkhouse, the demand for water increases exponentially. In two weeks a medical mission from Providence Health in Portland will arrive, increasing our numbers by seven. We will then need to hire a villager to fetch our water (and lots of it) for clinic and staff use.  I can't say that I dislike my trips to the well, although I imagine it will get old. And water is heavy. A better plan is in the works, however. This year's Minerva Fellows from Union College in Schenectady, New York, Mark O'Shea and Brendan Kinnane, have proposed to increase our rain collection system by 50,000 liters and to gutter the main clinic buildings and bunkhouses. I encourage you to read about their water project at http://engeye.org/aboutus/history/95-engeyewater.html and to share it with those whom you feel would be interested. I want to be clear: this is no Sally Struthers infomercial, asking you or anyone to cry or to feel guilty or to give to the neglected children of Africa. No one needs or wants that; not them, especially, and not us. (And the kids I know here are far from neglected!) But I think it's interesting and informative, a useful assessment of how we live on this planet and what we can do. If you know of someone who would like to help make this happen, send me a message. And I know that we will do this, that the water project will receive the funds it needs to move forward. It will be another grand and simple step in the continued growth of the Engeye, Inc and in the services it provides to the local community. Images courtesy of David Robinson. |
