water worries

the wonderful water tank

Five o’clock in the morning and I’m awake with a start. It’s the burbling of water into a plastic jerry can that did it. I scramble out from under the mosquito net to investigate who’s using my outside tap. I squash my nose against the metal mossie grill of my window to get a good look. It’s Esperance, daughter of one of the students, who’s been earning a few francs weeding the peanuts in my field for the last few days. This water harvesting from our tank is becoming a bit of a habit, but maybe she sees it as her tap, too, now she’s done some work in the garden. Other girls on the campus have started following Esperance’s example, too. The students don’t have running water in their houses so they have to fetch it from one of the outside taps on the campus, but sometimes there are queues. It’s quicker to go and get it from a private supply if you have access to one. The trouble is, my impressive black plastic water tank is limited. It only gets replenished when the erratic town water supply arrives or when the university pump is in action. At the moment it’s decidedly out of action, awaiting fixing. And the organisation I work for tells me I must keep two weeks’ emergency water supply on hand at all times.

My Swahili is not at its best first thing in the morning, especially not before daybreak, but Esperance seems to get my point, reluctantly turns off the tap and beats a dejected retreat. I feel like a Swahili-speaking ogre. But there can’t be a queue at the public tap at five in the morning, surely?

Welcome to the world of community living and cultural clashes. Which set of values should I go with? The Congolese one, which says share the little you have with whoever’s in immediate need, especially if you have more than enough? Or the Western one, that says you should plan ahead, be prepared for a crisis, and learn to say no. I could reel out Bible passages to support either. The first dilemma of the day.