WaterWatch 2007

I’m going to warn you all beforehand—this email will be a bit of a rant, and for those lucky few who have spoken to me on the phone in the past two weeks I’m afraid it will also be somewhat redundant. But I really can’t help myself.

So here we are in Omatjete on Day 12 of life without water. And here I am, my understanding of this situation growing in equal measure with my fury. As you might remember from my email at the end of May, the problem of the water lies in the diesel to run the pump. Everyone in the community is supposed to contribute money each month to buy the gas that works the pump that pumps the water. What I did not know in May is that the government gives a certain amount of diesel to Omatjete Primary School every term. But the entire village benefits from this free diesel because once the pump is running, the water goes to all houses. There is no system set up to turn off the water to individual residences (Horrible Predicament number 1). The reason the water was out for so long at the end of May was because the free government diesel ran out, and then all the shenanigans of getting the community to cough up N$7 per house began. Those who didn’t want to pay were planning to wait until the start of the second term when the new shipment of diesel would come in.

Well, 12 days ago the second term’s diesel ran out. And here we go all over again. Some community members paid and the others are literally holding the water hostage—refusing to pay until the free diesel comes for the third term. Problem is the third term is a month away! Now, obviously this is an inconvenience to me: I can’t bathe, do laundry, or wash my dishes, and I won’t even mention the state of the bathroom. I’ve managed to scrape up water to drink and cook, but there have been many a dinner of crackers and cheese or peanut butter sandwiches. I really cannot deny that this situation makes my life worse. I joined in the complaints of the other teachers (who had all paid but still had nothing to show for it) to my principal and the school board. I even found the one policeman in town that I respect and complained to him. No doubt it’s been irritating.

But I didn’t get really angry until my students stopped being able to eat. How the governor expects our exams scores to go up when class time consists of kids moaning that they are hungry is beyond me. There was talk of taking money out the school fund to buy more diesel which infuriated me even more. The idea of the community essentially stealing from the school (that has next to nothing to begin with) simply to avoid paying the small amount demanded for the water was maddening. But then the hostel students started going down to the dam that feeds the cows, donkeys, and goats to get water out of it. Needless to say this water is not clean. When I told them they shouldn’t drink dirty water, they said simply, “But Miss, we’re thirsty.”

Now it is hard to care how the standoff is resolved. Yes, it makes me crazy to think that once the water returns those who caused this problem will get the same benefits as those who paid in the first place. At the same time, I am not yet so petty that I would have my students suffer simply to ensure that the culprits are too. At this moment, I just want the water to come back on before we have a whole truckload of sick children on our hands—already dehydrated and no way to help them.

I might be more understanding of those not paying if the bill wasn’t so miniscule. N$7 a month per house is unbelievably reasonable, even in a community as poor as Omatjete. And the village already gets a break simply because of the school. So my sympathy remains limited, especially after spending the day (or twelve) watching ten-year-olds clutch their stomachs.

Thanks for listening to this tirade. Hopefully, by the time I email you next week, the curtains will have closed on WaterWatch 2007. Until the end next term that is.