Everyone tends to have some sort of turning point; a moment that changes their perspective on life or even morphs them and their interest. My life has been a roller coaster even though its been comparatively short, I have already had one moment burned in my mind that changed me forever.
During the summery days of June, I sat in Orbomba, Tanzania, awaiting the news of what we were doing today. When we were told that we were participating in a walk to retrieve water, I was excited to get some fresh air, see some sights, and take a break from playing spoons and mafia inside the mess tent. I loved spending time in the savannah, with the wind looping through the sycamores and gently pushing the sand piles around.
The mothers of a local Maasai family joined us to take us to the water hole. They were stunning in their blue and red garb, the traditional Maasai colors. They had the stretched earlobes, a common sign of beauty in the area. One of them looked strikingly similar to my own mother, with the same facial features and different skin color. We even brought out a photo for comparison and the group agreed on how similar they looked. This was translated to the woman and she called me her daughter for the rest of her stay. The mamas gave us jelly jars, which were used to collect the water and before we knew it, we were off.
On the way, we smiled and laughed, enjoying the fact that we were almost as far away from home as possible. We joked around and pointed out the tracks in the sand from numerous critters. Eventually, we ran into boys, likely no older than ten or eleven, herding massive groups of goats and cattle. We had simple conversations, such as “how old are you?” and “what’s your name?” We smiled and waved goodbye soon after and continued on our merry way.
After a cheerful conversation and mountains of inside jokes, we arrived to our destination. The laughter was silenced, the conversations were muted, the comedy halted as we gazed upon a single sight: the water source. After our long walk, we arrived to little but a puddle. The water was so contaminated that you couldn’t see the bottom, except for the half inch of water before the shoreline. It was a surreal feeling, to see that this mud was their source of life. To further illustrate the uncleanliness of the water before us, the group leaders wouldn’t let any of the volunteers or non-locals touch the water or help fill the cans with water.
To add to the contamination, the shepherd boys had to bring their livestock for a drink. The water we gazed upon was crawling with bacteria from the cows that just waddled in and defecated, filled with sludge from being stirred up from all the life using it. There was no way this water would be considered potable, let alone safe to swim in, if you were going by US or European standards, yet the locals had no problem filling the jars up.
At this time, our guide took the time to tell us that little is done to purify the water in any way, except for occasionally boiling and mostly just scooping the settled water off the top of a large tank. We were also told that many times in the summer, this pool dries up and the women must walk further for water. Lastly, he gave us an anecdote of a Kenyan group who refused to drink the water from a newly installed well. When they water flowed, they were afraid that the volunteers were trying to poison them, since the only liquid they had seen with the same appearance was kerosene. They were so used to poor water conditions that they didn’t recognize the water that we find in bigger cities.
These facts and the mere situation was a blow to my fragile, “first world” country perspective. And that wasn’t even the end of the walk.
After collecting the water, we had to carry it to the house, which was a few miles away. This task was grueling as the water we toted was in cans weighing about 50-60 pounds when filled. We took turns with a partner to carry them, but the women leading us to their home carried it the whole way themselves. As it turns out, these women not only do it once, but maybe at least six or seven times a day. It is the largest part of their daily routine and is crucial for plants, livestock, cooking, cleaning, and drinking. Of course, this is all in addition to regular chores.
When we arrived to the homes, they were a traditional Maasai house of cow dung and sticks, which provides coolness from the sun and warmth from the chilly nights. The man of the household had six wives and thirteen children, which makes him fairly wealthy compared to the rest of his area, since men do not take a wife unless they can successfully support them.
The children of the family were ecstatic to see us and they loved my blonde hair, camera, and hat. Of this experience, I wrote in my journal: “The kids took particular interest in my camera and swarmed me, wanting to press the buttons and see themselves. They loved my hair and hat and loved to play with it. Even though they knew no English and we knew no Maasai, we were able to understand each other.”
This phenomenal interaction with the families distracted me from the water situation for a little bit, but then reality kicked in. It jolted my life into a harsh reality of how many people in this world must live. The United Nations stated that by 2025, two thirds of the world will face water scarcity and 1.8 billion will have no clean water access. Some believe that the next world war will be fought over water, due to how essential it is to our daily life but also so scarce. This is real life with real people, and this experience drew the veil back from my materialistic, first world view.
Now over two years later, I still hold this experience dear and remember it daily. It drastically changed my perspective on nearly every aspect of my life. Tanzania ultimately turned my life upside down and fueled my voracious appetite for travel and humanitarian aid. I have since felt compelled to make a difference in the world of water usage, whether large or small.
Before delving into that topic, I must digress. Some people, when I discuss this experience, begin to view Tanzania as only a developing country, which in reality, developing and developed are two weak words often used to describe people that merely live a different life. An example I always go back to are the Romans and Incas, since both civilizations were incredibly advanced and yet Rome always seems to get the credit for architectural wonders. Just because a civilization lives differently, it does not mean that they are simple, developing, or lesser. In fact, many “developing” countries have age old traditions or building styles or art that make them rich and unique. The moral of the story is “to each their own” and only that.
However, when it comes to water, some people are unable to have cleaner water that would promote health, reduce waterborne illness, and allow people to meet their goals and careers. It is not the fault of the people; water is a necessity often influenced by politics, economy, geography, and more. People often don’t have clean water because they can’t get to it, not because they are primitive or less civilized.
Now over two years later, I still hold this experience dear and remember it daily. It drastically changed my perspective on nearly every aspect of my life. Tanzania ultimately turned my life upside down and fueled my voracious appetite for travel and humanitarian aid. I have since felt compelled to make a difference in the world of water usage, whether large or small. I feel obliged to help the people that I know and the people that don’t, because this issue resonated with me so much. Its what fueled my blog and my future travels. It’s what fuels me.
And to think, this all started with a puddle of water!