Times were tough for a while in Macia. First, the taps stopped running. Then, the water storage tanks and the local well dried up. The closest source of water was the bakery on the other side of the highway and a 15 minute walk away when not slowed down by 25-liter containers of water. When the family told me this, I couldn’t hide my shock. Thankfully, the family took pity on me, or as they put it, “Caitlin (my former roommate) could conseguir (achieve) that, but you can’t,” and mandar-ed (ordered) their eldest sons to cart water for me in addition to the rest of the family. At the beginning though, I only got 25 liters every few days, which horrified even fellow volunteers. I cut bathing down to every few days, cooked rice and pasta in the bare minimum amount of water, re-wore clothing, went commando for several days, and finally went to Caitlin’s house in a nearby town to do laundry. Eventually, the boys brought me water more often, probably due to reports about my bathing habits from the kids. I felt really guilty about it, but I insisted on paying them and offered to make each son a mix CD.
One magical morning, I woke up to the sounds of running water. I immediately filled up every container I own with water just in case, but the water was back for good… or at least until the next time the town pump breaks down. So now I have running water, I bought a fridge from a fellow volunteer, and the family blasts Kanye’s “Power” (I snuck it in between the Michael Jackson and Eminem they wanted) from their house… just living the dream. I’m not gonna lie though; my bathing habits still horrify the kids, as they take three a day. But my new system is to claim I took one while they were eating dinner, since when they visit me afterward I’ve changed into my pajamas. Don’t judge me; even when one heats the water, bucket baths in outdoor bathrooms during African winter are cold.
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