Today at our work site, I discovered the watering hole that our well would hopefully replace once complete. Although a mere 50 meters away, I hadn’t realized just how close the hole was because it was obscured by trees and dense vegetation. What I did notice, however, was the occasional young man walking down the footpath with a yellow jerry can in each of his hands. Each man would pass our work site on the way down, glance over at us curiously and then continue down the path until they disappeared into the overgrowth. Earlier that morning Amy had pointed out the general direction of the watering hole. Now I tried to pin point its exact location by tracing the path of the men with my eyes until I lost sight of them. Each man would eventually reemerge, only this time they were heavily laden with jerry cans full of water.
I knew that Amy intended our group to visit the watering hole after our work that day. But I decided to investigate for myself during one of my breaks from auguring our well. So I waited for an opportunity to follow one of the men down the path to the watering hole. After a short time I spotted a young man who looked to be in his twenties making his way down the footpath. I quickly grabbed one of the cameras our team had brought to the site, crossed the small sweet potato field to the footpath and followed him. It didn’t take the man long to realize that he was being followed. But he only gave me cursory glance, not really appearing to mind. I could only assumed that this was because he had already grown accustomed to seeing me at the work site over the past few days. I didn’t note any change in his stride. But as a courtesy, I made sure to put a little bit of distance between us as I trailed after him.
When we reached the watering hole the man was already stooped over the pool of water with one of his jerry cans partially submerged. The pool was small, only five feet in diameter by my estimation. I took a couple of pictures of him with the camera and then approached the water’s edge to get a closer look. The grass-lined pool was murky with dirt, but clear enough that you could make out the fuzzy, green patches of moss that lined its bottom. I noticed a couple of water strider bugs hopping on the surface of the water. Nothing struck me as odd about this pool, except the fact that I knew that this man was likely gathering it for him and his family to drink. At that moment I began to recount all the various ways that this water could be unclean and even contaminated. I couldn’t help but glance at the brown cow grazing only a few meters away from where I stood, knowing that it likely drinks from the same pool. In an instant my mind flashed back to the watering hole I had seen in the center of town and the bota bota taxi drivers who used it to clean parts on their motorcycles. Before I arrived at the well – even before I landed in Uganda – I was already well aware of the poor water conditions in Uganda. After all, that was why my team and I were here in the first place. But none of that really sunk in until I had followed the man to the watering hole.
As I quietly watched the bubbles rise from the opening in the jerry can and break on the surface of the watering hole, I felt a pang of pain in my chest. I knew that this man and the rest of the people in this community deserved better than this; they deserved clean water. I’m not sure how long I had been standing there watching this man, but it must have been long enough for him to pause to look in my direction. I’m certain that I had made him uncomfortable by this point. I smiled reassuringly at him. He smiled in return and then proceeded to fill the second jerry can.
With renewed vigor I turned back toward the path and our work site. I was eager now more than ever to see our water well through to completion. Our team may not be able to change the lives of every Ugandan living without clean water, but I knew that we would change the lives of this man and the rest of the people in this community. It’s a mere drop in the bucket, but it’s something.
~ Nicholle
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