In search of water
on Mischa in Cameroon (Cameroon), 14/May/2011 11:20, 34 days ago
It’s impossible to describe how good the first rainfall feels after two months of near paralysing heat. The temperature drops by at least fifteen degrees and suddenly it’s no longer an effort to do basic things like stand up or gulp down another bottle of tepid water. My neighbours gather their things and take shelter in their houses or under trees, but I celebrate by going out for a blustery walk along the lake shore, delighted to be soaked by rain and not my own sweat. The real rains still haven’t started yet, but it’s definitely got a bit less hot (it’s still hot though). The biting ants that live in the bit of my yard where I like to sleep also seem to have drowned, although the mosquitoes are out in full force.The arrival of the rain hasn’t been all positive though: the high winds that accompany the rain have blown down twenty five electricity pylons between Maga and Maroua and we’ve had no electricity for more than a week. This happens every year without fail: the electricity pylons are made of wood, and all through the dry season termites nibble at the bases. By the time the rainy season comes around the pylons just drop like matches. There are several easy solutions to this problem: the electricity could put up metal pylons, or put down anti-termite products, or pour concrete around the bases of the pylons. But this would leave so much less money to be embezzled.When the electricity goes down so does the pumped water supply, so earlier this week I set off to the well with my bucket. The well across the street from my concession has run dry, but there’s another deeper well just a couple of streets down. In Maga we’re on a flood plain, so the water never runs completely dry, but in the mountains on the other side of Maroua the women are walking 20km each way to get to the nearest water source.Drawing water is a Sisyphean task: the bucket (an old plastic petrol container) has several holes in the bottom, and however fast you pull it up at least half of the water will have leaked out by the time it gets to the top of the well. I amuse myself by imagining how you could market this as a gym exercise back in the UK.I put my bucket on my head (holding on tightly with two hands), and set off for my house, but after about ten metres I’m soaked by water slopping over the edges. Men sitting under trees, women fetching their own water, and the kids playing in the street are all roaring with laughter. Some boys come and take my bucket, and one of them heaves it up onto his head and dashes off to my house without spilling another drop, moving faster than I can walk to keep up with him.Nsourrou, the little boy who’s been staying in my concession, has also come to help me out. He’s about six years old, but he’s determined to lug his own petrol container of water back to my house. On the way back he walks by a tree, which has a goat tied to it with a rope. As he goes past the goat walks away from the tree, pulling the rope taut, and tripping him up. He falls flat on his face, but miraculously spills almost no water. He gets up, brushes his trousers off, and carries on. When we all get back to mine we tip our water into my big bucket and I add some bleach, to get rid of the nastier parasites.Then we pick up our buckets to go back to the well and do it all over again.