Thirst for Dignity
On paper it looked like a fairly straight forward itinerary; 7 days in Kenya's desert north visiting some of the more remote communities Blood:Water has partnered with over the last several years.
In retrospect, it's hard to really decide what the most exciting part of the trip was: driving through a half-mile flood plain in the black of night before burying the land cruiser in a river;
waking up to discover hyena tracks near our tents where we were stranded; bolting from the tent between torrential down pours in the middle of the night with dysentery; scouting miles of muddy trek in bare feet, feeling for sink holes; nervously scanning the rocks in "Bandit Alley" for rifles as we careened through, hoping to avoid being shot at; the adrenaline rush of pulling our truck out of a wash as it was being engulfed by a flash flood; begging diesel off catholic nuns and somali traders after burning through both our main and auxiliary tanks; backtracking every 100km because of impassible roads; or finding a doctor to sew up a friend's hand when he slashed it open with a machete.
(click photos to enlarge)
I suppose there is some consolation to be found in the fact that Kenya is experiencing one of the heaviest rainy seasons in living memory and that rivers across the north were jumping their banks and spewing across the open plains. We weren't the only ones zigzagging the landscape like drunk sailors fighting our way upwind - we found many groups trekking across the desert on foot to the nearest cell tower to call for help, some having been stranded for days. Diesel was at a premium and so was water, clean water that is.
If I learned anything it's life is very uncertain in the desert. Communities there have no support crew to call on; no charter plane to whisk them away when the going gets tough; no bottled water to pul out from under the seat when they are 20km from the nearest water source. Most families last year lost large portions of their livestock during a 15-month drought. Those livestock represent the sum total of their very meager wealth - the food they eat, the currency they trade with, the transportation they need for long treks between water sources. Sitting in a small Samburu house while an elderly "grandma" made chai with goat's milk, I couldn't help but take stock of their simple possessions: crispy animal skins to sleep on, gourds for collecting milk, jerry cans for getting water, and a small assortment of metal and wooden tools necessary for carving out a desert existence. Looking out the door across the vast desert landscape it's hard not to respect the raw courage and tenacity it takes to live here. The clean water we partner to bring is a huge step forward in achieving change in their lives - allowing schools to be built, reducing hardship on women and children, helping livestock to thrive, and building hope. In a community meeting where two interpreters were required to translate from Samburu to Swahili to English, a man stood up and said "Some people look down on us like animals. We want to be more than the animals we herd. Until we have water, our school house will be empty and our children will not have an education." Thirst in these communities is not just physical - there is a thirst to have dignity and be valued as people. I'm glad we can be a part of bringing both.
~ Barak Bruerd, Africa Programs Director
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