Water? Water! Water @#$%^&*()@#$%^&*()

Yes, week two was the week of water; the need for it and all the convoluted tangles involved with obtaining it.  Water was the ball that this juggling project manager had to keep in the air each day as I concentrated on maintaining a steady supply to feed the voracious cement mixer. The goal was to complete the studio’s footing within three days and return the mixer friday afternoon. And, though Regina and Gertrude had politely asked for permission to use the two neighboring boreholes (both within sight of our building site) one at the mission and one at the high school, they were refused by the mission and received no answer at all from the high school. 

I could go into a tangent and describe my complete hissy fit, see red tantrum on Wednesday  when I returned to the studio, triumphant from getting the cement mixer in place on schedule, to find it completely empty. I called Wonder, “Where are you all?”  She reported that the Father’s had said ’no’ to our water request and so they were getting water themselves.

I went out into the village and found the women by the side of the road scooping muddy water from a leaking pipe into containers. I protested loudly, 

“We paid the mission for water rights, we pay each month for water. It is not fair. I want to speak to the Fathers”

“No Judy, you must say nothing.” Gertrude mimed zipping my lips closed.  

“But it is so unfair!” I stormed again, to which she replied, ”It is alright for God knows the truth. We will get the water, we will carry it on heads. The women of Mapusha have power.” Finding it Impossible to argue with her reasoning, I simply sighed.
Regina kindly added,”You may  speak of it in America, but here, no. It will cause problems.” 

So my pictures are all about water - the hungry mixer, our new Jojo tank that must be painstakingly filled with containers of water, the women of Mapusha filling their containers from the leaking pipe, Veronica performing the endless transfer of water.  I have to say, after just one week of doing this intense water jig it gives me pause to consider all the people world wide who dance the need-water-dance day in, day out. It seems an arena fraught with both the potential for great conflict and the possibility of inspirational cooperation.  

The week ended on a positive note when Desmond (foreman) and his 6 member crew really stepped it up to complete the footing before the mixer had to be returned. They stayed late and skipped breakfast. I was truly impressed as I stood on a mound of red soil with my camera in hand watching them work together like a well greased machine. The buckets were filled with sand or gravel or water and fed to the machine with perfect timing and the gritty, grey, liquid cement poured into the waiting wheelbarrow which was immediately rolled down into the trench and dumped. They finished an hour early and received their first pay envelopes from Desmond and a liter of their preferred ‘cool drink”  and a hand shake from me. 

It is the way it seems to go  here.  Sometimes I am pulling my hair out at the petty jealousies that rip through the fabric of the community and other times I stand in awe of the remarkable capacity within this rural South African village to cooperate and get the job done.

 I drove home that day sunburned, tired, proud of our trenches, our footing and our crew but guiltily ready to jump into the beautiful swimming pool at the house where I stay.

Stay tuned for more water wrangling and my next learning trajectory as we move into brick laying on Monday.