High Noon, And I’d Sell My Soul For Water

July, 1998, and I am in the field near Lake Turkana in Kenya. The rains have been kind — but not so kind that the various rivers that drain into the lake aren’t dry, sandy highways. The lake water itself is not drinkable. Not that you’d get bilharzia — it’s too alkaline — but because, well, it’s too alkaline. And all sorts of things have peed in it. The rare surface puddles are likewise best avoided. But there is water. Drinkable, and lots of it. You just have to dig for it.

Digging for Water, Kenya, 1998

Gabriel Ekalele and I, on water-digging detail, went to the middle of the dry river Topernawi and got to work. A meter or so down the water runs swift and clear — perfectly drinkable, after having been filtered by the sand above. We take turns to climb down into the hole, fill a bucket, and, passing it upwards, the colleague at ground level up-ends the bucket into a large plastic water barrel.

Later, other members of the team will hoist this into a Land Rover and bring it back to camp. The water is decanted into canvas water bags and slung on tree branches. Slow evaporation of the water as it leaks slowly through the water skin keeps it cool. We never lack for fresh water, then, even here.

But it’s a lot of work.

July, 2022, chez Gee. I’m up early with the pets. In the kitchen, I turn on the tap to fill a kettle to make some tea. I notice that the usual rush of cold water has slowed to a trickle. I check various pipes, taps, valves and so on to establish that all is well at home.

It was. Phew.

That’s when I phoned Anglian Water, just in case there was a fault somewhere. The friendly fellow on the line checked my details and said ‘Oh my goodness. Two leaks near you. One… well … is bad. The other is RUN TO THE HILLS!’ I reminded him that Norfolk is generally very flat, though it so happens I live in one of the few lumpy bits.

Later, when walking the dogs, I found the leaks, in the main road to which my street is a quiet appendage. Water was gushing from cracks in the gutter at the side of the road, mere yards from the front door of a friend, who’d done her civic duty by phoning the local bus company to advise them to change their route. Everyone was out, chatting, and a nice young man from Anglian Water was out checking the damage. Funny how a minor local mishap brings out the blitz spirit in everyone. My, we almost had a street party there and then. Everyone had buckets and watering cans to collect the bounty, and the dogs had a paddle. But it was such a shame to see all that pure clean fresh water running down the street and gurgling into the storm drains.

Later on, we found very quickly how much we depend on that supply of water: how much we take it for granted. Suddenly we couldn’t wash, or shower, or do the dishes, or flush the loo. I had to fill watering cans from one of my many ponds for that last purpose. For drinking I had to go out and buy bottled water, though what with the recent spell of hot weather, there wasn’t much to be had (‘there’s always gin’, I thought). By the time we’d found some (bottled water, not gin), Anglian Water had plugged the leak, left a lovely courtesy call to tell me so, and all was well again.

This small episode made me think of how lucky we are to have a ready supply of fresh, clean water, whenever we want it, and how easily we are inconvenienced by its sudden deficiency. Billions of people in other countries are not so fortunate. Climate change is making it even harder to get clean water on tap. So by way of expiation I made a small donation to WaterAid.