A Life Unplumbed

Life in my rural village in Lesotho is entirely unplumbed. I know of only one home in the entire 500+ family community that has indoor plumbing. Their toilet, sinks, and bathtub are fed by their own well.

For the rest of us, drawing and conserving water is a regular part of our daily life. When nature provides it for us, we collect as much as we can in whatever we can; 200L metal drums, fancy plastic rain barrels significantly larger than what people in America have, basins, buckets, etc. Given the drought this so-called “rainy” season, that has not been happening much. We recently had two weeks with great rain. Within twenty-four hours of it stopping, I spoke with a friend who was gather muddy water from puddles to save for her gardens in case the rains do not return.

Me at the tap with 10L of water on my head,
if I walk slowly enough, my sweatshirt
might even stay dry!

So, what is it like to live life entirely unplumbed? I will share the nuances of living without plumbing; however, today I will ignore the lack of a toilet as I wrote about that in Outs. I encourage you to click through and read that post as well.

I was lucky in that I had a few dry runs (pun intended) before I joined Peace Corps. When I sailed, some vessels only plumbed the heads (toilets) and galley (kitchen) sink. When we wanted water to drink, we used the igloo that was regularly refilled in the galley. When we wanted water to clean the ship or ourselves, we filled a bucket with seawater. When I worked at AMC’s Three Mile Island, only the kitchen was plumbed, so we used Lake Winnepesaukee water for bathing. In both cases, however, I regularly engaged with the outside world-taking traditional showers and using machines for laundry.

In the last twenty months, however, I have averaged less than one traditional shower a month and have used machines to do my laundry only a handful of times. Every drop of water that I engage with for drinking, cooking, cleaning, and even watering my garden has been carried in a bucket before being put into use.

My 3 20L buckets living in the corner

My water lives in three 20L buckets gifted to me by villagers upon my arrival. Each originally held some sort of construction item, but I choose to ignore whatever carcinogens may live in them as I am sure the plastic itself is equally bad for me. I draw water at a spring-fed water tap a ten minute walk from my hut. When males draw water, they used a wheelbarrow and get 40-75 liters at a time. Women, however, typically carry 20L at a time on their heads. Younger girls will carry only 10L on their heads as they build up their neck strength. In this way, I am like a young girl, working to build up the strength and balance to carry my 10L bucket without using my hand or wearing some of the water by the time I arrive at home.

When it comes to cooking and dishes, I only notice the lack of plumbing when I want to wash bread dough off my hands. It is hard to pour water and scrub at the same time, particularly when both hands are covered in sticky. Inevitably, I also end up needing to wash the measuring cup or “water jack” I use to pour water.

There are entertaining memes that float around the internet and have even been turned into tee-shirts celebrating the ability of the PCV to bathe in limited water. While entertaining, they are reality for not just Peace Corps Volunteers, but people around the world living without plumbing. The Basotho put a high priority on cleanliness. A fellow PCV laughed a year ago when her area was dealing with a water shortage as the principal addressed her entire school, reminding them that a lack of water was not an acceptable reason for not bathing.

Most Basotho bathe at least once a day, using a basin and a small amount of water. I too, bathe regularly using about two cups of water each time. I do not, however, wash my hair very often. Well before moving to Africa, I had transitioned to using what is referred to as the “no-poo” method; using a baking soda and water mixture followed by a cider vinegar and water mixture. When I do wash my hair, currently every two to three weeks, I typically indulge by using around three liters of water. I justify this indulgence because it happens so infrequently.

Ready for a bath: towel, basin, 2 cups of water, washcloth,
pumice, nail brush (dust is brutal), and Dr. Bronner's. :-) 

Some PCVs find themselves craving showers, even going so far as to visit friendly hotels to pay for just a shower. I find that except for the dirtiest of days, I feel surprisingly clean after my bucket bathing. This lasts until a workshop puts me in a hotel with a shower and I see the amount of dirt that comes off my body when I use forty times the amount of water and time to clean myself. Then, I am temporarily embarrassed. It never lasts though, as I happily return to my bucket baths in my hut.

Laundry is a huge undertaking without plumbing. When our natural water delivery system, aka rain, is present, my family and I use the water that collects from their metal roof. We collect it in three 200L metal drums. As the water sits in the drums, it becomes a bit reddish tinted, but is still preferable to hauling the laundry downhill to the natural spring. I head out to the back yard with three or more basins, a bucket, and at least two hours. The first basin is the soapy wash, both the second and third rinses. The bucket I use to fill the basins then to collect finished items so that I am not jumping up to hang things on the clothesline one at a time. I have developed a specific order to washing my clothes based upon personal analysis of how dirty something may be combined with how close to my skin it sits. Before I am halfway through, the color of the water in the wash basin matches the dirt that the basin sits upon and the first rinse water is well on its way to being equally dirty and soapy. By the time I finish, all three basins have a layer of dirt on the bottom and soap suds in them, hence my desire to rinse the soap out of the items that sit closest to the skin first.

Flat Stanley and I do laundry at the natural spring. 

When we do not have rain, we go to a natural spring a ten minute walk downhill from the house, carrying our laundry, soap, bucket, and basins. I use water less sparingly when I wash at the spring, often doing an extra rinse in the natural basin formed by the spring. I also change the washing water out more often as the spring runs constantly so it does not feel wasteful. At the spring, my primary goal is obviously clean clothing. My secondary goal and perhaps more pressing focus is to make my wet load as light as possible before hiking back up to the house. As a result, the order of washing changes dramatically from when I wash at home. I wash the heaviest items first, laying them out on the rocks that surround the spring. There is a science to choosing the right rocks as the reddish toned ones will leech onto your cloths, staining them. Additionally, the rocks must be easily rinsed of dirt and just steep enough to let the water drip out quickly without the clothes falling off the rock. Lastly, some rocks are popular walking paths for the goats, sheep, and cows that come to the spring for drinks and there is nothing worse than a goat walking all over your freshly laundered items.

Greenhouse Greatness

Despite the drought I recently wrote about, there is one area that my community’s agriculture is still succeeding.

In the 1980's, the community banded together to start what is known in Lesotho as an agricultural scheme. The chief found funding to get drip irrigation supplies and to build a large cistern.

Since then, a number of the community fields are worked as a group. The fields are still independently owned, however, unlike those used for staple crops like maize, these are planted as part of the community’s efforts. The produce is then sold throughout Lesotho. Buyers include some of the largest grocery chains in Lesotho and South Africa. Much of the proceeds go to improving the scheme and helping with school fees for those who need it, however, the field owners and the villagers working also earn a little bit. Additionally, villagers from all over the area come to the fields for u-pick produce at incredibly low pricing.

Women planting cabbage seeds.

Sometime in the last thirty years, funding also came through for a metal barn-type structure. In the last year, another funding source came through. Letseng Diamond Mines in Mokhotlong funded the construction of three greenhouses. They were completed only a few months ago and thankfully have not been damaged in the recent dust storms (I have seen some that were completely shredded, leaving only the metal frames intact).

The other day I was able to visit the scheme on a day when everyone was busy working. My friend and neighbor, ‘M’e ‘Maseqhobi (Ma-say-‘click-obi), took me to see the inside of the greenhouses. Two of them are currently housing tomato plants in abundance. They plants are as tall as I am and the tomatoes are the largest I have seen in Lesotho. They are not even beginning to turn red yet, so they will be huge by the time we begin harvesting in a month. ‘M’e ‘Maseqhobi promised to let me know when the tomato harvest begins so I can head down to pick my own. I did not want to stun her by begging to buy some green tomatoes for making fried green tomatoes, as looking at all those green tomatoes was making me drool a bit.

The third greenhouse is the seedling house for the crops being planted in the fields. On Monday, they were planting cabbage. Because men and women’s work is clearly defined in Lesotho, even in farming, the women were planting the seeds while the men carried the flats to the greenhouse. Once in the greenhouse, the flats are placed on frames to make caring for them easier. The tomato greenhouses have drip irrigation while the seedlings are watered by a man wearing a water backpack.

We may not be growing our staple crops yet, but at least there is still something happening at the fields.

Dust in the Wind

This time last year, I was learning just how much my roof could leak.

My wet path through the
donga last October,

This time last year, I was learning to tread carefully through the incredibly slippery mud to avoid skating across it.

This time last year, the village’s fields had been planting and the maize was already over a foot high.

This time last year, when I walked through the donga, I had to follow the path as a stream ran through the center of it. I had to rinse the mud off my feet at one of the many pools to avoid reaching town with mud-encrusted feet.

This time last year, I did my laundry at home, using the water my family collects from the roof.

The view from my house one afternoon last October.

This time last year, rainbows and afternoon thunderstorms were the norm.

This time last year, I used my umbrella daily to hide from the hot sun in the mornings and the drenching downpours in the afternoons.

Today, my roof has been repaired. I learned in September when we had rain, that it still leaks, however, it is not leaking right now.

Today, I find myself trudging through the dry and dusty sand instead of skating slipping through the mud.

Today, the fields are sitting, ready for maize that has not been planted yet.

My incredibly dry walk through the donga this morning.

Today, the donga is dry. All but one pool has dried up completely. That pool is muddy, algae-filled, and holds very little water right now.

Today, I continue my dry season routine, going to the spring to do my laundry as I pray that the slowing flow rate does not become a dry spring.

Today, I carry my umbrella, hoping to use it, however, it is usually too windy.

A few weeks ago, the Lesotho Disaster Management Authority sent out a text message to the country. It read, “Dry conditions are predicted country-wide from now up to March 2016. The public is advised to be cautious and prepare for the expected impacts.” Sometimes the media is attributing the drought to climate change, other times to El Nino.  Regardless, it is here and it is definitely an issue.

Instead of rainy afternoons and evenings, Lesotho is reminiscent of the dust storms scenes in Interstellar. Twice in the last two months, we have had damaging dust storms pass through, blowing dust through walls, windows, and roofs, ripping roofs right off of homes, and bending the sign metal like it were silly putty. Most afternoons, the wind picks up, blowing thunderclouds through without giving them a chance to even sprinkle upon us. The few rains we have seen last only long enough to pockmark the sandy ground, not long enough to moisten it fully.

While my American friends are filling my Facebook newsfeed with opinions about terrorism, refugees, and the political primaries, my fellow PCVs are posting stories connected to a life without water. My friends in the southern districts of Mafeteng and Mohale’s Hoek share anecdotes about not being able to do laundry, waiting in line for hours at the only working water pump, Peace Corps delivering water, and the like.

I am blessed to live in the northern part of Lesotho, which is typically wetter than those districts. As a result, we have not fully exhausted our water supply, however, the water shortage is already creating an impact. For the last month, the water for town has been turned off most of the time. This has made it particularly exciting when looking for a toilet while in town, where latrines are scarce.

The empty fields ready for planting.

I spoke with my chief recently about how well our village is prepared to deal with the repercussions of this drought.  My initial concern was whether he anticipated we would run out of water. He was quick to point out that the water flow has decreased already, however, not to a point where we need to start rationing. Our next step would be to turn off the taps, opening them for a specific number of hours each day and limiting each family to one or two buckets of water-20L to 40L.

Our conversation naturally turned to the part that is of greater concern, the staple crops. The maize, sorghum, and beans have not been planted yet because of the lack of rain. If it does not rain until March, what does that mean for food over the coming year? Will the maize have time to produce before winter? Will the people in the community who buy very little of their food be able to survive on what is grown this year?

It is too soon to answer the questions, but they plague me regularly as I watch the clouds dance their way across the mountains every afternoon. They concern me as I walk through the village and see the empty home gardens, waiting for the rain. They terrify me when I walk by the village’s tilled maize fields and the agriculture building with the bags of seeds stacked against it.

The field areas last year on a misty day.

The worst thing about living in a developing nation is that it is ill equipped to correct for this drought. Lesotho has water, lots of water. It is dammed up behind places like the Katse Dam and the Mohale Dam. Lesotho exports water to South Africa every day. It does not, however, have the infrastructure to get this water to its own people.

Toto famously sang, “Bless the rains down in Africa.” Today, we beg to be blessed with those rains! 

In Want of Water

On Monday we returned to our villages, three weeks of hotel living under our belts. The most striking differences between hotel life and village living are having electricity versus my paraffin lamp, meals made for me versus cooking on my two burner stove, English versus Sesotho, and most noticeably, water.

At the hotels we had en suite bathrooms with the usual amenities, pools, and potable water easily found everywhere. We could even send our laundry out, for a cost, if doing it in the sink was too taxing.

Flash forward to present day, my water sits in three buckets carried from the tap ten minutes away. Before drinking, I must boil it for three minutes then filter it. Two of my buckets have old water from before consolidation, which is reserved for washing because it sat around too long to cook with but is to valuable to simply pour on the ground. Tomorrow I will do laundry by bringing my wash basins and clothes down a hill to a natural spring.

Being conservative with and aware of water usage us not new to me. When I was sailing, it was a huge part of my everyday life. Voyage planning required an awareness of how long the tanks would last. Each program we stressed the importance of conserving water. There were times that people on board were not smart about water usage and the Captain and I would have to change our itinerary to resupply.

Since returning home, my awareness of water and its impact has only increased. Although Butha Buthe is not considered a dry district and it usually does not face water shortages, last year there was less rain than usual.

Lesotho typically has dry winters followed by rainy summers. There is not much of a spring or fall. Last year's drought means now that winter is ending, the water supply is low.

Twice this week my host Me has said we need rain. The chief shared his concern for his kids (the goat kind), because their digestive systems are not matured enough for the dry brown grass currently available. At work we reached a stopping point with our gardening project because the ground is to dry for seeds to sprout. Although there is a water pump nearby, it has been intermittent so we don't want to use it for income generating crops when people need that water at home.

Today our village hosted its monthly clinic. The local hospital comes on the fourth Friday to see patients, teach mothers about health, weigh and vaccinate children, train the village healthcare workers, and offer HIV testing and counseling. At the end of the day I learned this was to be our last clinic in the village. The water supply around the hospital has dried up, so they are now having to reallocate vehicle and human resources to getting water from further and further away.

While my villagers can walk an hour to another village's outreach clinic on the third Friday of the month, my village is more centralized to other rural villages. I worry if the villagers who were already traveling to come here will make the trip to the further away village. I always thought of medical services being restricted by lack of funding or lack of qualified providers, not lack of water.

As I write this, the third loud and aggressive thunderstorm is punctuating my thoughts and thumping like a subwoofer. The other two storms teased with beautiful lightning and even wind shifts, but no rain. During the three weeks I was gone, it was the same. Will this one finally give us the rain we need?

So now that I have returned to village life, I do not miss the flushing toilets or hot showers, buckets from the pump suit me fine. What I am hoping for is water to resupply our dry soil so these subsidence farmers can plant the crops that will feed them for the next year and so the hospital can continue to offer services to those who cannot afford the taxi ride to medical care.