Water.
Something I have always enjoyed. Â As a kid, on the outskirts of Houston, my sister and I did swim team every year. Â Our grandparents owned a pool and lived not that far away. Â We spent a week at the beach every summer. Â My first job was “deep water lifeguard” at Splash Town.
It was not until college that I thought about drinking water. Â Or how much water I drank. Â It was then that I was told we all needed to drink more water. Â People began carrying water with them and buying bottles of it.
Here in the Sahel, carrying water with you is important. Â On the edge of the Sahara, it can mean the difference between life and death. Â This is not just a phrase, but something felt by the people here especially now, in the hottest season. Â Temperatures, even after sunset, are well over one hundred degrees. Â Highs most days speed past 110. Â My cook reminded me on Friday that three days are all you get. Â If you don’t drink, you die.
When I was a teenager in Houston, I would sometimes wake up in the night with an unquenchable thirst. I would stumble into the bathroom, turn on the faucet, cup my hand, and thirstily slurp the cool, soothing water with satisfying gulps.
I’ve always taken running water for granted. Â I learned this on my first trip to Niger.
Now the concept of running water is something genuinely remarkable to me. Â Turn the nob, or lift the lever, and clean, pure, drinking water comes pouring out. Â Water so clean that no one ever questions whether or not it will make them sick… or whether or not it will turn their white shirts orange. Â In America we fill our swimming pools with water clean enough to drink. Â Wash your clothes, flush your toilet, never even think about it.
Here in Niamey, most Westerners I know filter the tap water. Â Just to be safe. Â It tastes better that way too. Â It’s less orange.
Lately, though, here at Chez Jo, we’ve been having major water problems. Â At first (mid March) the water was slow. Â It trickled. Â And during some parts of the day that trickle wasn’t enough pressure to make the filter work. Â So we pulled out our backup, countertop model.
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While our normal, under the counter model relies on water pressure, this one works with gravity. Â Pour the tap water into the top and it filters down into the bottom- kind of like the Britta filter we used to keep in our fridge back home to take the chlorine taste out of the water. Â (No worries about other, scarier things).
This week the water problems got worse. Â So much worse that the water didn’t work at all. Â Three days in a row it was off all day only to come on around midnight. Â Dave stayed up those nights to refill every pitcher we could find. Â We filled all the ice trays, did a load of laundry, ran the dish washer and filled bidons. Â What’s a bidon?
It’s this.
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This is what Nigeriens use to haul and store water. Â At one point they were used for cooking oil. Â But people here are EXTREMELY good at reusing. Â We have six of them. Â On the days when there is no water we use them for everything- washing dishes, washing boys, washing floors, washing clothes…. but only if there’s enough. My washing machine takes 4 of these to do one full load. Â I can wash all three of my boys and myself with about a third a bidon.
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When they are full, they are very heavy, but I can lift one up the stairs to our back door and even pour it into the counter top filter.
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When (and if) the water comes back on we all run around like chickens or mice or lizards or something. Â QUICK take a shower, do a load of laundry, fill a bidon. Â On Saturday we had 45 minutes after lunch before it went off for a few hours. Â Some sweet friends who knew of our woes stopped by with 80 liters for us. Â Then it came back on and stayed on for the entire evening. Â We were in shock.
Today there is even enough pressure to use the old, under the counter filter. Â It’s like heaven. Â On EASTER, none the less.
I’m telling you all of this for a few reasons
1. I think it’s interesting how different life is here in the simplest ways, and could you please pray that our water will stay on?? Â thanks.
2. I think it’s amazing that so many people in this HOT desolate place do not EVER have running water. Â They live their entire lives hauling bidons or calabashes or canaries on their heads back to their huts and pour it into basins to wash. Â Just the sheer ability to survive is so amazing. Â I think often how we never chose WHERE we were born. Â God did.
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3. There’s a nice segway into the other amazing thing that happened in the water this Easter in our community.
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So simple, so beautiful, and miraculous. Â Eight of my Sahel Academy students were baptized this afternoon. Â It brought me back to my own baptism. Â And forward thinking of my boys and the day (I hope) they will pronounce before the world that they choose to follow Christ. Â This is my thirty-third Easter here on Earth. Â Only our second here in Niger. Â It was such a special day for us. Â After the baptismal service, we took our tribe to the pool and spent a few blissful hours enjoying each other. Â All of the boys LOVE the water and the bonding time that comes with it. Â I was reminded that I don’t play with the boys at home when I have fifty one things on my to do list like I do at the pool. Â A good reason to put it high on the priority list. Â It’s good to take some time and forget everything else except each other. Â As we celebrated with a special meal at lunch, I thanked God for this Easter. Â With these sweet faces to share it. Â I know that I will never sit at an Easter table with these people all together again. Â I am so thankful for this journey, this adventure, this bend in the path. Â Some days, especially in this heat, it is easy to let the details stress me. Â And then I forget to look around at all that God is doing here. Â His faithfulness is so constant. Â Every Easter of my life I have celebrated with family that he died for me. Â He leads me beside quiet waters. Â He restores me soul. Â He is risen indeed.
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