Tonight I came home and the water in our house was a trickle and then by the end of the night it had dried up.
It's funny how quickly I remembered. The feel of my hand turning the faucet and the empty response. Remembered life with little water. Carrying full Jerry cans to do menial tasks like flushing toilets, washing clothes. Warming pots of water on the gas stove to wash babies. Hours of waiting for small streams of water to fill the bath. Husband dumping boiling pots of water into the cold depths of that long awaited bath. Grateful. Even though the water was brown.
Grateful. Drinking that water. After it had been boiled, put at rest, cooled, then poured through ceramic filters. And finally put through a brita filter to help it taste better.
Rain, filling our cisterns. Praying it was enough for the dry times. Every year those dry times lasting longer and longer and the cisterns staying empty longer and longer.
Humbled and guilty. Knowing that our water was much cleaner than most we lived around. That if they were fortunate to have enough fuel it might be boiled. For a small amount of time. Little children on dusty night streets struggling to haul those yellow cans, fortunate if full of water. One can of water for their families of 8, 10 or 12 people. That would be spread over the next day. Children sent out in the dark of the night to find the water, because their parents must sleep, to keep their jobs and water isn't found during the day. Trying to justify our need for 10 of these same cans for our family.
Water, a gift that I have forgotten the feel of it's weight through my fingers. Water, a right for all, but given to those privileged and rich with resources and wealth.
I'm thirsty tonight. Because the taps are dry. Because I want what I can't have for one night.
How does one live with thirst unquenched day after day after day? How does one live when that same thirst is forgotten?