Not a Drop to Drink
Puerto Rico, lessons from living through a Kenyan drought & how the Resistance needs to respond to crises on the ground
Contrary to Trump’s Twitter rant, surviving during a water crisis is not laziness. It is tedious and backbreaking work.
Continued images of Puerto Rico unnerve me because I once had a glimpse into their pain. I lived in Kenya during repeated water shortages and power outages in 2005–2006.
At the time, it was the worst drought in Kenya in 40 years. Two images still haunt me from those days: Samburu women frantically scooping up water from rain puddles in ruts in the road, and cows dying in the capital’s streets.
You know what I learned during those days? Water is everything.
Water. Water. Water.
The press repeatedly emphasizes that over 80% of the people in Puerto Rico do not have electricity. However approximately 40% of people still do not have clean water to drink after three weeks.
Our love and obsession with our electronics convinces us that living without electricity is the definition of extreme hardship. The truth is, if you don’t need power to survive (for medical equipment, refrigeration of medicine, etc.), you can get by for short periods of time. Don’t get me wrong. It’s horrible to live without electricity — especially when you’re used to having it. But, many of us can get by.
Water is the difference between life and death for all of us. The fact that people in Puerto Rico are desperate for water while being surrounded by it seems particularly cruel. Yet, in spite of their pleas, my fellow Americans continue to suffer.
Drinking the road
After a month of living through the drought, I overheard tourists complaining about their safari. They bemoaned the countryside’s lifeless colors. Instead of energetic animals, they saw overheated and exhausted animals plodding through dry grass searching for water. They repeatedly compared Kenya to their stereotypes of Ethiopia.
Of course, few tourists noticed the impact the drought had on the local villages they passed to get to the national parks. I remember driving in the Samburu countryside during a brief rain shower. My husband and I relished the noticeable change in the air quality — even if it was for a few moments.
As soon as the shower stopped, he slammed on the brakes. Women had rushed out of their homes to collect water from tire ruts in the dirt road. They talked quickly back and forth — desperately coordinating their efforts to scoop up the water before it disappeared into the earth. We hated ourselves for finishing our last bottles of water only miles earlier.
We turned off the car — not wanting them to feel rushed — as they tried desperately to fill their gourds. They ignored our presence because they had important work to do. We sat in silence watching them. Drops of water glistened and sparkled on the dead branches and brush around them.
Death in front of me
The drought impacted all of Kenya. We lived for days without running water even in Nairobi. In fact, we often lived without water and electricity. The power grid in Kenya relied heavily on hydroelectric dams that stopped working reliably during the drought.
Nairobi grew greyer. Plumes of dust intensified in poorer areas forcing more people to cover their mouths, eyes, and noses with handkerchiefs.
Then, the cows came into the city. Suburban lawns and even highway medians became the last available pastures. People outside of gated communities didn’t balk at finding cows on their lawns. Cows seemed to be everywhere. Unfortunately, browning lawns eventually could not provide enough sustenance.
I remember sitting in traffic and watching a man desperately trying to get his cow to move. He swatted at it. The cow took a few painful steps forward. The farmer kept shoving the animal from behind to coax it to push ahead. The cow crept closer toward my car until she was right next to me. She stopped and teetered on her legs as though suddenly realizing that they were too thin to carry her large body. She collapsed in front of me. I watched her take her last breaths.
Water is everything.
Relying on the kindness of strangers
As expats, my husband and I were a little slow on figuring out how to behave during the drought. Kenyans helped us with the day-to-day. We bought large barrels and filled them with water when the government turned on the taps. Once the taps ran dry, we rationed water — never quite sure if the government had a schedule for turning the water back on.
Businesses often had water when residential areas did not. One neighborhood business opened its taps outside of business hours so that a group of neighbors could get water for some of the basics. We stood in line — grateful to have a line to stand in when others did not.
We leaned on friends and strangers to help us navigate these unfamiliar circumstances. For those of us who had money, we relied on bottled water to drink. However, sometimes, our local stores ran out so others helped us locate bottles of water miles away.
What lack of water means
Not having water readily available means that it’s always on your mind. Even when you don’t plan on thinking about it, you do. Your decisions become basic. Do I really need that much water to cook? Can I wash just those more problematic body areas? How long can we keep bodily waste in a toilet before manually flushing with some of our precious water reserve?
On a larger level, when communities lose water, crops die. Rural families have to decide whether to feed their families the food they need to stay healthy or to sell their few crops just to get by. How little food is enough? Can they afford school fees to educate their children if they don’t sell any food?
Of course expats and wealthier Kenyans had a much easier time. As difficult as all of this felt at the time, we had the benefit of having these dry days broken up by a day when the taps would run. My experiences cannot begin to compare to the scarcity and severity of the conditions that people in Puerto Rico are living with day after day.
Looking back, I don’t remember any Kenyan calling us lazy Americans because we needed their help. I don’t remember anyone saying that we wanted things handed to us when we waited in line. Truth be told, it’s much harder work to roam around looking for water than to play a round of golf.
Don’t get distracted by Trump. Continue to see the racism.
After “pussy gate,” many of us quickly realized that Trump could behave outrageously with impunity. However, if Trump worked on his paper towel jump shot in Texas, I have no doubt that Texans would have shown him what it means to be bigger and better. If Trump described Texans as lazy people waiting for a handout, his base would have donned their tea bag hats and hit the streets.
Trump could get away with what he did in Puerto Rico because its people are brown. Yes. The press has repeatedly shown the contrasts between Trump and Obama, Bush, and Clinton (errrr every other President really) during natural disasters. However, too many politicians and everyday people have tuned out to the role that race is playing.
We must recognize that our nation’s long history of racial oppression underpins many of the assumptions made about the people of Puerto Rico. Our nation’s ideological and physical foundation rests on the premise that black and brown people are not fully human — let alone equal.
This means that even when natural disasters happen, elements of White America — intentionally or subliminally — feel comfortable forcing black and brown victims to shoulder part of the blame that their white counterparts do not. Black and brown storm victims should not stand in lines, but should get back to work and, in essence, begin to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps — even when the storm washed those boots away.
White victims invoke empathy and encourage support. Black victims generate impatience and reinforce negative stereotypes of laziness.
Texas and Puerto Rico will both need tremendous amounts of federal and other assistance in the years ahead. If we do not acknowledge that we see the same exact victims differently because of their race, we cannot begin to confront the challenges ahead and apply assistance equitably.
Time to act
During this disaster, shining light on Trump’s poor behavior certainly adds fodder to our political bonfire. However, we — as individuals — need to do more. It is clear that Trump and FEMA want to claim a victory instead of recognizing that they need to improve and increase their efforts.
I recognize and applaud FEMA and other workers on the ground. However, if FEMA didn’t lose me with the Superdome, it certainly lost me when its chief said that he “filtered out” the passionate pleas of San Juan’s Mayor.
It is becoming increasingly clear to me that Trump’s actions embolden other government employees to channel their worst selves. They think that it is okay to neglect aspects of their duties or to discriminate at will.
Relief organizations also have received drastically reduced donations for Hurricane Maria ($9 million) — as compared to Harvey ($350 million) and Irma ($45 million). Sure, some will argue that this is about donor fatigue. But, we also have to acknowledge that people usually donate more to people who look like them.
Resisters cannot replace the role of the government or make sure that each relief organization receives equitable funding. However, we will need to supplement our marches and protests with actions that will have a direct impact on people suffering under Trump’s policies.
We will have to “march” with our wallets and our time. In the case of Puerto Rico, we need to donate to effective organizations working on the ground. We also can collect specific items needed in Puerto Rico.
For example, my town of South Orange, New Jersey collected material donations for Puerto Rico because leaders there said that they need specific items in addition to funds. We combined a scheduled town celebration with relief efforts. Our mayor emailed residents the day before the event and asked for donations. She provided us with a list of essential items needed in Puerto Rico.
Our movement must acknowledge and reach out to the groups and communities for whom we have marched. I am not just talking about Puerto Rico. We need to cut back on some of the hours we spend reading about the political circus around us and devote that time to volunteering in or donating to our local communities.
Those who developed and honed their advocacy skills post-November 2016 need to help communities who often remain voiceless. In addition to traditional volunteer efforts, you can also collaborate with a disability services provider and help them train their clients to become powerful self-advocates. Many of these groups face severe Medicaid cuts and will need to fight back. Or, work with a youth shelter to push back against cuts to education and support services.
Get to your phones and computers. Get your friends and neighbors involved to volunteer and act locally. Let’s show Trump that we believe in our flag so much that we actually help and support those who live under it. Let’s show Trump what it means to make America great.
