Lessons From Kenya

Scarcity of resources requires patience. The homeless in the United States understand this.

On my recent visit to Kenya, I gained some understanding of my own about the scarcity of one resource in particular — water.

John Taylor takes notes as CRS Kenya staff talk about their work with a child survival program.

I was struck by the vast number of young men who pull and push heavy carts through Nairobi and Mombasa. They make a living delivering gallons of water. The load contains about 50 5-gallon containers. The job lasts the whole day. I saw this work every day in every urban neighborhood.

My own water experience underscores the patience and connectedness needed in a land where water is precious.

On our second day, we were in Bamba. My colleague Dee and I were driven about 3 miles outside of the village to visit a homestead, consisting of three small huts and approximately 27 residents. After about an hour of conversation with the villagers — aided by our guide, the village social worker — we knew it was time to leave. However, the van hadn't arrived. So Dee, the social worker, another volunteer and I started walking. The village is almost directly on the equator with an average temperature in the 90s and high humidity. I have diabetes. I need water. There was about half an inch left in my bottle. I was worried.

However, we walked slowly. We took our time in a situation that we had no control over. All of my walking companions were aware of my situation. We helped each other traverse a ditch. We stayed with each other and connected in conversation and spirit. Eventually, the van arrived. In the meantime, I had learned the lesson that harsh conditions breed connectedness.

CRS helped provide clean drinking water for the people of Makima, Kenya.

Applying Lessons Back Home

The scarcity of water is not a reality here in the United States. About the only thing we lack is our need to be connected. That was driven home to me when, about two weeks after coming back to Chicago, our water was shut off at 10 p.m. We were not notified in advance.

Though I didn't doubt that the adults in our apartment could get by at least until morning, I had doubts about my 20-month-old grandson, Gabriel, who lives with us. Because of a child's needs, I went to my neighbors — whom I rarely talk to — and sought out their help. Everyone in our six-unit building pitched in to make sure that the baby would not lack for water.

Time slowed down for all of us that evening. The need to hurry took second place over the need for cooperation. Things that we thought were important lost their significance. We became aware of each other. We connected with each other.