In January 2011, WaterCan supporter Bernie Forestell traveled to Kenya with WaterCan's annual Study Tour. Over a one week period he visited numerous WaterCan-funded water project sites and was introduced to Kenya's vibrant culture. These are Bernie's reflections...
I don’t really know it yet, but my life is about to change. After a few months' preparation, including vaccinations, clearing my desk and saying goodbye to my wife and three daughters, I’m off to Kenya with the WaterCan Study Tour.
Having lived in Canada most of my life, I have taken clean water for granted. If I need it, it’s there in plentiful amounts.
For the next seven days I will see things that can never be “un-seen”. Images will burn into my mind of how kindness and caring really can change the world. I will see lives forever transformed...and lives in peril. Water will be the common denominator.
I enjoy travel. Going anywhere is a thrill. There are 13 of us on this WaterCan Study Tour about half have never been to Africa. Our enthusiasm is high - even after a day and half of travel. Lynn and Leah - a mother and daughter from British Columbia, flew for almost two days before meeting us in Nairobi.
We have not really been told of our itinerary. George Yap - WaterCan’s International Program Director has been modifying our schedule even as we arrived in Kenya. Over the next week I will learn a great deal about time management and being a gracious host from George. He is very good at all aspects of his job.
We gather in a meeting room on the second floor of the hotel. It is cramped, warm and a little stuffy. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.
George introduces us to Chris Obhiambo. Chris is one of WaterCan’s Country Advisors. WaterCan relies on people like Chris to help them get things done from thousands of kilometres away. After a couple hours, we have an overview of some Kenyan customs and better idea of where we are going. I can’t wait.
Have you ever flown from Ottawa to Toronto? The flight from Nairobi to Kisumu in Western Kenya takes about the same amount of time. A short hour or so.
However, the similarities end there. From above, this part of Kenya looks brown and dry. January - April is the dry season and even from 30,000 feet I can see this is true.
I don’t see lakes or rivers. Small fires seem to burn everywhere - I learn these are mostly fires used to burn garbage. The earth seems scorched. Where is the water?
Kisumu Airport is quaint. Waiting for our luggage in the searing midday heat, we pose for photos and meet our drivers who will take us to our home-base for the next few nights.
Checked in, our guides decide to take us on a quick driving tour of Kisumu and the country-side. We are about to get our first glimpse of what many Kenyans must endure to have clean water for drinking, cooking and cleaning.
Soon the paved road turns to dust. We wind up a hillside, bouncing on a dry-rutted track into the bush. I can see the town of Kisumu below, but we may as well have gone to the moon.
We turn the corner, get out of the cars and see a water-filling station. A common site in Kenya.
From a galvanized metal shed, someone slowly turns the tap on a spigot filling-up yellow plastic water jugs. Nine or ten women and children are gathered at this hilltop location for their daily water.
I can’t imagine going through this just to get water. I will soon learn this is heaven compared to what others must endure.
When you have a moving experience you might wish you would have been ready for it so you could be better prepared to lock it in your mind forever.
Waking up this morning, I wish I knew how this day was going to unfold. I would have done everything I could to mentally record every sight and sound I was about to see. However, I will always remember the children whose lives were no longer the same, thanks to WaterCan and thousands of kind donors across Canada.
The road from Kisumu to our first official stop is filled with surprises. And potholes. After ninety minutes on paved highway, our drivers take a sharp turn onto a dusty track.
Imagine a cottage road off a main highway. Now picture it red-dusty, dry and with people crammed on the soft shoulder. We drive like this for 30 minutes, the vehicle mirrors missing pedestrians by what seems like inches.
Our driver has a tape playing John Denver’s “Country Roads”. Where am I?
Like the first words in the song it’s “almost heaven”.
Pulling into the school yard, we hear the sound of young voices. They are singing. “We are no longer the same! We are no longer the same! Since we found KWAHO / WaterCan, we are no longer the same.”
My heart pounds in my chest as we climb out of the vehicles. 500 young children are gathered in the shady courtyard as another hundred or so serenade with their infectious song.
Gratitude. This is what gratitude really is. Each child and every teacher who is here is so grateful for what WaterCan has done. They are equally grateful - and somewhat curious - for us traveling there to visit them.
We sit down in rows of chairs, directly across from the entire student body. I’m not sure who is having more fun. I think I am.
An hour goes by in seconds. We hear from the Principal, some teachers. The children sing for us. With the formalities over, we get up and are immediately swarmed by laughing boys and girls.
Across the dry common area they show us the catchment WaterCan installed a few years ago. It collects rainwater. It sustains life.
Around the corner and across a field, the children proudly show-off their new latrines. No more squatting in the bush. WaterCan has helped build cement latrines where body-waste can be properly disposed.
A young boy demonstrates a tippy-tap. This ingenious tool works perfectly, promoting cleanliness and reducing disease. Everything I’ve read and known about WaterCan is true. Water is life. WaterCan delivers water and saves lives.
If I were to go home now, my heart would be filled with enough joy to last for years. Reluctantly we tear ourselves away from Aluor Primary School.
I don’t know it yet, but tomorrow will be filled with the same joy and great sorrow.
Leaving Aluor was very difficult. However, waiting for us about 45 minutes away were the women of the Kaberni Women’s Group.
I’m not sure if words can describe the remoteness of our next stop. Eventually we have to park our vehicles for a ten minute walk being led by about 20 members of the Kaberni Group.
They sing and dance as we do our best keep up on the narrow foot path. The Kenyan sun beats down on us as we turn the corner into a shady clearing.
Glistening in the sun is a signature WaterCan water pump. To you and me it’s a pump. To the women of Kaberni, this clean water project is about their freedom.
In Kenya, women spend up to 40% of their waking hours thinking about water, searching for water, gathering water.
This pump sits on top of a borehole. It draws clean, fresh water from deep below the crusty surface.
With great pride, the community leaders show us the pump. They explain how it can be repaired using a single wrench. The parts are all made in Africa. Easy to use. Easy to maintain. This is this new centre of their community.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a visibly pregnant woman emerge from the brush. She is wearing worn out flip-flops and carrying an empty plastic jug.
Her arrival almost seems staged. She walks to the pump, places her bucket under the clean tap and starts pumping the handle.
It isn’t long before crystal clean water appears. He container fills quickly.
In one smooth motion (one she’s obviously repeated thousands of times) this soon-to-be mother swoops the jug onto head and disappears into the African countryside.
We are witnessing WaterCan at work. Miraculous.
The next day we will see some young women who are not as lucky.
We protect the things we are most proud of. Our children. Our family. Our homes. Our community. It is no different in Africa.
Leaving the Kaberni Women’s Group, we quickly motor to Kanyadet Primary School. Walking into the school compound we see a gentleman who introduces himself to me.
His name is Titus. He is painting a slogan on their newly installed rain water catchment tank. I’m not sure if he works for the school or if he is a parent volunteer. I am sure that he takes pride in this new source of water.
He carefully paints “Water is Life” on the top rim of basin. He is so happy. So proud. And so am I.
What a few days. We have been moving around rural Kenya, meeting so many inspiring young people. My head is swimming.
How can WaterCan help so many people? The need is so great. I’ve come to learn the answer.
WaterCan is a Canadian water charity who has chosen to help the people of East Africa. They know the global issues surrounding water and they are meeting the challenge, but they are doing it in such a smart way. One drop at a time.
They choose their projects with great care. They form strong partnerships with local organizations. Local communities “buy-in” to the philosophy of WaterCan and are treated as valuable partners in each water project.
WaterCan is about water, sanitation and hygiene education....it's about health. I get that. But I also see that WaterCan brings pride, self-respect and hope.
It is a moving experience.
We’ve seen a few schools where WaterCan-funded projects have been constructed. Today we visit Ndere Primary School. They are in the midst of a massive build.
Engineers are laying the metal re-bar for the new catchment system. Muscular workers are hand-digging two new pit latrines.
Soon, the concrete will arrive. Within a month or two, just in time for the rainy season, the children of Ndere Primary School will be drinking clean water. It will be supplied by WaterCan, their donors and their partner in this area, SANA (Sustainable Aid for Africa International).
I notice a visible difference between these “soon-to-have-water” students and the ones who have been benefitting for a few years.
This is the first school where I meet a child who looks visibly ill. The students, although they are excited to see us, seem tired. Downtrodden maybe? Something isn’t right.
Leaving Ndere Primary School, George diverts our trip for a moment. We drive a short distance to a local medical facility. If you can call it that.
There are no physicians in this area. Only nurses and some caregivers. Locals come (by foot or by bike) from kilometres around just to be seen. Imagine walking 2 or 3 hours to see a nurse.
Trouble is, there is no clean water here. George tells us that one day, perhaps WaterCan will form new partnerships to benefit medical facilities. I know that if they do, it will only happen after the homework is done and WaterCan is sure they can make a difference.
Uhanga Primary School - a truly happy place.
At Uhanga Primary, the kids are running around the schoolyard visibly excited by their visitors. They want to hold our hands and show us around.
I’m not sure what it is about school. I think I’m A.D.D. As the speeches of thanks are going on, I walk around where the students are gathered. It is just like any assembly in North America. Adults talking. Children listening. I want to be with the kids!
I lock eyes with a young boy and we make faces at one another. What is he thinking? Where does he live? What will the future hold with him. After taking a few pictures, I show him the images on my digital camera.
No words are spoken. So much is said.
Every day the world reveals something new to us. Some revelations are profound, others are not. If you keep your eyes and mind open, you will always discover something new.
This afternoon I learned something that shocks me to this day. I learned what WaterCan is fighting against and I learned that it is worth fighting for.
As we pulled into the grounds of Barchando Primary School, in Bondo District of Western Kenya, we were met with the same gleeful cheers and songs from parents and children.
They are eager to show off their water source, which has been giving them clean water for a few years now. Their pit latrines are new, clean, with a fresh coat of paint.
I wander around the school. Clean water, sanitation and hygiene is so important to everyone here. The only signs (other than the school's name) I can see, are there to support safe water management.
The students at Barchando have prepared a skit. They want to tell a story about life before and after WaterCan.
However, they don’t want to do it a their school, where the water is clean. They invite us to the watering-hole where they (mostly the girls) would collect their drinking water.
It is a ten minute walk from the school to the watering-hole.
I can’t believe what I see.
The watering-hole is really just brown, muddy water. Standing in it are two women, clearly surprised by our arrival. The entire student body and us have just interrupted their daily chore.
Bent at the waist, they scoop this mud into their buckets. They seem to know why we’re there and scoop the mud (I can’t call it water) with their hands and drink from it.
Oh my Lord.
The sun is beating down on us. It must be over 30 degrees celsius. Once their buckets are filled, they place them on their heads. The crowd parts letting the two women walk by.
Once the two women are gone, we all form a semi-circle around the edge of the watering-hole. After some speeches, the Principal introduces some young students who have written a skit for us.
I am impressed by the lead characters. A boy and girl with perfect English and a perfect sense of comedic timing. Their story tells us about a time when they drank from this hole. They boy is very good at miming the actions for violent diarrhea. Sound effects and all. His classmates howl with laughter. Poop jokes never get stale!
As this is going on, a group of young girls walk on the periphery of the watering-hole. They are not wearing school uniforms. They don’t go to Barchando. Maybe they are out of school?
I watch them walk to the far side of this fetid swamp. One by one they bend down, scooping the brown water into their buckets. Is this really their life?
Gathering my courage, I leave the formal skit and walk around the watering hole to meet these young women.
Two of them, Mary and Christine are all smiles as this stranger approaches. I am out of place here. But they are smiling, open and friendly.
“May I take your photo?”
“Yes of course.” Their English is impeccable.
Using a small plastic toy mug, they carefully scoop the water from the hole into their larger buckets.
They tell me they drink, cook and wash using this water as it is. Is my face hiding the horror I feel?
They mention their ages, 13 and 14. I tell them I have a thirteen year-old daughter at home as well. They seem shocked when I explain that back home it is minus 25 degrees right now.
I make a mental note to never complain about the cold or anything...ever again.
They ask me my name. I tell them it’s Bernard.
“That’s a nice name,” says Christine.
Soon their buckets are filled and they leave with their friends. But I know they’ll be back soon to re-fill their buckets.
I look across the pond and the skit is still going on. Returning to my place on the outer ring, I try to concentrate on the action. I can’t. I’m thinking of Mary and Christine.
“Mooooo”
Cows? A farmer is leading his small herd of about 20 cattle from beyond the brush where Mary, Christine and their friends just walked through.
He leads the entire herd right into the water where Mary and Christine were drinking! Am I going insane? Is this really happening?
The cattle are drinking and relieving themselves in the same pond where I saw those two women drinking. I feel sick just writing this.
Even more unbelievable is that the skit goes on, the children, parents and onlookers don’t even turn around. This is normal.
I think of WaterCan’s slogan for just $25 you can give someone clean water and basic sanitation for life. Mary, Christine and all their friends...their lives are priceless. $25 doesn’t seem like too much to ask.
Today is a travel day. We are driving 600 kms back from Kisumu to Nairobi. I’m still a little numb from what I’ve seen.
However, I’m hopeful as well. There is hope for so many of the young people I met over the past few days.
As our bus trundles out of Kisumu and into the Rift Valley, things are quiet. I suspect we are all reflecting on what we’ve seen.
Dry, flat terrain gives way to the luscious mountainside of the Rift Valley. In less than 2 hours, the world is completely different.
We stop for a group photo in the middle of a tea plantation, a moment of bliss before heading to the next part of our journey.
Back in Nairobi.
I’ve been sick. I guess I shouldn’t have eaten that salad yesterday. Perhaps it is God’s way of showing me (in a very light way) what it is like to be sick for no other reason than the food you eat, or the water it’s washed with.
I lost a day with the group as they went into one of the largest urban settlements in the world. Kirbera has over one million people living in a space the size of New York's Central Park.
When they get back to our home-base, they share what they’ve seen. I can’t believe what I’m hearing and pledge to be better by tomorrow when we head back.
Today we drive into Kiambu Village. I am told there are more than 750,000 people living in mud and metal roofed shacks, packed together in squalid conditions.
Our bus-driver somehow maneuvers his vehicle among the teeming dry-baked streets. People, goats, motorcycles dart all over the road. Up ahead a sewage pipe has broken. The bus sinks halfway up its wheels. With a hit on the gas pedal, we lurch forward.
Hot. Dry. Dusty. The air is permeated with the ever-constant aroma of burning...something. I’m not sure what.
Up ahead I see one of a very few cement buildings. On the roof is a huge black rain-basin.
Painted above the door; Supported by WaterCan.
Somehow, amidst all this chaos, WaterCan has managed to build a sanitation facility.
Working with Maji na Uganisi, a partner in Nairobi, WaterCan has changed the direction of hundreds of lives.
Standing outside the facility, the hum of the slum vibrating all around us, two young men explain how the facility works.
Each family or household can purchase “tickets” or “coupons," which they can redeem for use of the facility. The systems works well for the families and creates employment for the managers. The coupons are very affordably priced by local standards, and the proceeds help to maintain the facility over the long-term.
Essentially, the community takes ownership of their health.
Families in the immediate area come here to wash, shower, use the toilets and get water. They no longer have to use the “flying toilet” where they defecate in bags and fling them out their window.
People are healthier. Children are stronger. The future is brighter. Because of water.
Going home today.
Our flight doesn’t leave until later on in the day. I’ve chosen to sit in the sun, read a book and think back on the past week. My camera has thousands of images. My mind has many more.
The children singing “We are no longer the same”.
The young boy who locked eyes with me during a school presentation.
Mary and Christine at the watering hole near Barchando Primary School.
Titus, the gentleman who was painting the rainwater catchment tank at Kanyadet Primary School.
Our guides who were so gracious and genuinely happy to show off their community.
My heart, mind and soul is touched forever.
Through it all, I’ve learned one major lesson. There is hope. WaterCan brings hope to so many people, one drop of water at a time. I can’t wait to go back. I am no longer the same.
Winter 2011
Spring 2010
Fall 2009
Fall 2008
