Rain and resilience: The unsung lives of Homa Bay water warriors
Women carrying jerricans of water after fetching it from a river at Loruk in Baringo County in this file photo.
What you need to know:
- Isabella and Rose harvest rainwater and endure daily struggles, balancing motherhood, poverty, and water scarcity with remarkable resilience.
- Faced with weak infrastructure and little support, rural women rely on rain, determination, and community savings to access clean water.
At the first fall of rain, Isabella Ouma’s body eases. Her muscles, usually tense from the weight of daily toil, finally relax.
The 23-year-old mother of three, who lives with HIV, endures an exhausting 40-minute round trip to the nearest pond in Rodi, Homa Bay County, to fetch water for household use.
“I work on farms for a daily wage of Sh200,” she explains. “To be at the farm by 8am, I must wake up at 5am, fetch water, prepare breakfast for the children, then set off. But some days, my condition leaves me too weak to manage even the basics. I can neither collect water nor work to earn a living. What I make isn’t enough to pay someone else to fetch it for me.”
Her husband, she adds, depends on irregular work at local construction sites. “It’s never easy to convince a man to fetch water. He’ll say, ‘don’t get used to it.’ And if he does go, he’ll use a motorbike and that costs money. That’s often a source of conflict,” she says.
Behind their house, the walls she has smoothed with brown clay plaster, stand several water drums, some donated by well-wishers aware of her hardships. Married off as a teenager, Isabella has borne the weight of responsibility ever since.
“When it rains, I harvest enough water to last about a month. I wish I had the means to build an underground tank. Maybe one day I will,” she adds with a glimmer of hope.
Over in Ngere, within the same county, Rose Achieng’ shares a similar story. Married into a polygamous home as a second wife during her teenage years, she is now a mother of eight. The task of providing water for her family rests solely on her shoulders.
Like Isabella, Rose relies on casual farm work, earning a daily wage of Sh200. “People buy water from a nearby borehole. Two 20-litre jerrycans cost Sh5, that’s Sh2.50 for one drum,” she explains. “In the early years of my marriage, asking my husband for money to buy water often sparked conflict.”
To ease the burden, Rose joined a merry-go-round group where members contributed Sh100 each week. Whenever her turn came to receive the pooled funds, she bought a water drum. “Now, I have a room almost filled with drums,” she says with a soft chuckle. “My children are older now, the two youngest are in secondary school. So most of the time it’s just me and my husband. The stored water lasts us until the next rainy season.”
Her co-wife lives in the same compound, their houses separated only by a clothesline. “Had I not bought the drums, I’d still be using my earnings, and even my savings, to buy water,” she reflects. “I learnt long ago never to ask my husband for money for water. I’d rather ask my brother to send me something.”
Rose has since opted out of the merry-go-round, choosing instead to save what she earns from the farms. Her daughter is a direct beneficiary of her discipline and foresight. “She gives me some cash as pocket money, and I use it to buy my feminine care products,” says Emily, her youngest daughter, now in Form Three.
mobiria@ke.nationmedia.com