I was visiting the Kitojo Community Vocational Institute in Kabale, Uganda, when I noticed Agnes ambling up the steep driveway carrying three empty jerrycans. I ran after her and asked if I could accompany her. She nodded her head and handed me a jerrycan. The school is building additional classrooms, and Agnes is responsible for collecting the water needed to mix the concrete.
We followed a well-trodden, dusty road into the village. The water tap is located in the center of the village, behind a small mud hut.
Five years ago, the government connected the village to the national water supply. The villagers pay 200 Ugandan shillings, (about $.50) for each jerrycan of water. Before the water tap was installed, the villagers had to walk several miles, high into the mountains, to fetch water, but now they are within a few minutes' walk of clean drinking water.
When we arrived at the source, we placed the containers on the ground. Agnes removed the lids from each of the containers and then placed one jerrycan at a time beneath the spout until each of them was full. With a combined weight of 120 pounds, her task of collecting water is not easy. I picked up one of the jerrycans by the handle and followed Agnes back to the school. The weight was cumbersome, and with each step, the container seemed to become heavier.
As I passed through the village, I heard the children and adults chuckle as I battled with the container. Several children yelled out, "Mzungu!, Mzungu!" (Mzungu is a term used to refer to someone with "white skin" or a foreigner.) I imagine it was amusing to the villagers to watch the mzungu struggle to carry one jerrycan.
Agnes had almost reached the school when she looked back and noticed my slow progress. She set her two jerrycans down on the road, and walked back to me. As she approached, she removed a wrap from around her waist, coiled the fabric, and placed it on my head. She then lifted the 40-pound jerrycan and placed it on my head.
By this point, I had attracted a crowd, and the villagers watched as I took that first unsteady step. I clutched the bright yellow container with a death grip. With the jerrycan balanced precariously on my head, with each step the water sloshed within the container, making it increasingly difficult to balance. "One hand, one hand!" one woman shouted as I plodded forward. I decided if I was going to fetch water, I would carry the water like a pro. I carefully released my grip from the handle and slowly lowered one arm. I took a step forward, but suddenly, the shifting water within the container caused me to lose my balance. I quickly returned my hand to steady the jerrycan, and this appeared to have humored the villagers.
Embarrassed, but determined, I trudged down the uneven, rock-strewn dirt road. Lactic acid built up in my shoulders, causing them to burn. I could feel the weight of the water compressing my spine. Nearing the school, my legs began to tremble, and I feared they would falter beneath the weight of the water. Somehow, I managed to reach the bottom of the hill, and Agnes helped lower the jerrycan to the ground.
I had only walked a short distance, but I was exhausted. Fetching water is not an easy task. Tired, I walked to a chair beneath a nearby tree to rest.
Just as I was leaning back to close my eyes, there was a tap on my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, I saw Agnes standing before me. She handed me a jerrycan and said, "Let’s go!"
At the end of the day, I calculated that Agnes was walking close to 20 miles every day while carrying a combined weight of over twelve hundred pounds, or a little over half a ton of water every day for work, it became clear to me the immense toil and dedication needed to secure something as basic as water—a stark reminder of the privilege many of us enjoy, often taking it for granted.