Raza found Jamil late afternoon on the opposite side of the road in front of his grandparents’ home. Plastic containers scattered on the ground. He was standing beside the circular well that jutted up a patch of sandy ground.
“Hey, I thought we have legit water source here? Why are you taking water from this well?”
“It’s sort of an alternative. Or the pipes are there as alternative. Can you hand me that plastic container?” He dropped a water bucket down the well and pulled it back with the rope tied to it. Raza handed the container and he started filling it with water from the well.
“And you use this for what, drinking?”
“Nope, we use this for washing or for cooking. But if we need to, we have to boil the water first. The water tank is basically the family’s source of drinking water.”
“You know, I’m starting to get worried of diarrhea.”
Jamil laughed like he said something funny. “When you live here for so long, you barely get concerned with that. Besides I’ve been drinking water from that tank for as long as I can remember and I never got sick with anything but fever or cough and cold.”
“I can’t believe this. You know what the World Health Organization would say about these water ‘facilities’? It’s unsanitary. It’s quite alarming.”
“Of course, it calls for concern. That’s why the local government put those pipes to provide us with clean water. But there’s not enough to supply us 24/7.”
“Exactly my point. Where is this water coming from?”
“We barely use it for drinking, Raz,” Jamil explained while he continued filling the containers.
“Even so,” Raza said stubbornly.
Jamil stopped what he was doing and said, “You know what, years ago wells were the nearest source of water in this place and the world over. But did anybody got concerned with what microorganisms were in it? They lived for quite a long time and not in fear of what they were drinking…”
“I have to disagree. That was the time when science was not at its prime. They haven’t even discovered what bacteria are.”
“Hmm. What did science teach you about how to live in a place which has little of a lot of things?”
Raza smirked. “I don’t know what it’ll tell me but my mind says to pack my bag and go back where I came from.”
“You’re right. You can go back anytime you want to but these people have no other place to go to except this place. That makes a lot of difference. After a week you would go back to your old life—not these people. They would remain for years; never totally leaving the island they call home. It’s almost a matter of life and death. I tell you, it’s safe and we don’t use it for drinking. Lots of people here have their own creative ways to store potable water; you know, from the rain.”
“But, it’s not really advisable to drink untreated rain water.”
“…If the air in the place is polluted. The rain is a boon here, Raz. While to others, it’s just another weather forecast.” Raza sat on the mouth of the well and crossed his arms. It would get a lot of getting used to.
“Take it or leave it, huh?” he asked and Jamil nodded.
When they finished filling up the containers, they sat down on the Bermuda grass under the shade of breadfruit tree to rest.
“Does that make you unhappy? You know; all these scarcity,” Raza asked, both arms resting on his propped knees.
“Let me think. I guess yes and no. Like I said, life is tough; but I love it here, my family’s here.”
YOU ARE READING
The Journey Back
Spiritual"What?... I don’t want to go there. Is this some kind of sick joke?” Raza is a typical muslim teenager who grew up in a place where everything seemed 'instant' as he described it. But a deal with his father had sent him packing to a tropical islan...
