When I was young, I always wondered why I had to skip school—why, alongside many other children, I had to walk long distances to fetch water from the nearest Athi River. That water, carried in heavy yellow jerrycans on donkey backs, would only sustain a homestead for two days at most—water that was contaminated, unsafe, yet the only lifeline we had.
I remember the bone-deep exhaustion, the long treks under the punishing sun, and the relief of reaching home with jerrycans full of hope. Nearby streams that once made life easier had dried up.
