She takes my hand and leads me up the hill. In her
other arm she carries the proverbial yellow jerry can. The bright hues
of yellow smudged with iron laden dirt are gripped and carried by nearly
every child in rural East Africa as they
haul their family’s water supply back from the community well. This one, she
takes my hand and leads me back to the home where she stays. They walk
here three times a day, climb down the wide mouthed well and fill their
buckets with water that will give them typhoid,
and start the journey home. Somehow in the exhaustion of simply living
in a place that is foreign, I find myself losing sight. The scene in
front of me seemingly normal. I remind myself that this, it is not fair
and yet, it is her reality. I don’t want to
become blind to the heartbreaking realities that so often surround me
and yet sometimes I am. Sometimes it is all too much and I don’t even
realize I am walking along with my eyes closed to what is around me.
And yet, even still I remind myself that somehow in
some small way I am part of her story. I know her name, and hopefully
someday soon she won’t have to deal with water that gives her typhoid,
or the risk of falling down the well. I type
words on my screen, the reality of this life she lives made real in the
body of a report, and I prepare for a conference call to discuss the
technical findings. And yet beyond the mineral content and the bacteria
counts, I remind myself that there is a girl
with a name behind the words I type and the water chemistry I analyze.
Behind every drawing that is drafted, behind every report that is crafted
is a person who has a name. Let’s just be honest here. I am not
changing the world. They are. These people, they
teach me, inspire me, and remind me to remember what is really
important. They are generous, humble, and I have much to learn and
remember.
