The Work Begins

The fun and games lasted only a few days before it was time to join a collection of World Water Corps volunteers and begin two harried weeks surveying households and institutions, mapping villages, and collecting water samples. We paired up with students from the Generation Rwanda program and set off to capture a general snapshot of water access and sanitation conditions, and existing infrastructure in the Rulindo district a short distance from Kigali. We set off just after dawn each morning in teams composed of some combination of interviewer, water chemist, student interpreter and a hired driver willing to brave the half-cocked road systems. Rulindo is separated in to several sectors, cells, and villages. I spent my time in the Cynzuzi sector, in the Budkiryana cell, traipsing through eight villages that stretched across one large watershed. Rwanda is indeed the land of a thousand hills, and actually it's quite an understatement. Rulindo, and Cynzuzi in particular, is spread over a rather steep set. Most of the roads in the area follow the ridge line, with villages queezed side by side along hillsides or stretched over them in swaths of mud brown dots straining in the sun at the baren hilltops and plunged down into the cupped shade of lush banana trees at the bottom of the drainage. In order to get geographical representation for our study, we needed to sample households from all corners, which meant a lot of hiking and meandering through plots of wispy cassava and sweet potato. Convincing the "team" to set off for the far reaches was one of the most challenging aspects of the work because it required skidding down and scrambling up long sections of steep eroding trail.

Due partly to the challenging terrain, several villages in Cynzuzi have not benefitted from improved water sources (pipes, tanks, taps, pumps, etc.), as a result they spend hours walking from their homes to remote open sources that flow though ravines, or to pools at the bottom of drainages. During the rainy seasons many families are able to collect water closer to their homes, often harvesting rainwater directly from their roofs. It's now the end of the longer dry season, so every able body: man, woman, and child is recruited to fetch drinking water for the family and their livestock. Jerry cans are used to collect and store water, and the typical can has a 20 liter capacity and weighs about 40 lbs. I can't adequately describe how impressive it is to see people balancing 40 pound jugs on their heads, let alone carry them up these hills. Picture a 45 degree slope, unstable dust/clay trail (not a switchback in sight), and potentially a baby added to the load. What's more, the standard shoe worn in these parts is a foam slip-on. It's athleticism redefined. I call it "circumstantial badassness" and it's something I've marveled over many times during my travels.

The surveys ask a varied set of questions that attempted to capture basic data about water access and sanitation. For example, we want to find out how many people in the district live within 500 meters of a water source, the official distance deemed "acceptable" by the Rwandan government. As it turns out the answer is "very few." The government is currently trying to centralize people in "umudugudus, " or villages, (my absolute favorite word!!) and is pushing for development to occur at the tops of the hills. They are going so far as to try to relocate the households spread out over the hillsides, with a goal of total relocation (about two million rural people) over the next 10 years. They're incentivizing the program by concentrating all services on hilltops, including health services, electricity, water access points (potentially), while preserving individual ownership of cultivated land left behind. As of now, living at the bottom of the hill is a tradeoff that means closer access to water. Those living on hilltops have closer access to roads, markets, and services, but have an inordinately inconvenient schlep to collect enough water to meet their basic needs. Asking about toilets added a bit of levity throughout the day. We needed to get an idea of sanitation practices like hand washing and latrine depth, but the real highlight was the photographic portion of the visit…"don't mind us, we're just skipping through to take a snapshot of the family pooper." Rwandans are private and relatively shy when it comes to asking about toilets and most things related. We were asked to get snapshots of superstructure and make comments as to the level of "technology" associated, such as a roof or a door. Most people laughed at the idea and allowed a photo, some were more reluctant. I can get as jazzed about sanitation as the next person, but I'm no fan of taking awkward pictures. I just smiled and laughed my way through that bit of the visit and always reserved it for last.

The whole experience was largely made enjoyable by good company. I worked with the brilliant Jean Bosco, a clinical psychology student at National University, who took on the project with amazing fortitude and surprising enthusiasm. He took care to interpret conversation in detail, which helped me tremendously in understanding our interviewees, their perspectives and concerns. We were usually joined by another Jean Bosco, a very tall, quiet and humble version who appeared out of thin air one day to guide us around. It took some time to draw it out, but we eventually found out that he was a door to door evangelist in a past life, and therefore acquired an impressively detailed knowledge of the area. His expertise really came in handy when it came time to map village boundaries. Most village boundaries extended from the road up top to the drainage at the bottom of the hill, which was simple enough. Some, however, were identifiable only by longstanding landmarks like avocado trees, which meant that the mapping project required lots of bushwhacking and tap dancing with tin foil hats to find a signal - otherwise recognized as blind faith and patience.