H like H2O – Water
What language do missionaries “speak”? Theirs is an alphabet of mercy, with letters that breathe life back into words and generate works
Early in the morning, they would pass by the mission to go to the river to draw water.
They were mothers, girls who with a bin on their heads began the hard day. Water had to be drawn for cleaning
the house and to make food.
They would go down a steep path to the river. They sang merrily, not thinking about the toil that awaited them. Then arriving at the water, they would draw and fill the 20-liter plastic bin.
They would put it on their heads and as if nothing had happened, they would go up the hill, one after the other. The bin would not fall down! When they got to the top, they would rest for a while, still with the full bin on their heads, and start chatting.
I would watch them and wonder how they did it. It seemed a simple thing for them. Then, slowly, they would head home.
Even the little girls, with a small bin, were learning “the trade.”
Arriving home, they would pour the water into a large pot or an earthenware amphora. And, if more was needed, they would return to the river.
Meanwhile, the daughters would light a fire in the middle of the three stones and on this tripod they would lay a pot with water in it. When it began to boil, they would put cassava flour (which they had previously piled in the pestle) into it. Then you had to with large wooden spoons, turn it (as you do with polenta).
It was tiring and the drops of sweat, also from the heat, dripped in quantity.
Finally, after much work, the polenta was ready. Separately they had heated the palm oil with which to season it. It was tipped into a large tray and then divided into small containers, with oil on the side, some cooked vegetables and a few pieces of meat or fish.
Then: enjoy your meal. Everyone would take a bit of BUGALI (that’s what the finished product was called), make a small
little ball (like dumplings) and dipped it in oil. With his other hand, he would take the rest of the food. And so, in silence (don’t talk, otherwise those close to you will take advantage of it and you risk being left with nothing…), they would eat.
Of course, first the men, then everyone else. Last the children.
I tried several times myself, but I was not very enthusiastic. But I made an effort to eat it, because I had been invited and the invitation cannot be refused. When everything was finished, what was left to do? Simple. Everything had to be cleaned up.
The little girls would get busy. If there was a shortage of water, they had to go back down to the river, carrying the beautiful everything, because there was natural detergent there. In fact, the pots had turned black on the fire and sand was needed to take it off. It took some energy, but the result was really splendid. They came back as almost new.
Everything was washed, water bins were filled, and they went up the hill to bring back the fruits of their labor. They, too, so they helped Mother, who had so much to do and was tired.
The men? They would taste the fruit of others’ labor and make comments. They wondered why it was not possible to bring water to the village to avoid all this labor.
And so one fine day, so they told me, work on the aqueduct began. Everyone cooperated: those who dug the trench to lay the plastic pipe, those who carried them on their shoulders, or on their heads or by bicycle to the spring. And who encouraged, giving food.
Finally the work bore fruit. Fountains were built in various places in the village.
The water was good and there was no more need to boil it, and most importantly, it was close to home. The river still remained useful for taking a nice bath.
Source
- Father Oliviero Ferro
Images
- Image digitally created by spazio + spadoni