Water, water everywhere, yet not a drop to drink...

Having been out of the UK for 15 days now - not that I'm counting you know - one of the things I have very clearly been taking for granted in England, and very much miss over here, is the water system. Water is piped to many houses in Haiti, (though not all by any means) and it is pumped from wells. There are no de-salination plants, and none are needed, as despite the heat, there is sufficient rainfall to keep the wells supplied. But the water that comes from the wells and is plumbed to the houses is not

safe to drink. When I asked why, the matter of fact answer is that there is "far too much faecal contamination". And I don't think this view is held only by the whites - or "blancs" as we are known in Creole. I have yet to see a Haitian drink from the taps, and many use water sterilising tablets to treat the water for washing dishes. (I wish I knew this before deciding to brush my teeth using tap water.... but to date no bouts of vomiting... yet!)

Drinking water is bought in plastic bottles, larger 10 litre containers, and some rather strange sachets. (Which I've photo'd, and placed my phone alongside for a size reference.) These sachets contain about a mug of water and can be bought in supermarkets, from the side of the street, or from any number of the traders who walk the city with a bucket or similar (often on their head) which contains any number to buy. I have seen them on the side at church, and the streets are littered with empty sachets. Having been bought, a corner is bitten off (perhaps another version of gastro-intestinal Russian Roulette?) and the water is there. Robyn keeps a number in her freezer, and it is quite pleasant to get one completely frozen and spend a 15 minute (or longer) spell consuming it. The fun we can have here!!

But water is also more than just for drinking. Every day for me starts with a wash down - shower is perhaps too grand a word for it. But the water for most houses has to be pumped up to the tanks, and for many (and that includes both the houses I have stayed in here) it is not done automatically. It is such a disappointing feeling to be standing in the shower area - on a couple of occasions having managed to soap myself, only then to find the water has run out...

There is often a large bucket in the bathroom, and I managed to find enough water to wash the soap off.

I'm amazed how little water I can use when necessary. And off course the water also flushes the toilet - usually... Again it's a good idea to keep

the water tank topped up!

The plumbing is very often tortuous in design, and precarious in practice. White plastic pipes at strange angles and connected (more or less) to bits of hosing. At Enoch's house there is the added

excitement of the water pump - pictured.

The pump itself is on the ground, and is electrically run. The operating switch looks more like something that should be attached to the Electric Chair, and is connected to the pump by the white wire - hanging loose of course. When the switch is thrown there is a significant shower of sparks,a groaning and whirring, and hopefully water is pumped into the tank. However it is clearly a big drain on power, as the fuse-box on another wall gets incredibly hot very quickly... So to try and keep the water levels satisfactory I try and use the pump for a series of short bursts.

Our laundry is done by hand by Bernadette, who has been a cook and cleaner for Robyn for many years. Bernadette has 7 children: her first husband died after the first 2 were born, and her second husband is often away leaving her with the children.

(Ruth, her youngest, now 12, is delightful, and always presents her face for a kiss whenever she meets us.) Bernadette comes to either Robyn's or now Enoch's house - which we are using for a base - on a daily basis, and cooks breakfast and very often an evening meal. She is a good cook, and more about the food later. But she also does the washing, and ironing - everything wonderfully cleaned, ironed and folded by the end of the day. And no washing machine or ironing board in either house.

But we have a luxurious standard of living compared to most.

On Saturday we walked about half a mile along a dirt track near the coast. We past fortifications from the time of the French in the 18th Century, including walls 2 metres thick and cannons lying on the ground. And then surprisingly at the end of the road was a (comparatively) luxurious hotel. Modern with en-suite bathrooms (probably no hot tap). We stayed for drink and gazed out to sea watching the fishing boats tacking out from the shoreline. Under the canopy, and with view, drink and surroundings it was very pleasant. But we had walked past shacks made of wood, with corrugated iron roofs, no windows and no plumbing at all. Washing hanging out to dry on the cactus plants, makeshift wires and roof edges. On our return one of the locals was having his daily wash: out on the roadside, using a bucket dropped down into a well, pulled up and poured over himself. It made using the electric switch at Enoch's seem like a privilege after all.