To Think About Next Time You Leave That Free Ice Water Untouched On The Table

The wells are dry. Before, we went to the edge of town and carried the buckets on our heads. The walk was less than ten minutes. Now we need bikes and straps and bidons... a ride that takes at least ten minutes and getting water takes longer. For the river is dry as well. They've dug a hole in the bed about the size of a sink for which we wait to fill with water. Then we slowly scoop cups into bucket, trying not to disturb the dirt just below the rim of the cup so that it's as clear as possible. A piece of forever later, we lug the bucket up the bank, strap it to our bike, and sweat back. Now remember we have no roads, so the bumpy paths splash the water through the lids. While it feels nice on my burning hot legs, each drop spilled is one I can't drink, bathe with, or wash clothes or dishes with.

I also have powerful flashbacks several times a day of the heated kiddie pool at the YMCA. That is because it is what the inside of my burning iodinized water bottle smells/tastes like-- though hopefully with less pee. This inevitably invokes the memory of the vending machine they had and the delicious chips or strawberry wafer cokies we'd get as kids. Then I torture myself trying to decide which snack I'd have at that moment and which body part I'd saw off for it if it fit in the coin slot.

These are the times I think of ice water. So think of me next time the waitress brings you that thing of beauty and you almost don't even notice...