First, there was too much water raining out Neustra Virgin de Pilar’s special day, then there was drought. We are now approaching the twenty-four-hour mark of no water. Ever prepared for the lack of City planning our house is equipped with tank water (for the toilet and shower) and solar panels (to combat the blackout power outages).
The Water District’s office building sprawls half a city block. Beneath the sign in cursive typography “agua es vida” (water is life). The sign floats up to my consciousness from every evening’s memory. Each night, on the way to Fort Pilar, the window of the air conditioned van fogs from my breath. Glass cool against my forehead, I have read that sign again and again and each time I pause to think if it is a message from the universe. It’s got that simple profundity of all things that are just true. In the back garden, I think of that sign again. I am standing over a sink, the blue bucket propped up by an elbow fills with life-giving water and I contemplate my bloated ‘global north’ existence. The bucket is slow to fill.
We are fine. Tank water rations are low. Enough only to flush the toilet. No showers. But, we are fine. At the base level of not dying of dehydration or malaria from dirty drinking water, we are fine. We don’t drink tap water anyway. We drink distilled. The house is stocked with the kind of distilled plastic water jugs that arrive in ten-litre bottles once a week, times fifteen pieces or at least that, on my last count.
When the water makes its much anticipated comeback it returns with a drop in pressure. “Wretched” Uncle Vinnie proclaims. The water is flowing “like tears” he shakes his head. What low pressure means for our house that is built on stilts, (designed to escape the flood planes – irony) is that, to enjoy nature’s bounty we need forceful flow, a steady stream of water pressure or we remain cut off. Left with trickles of tears I am directed to the water taps in the garden, closer to the ground, they have the capacity to dribble water out of their small-mouthed spouts. I am grateful. I am always so grateful. I am typing in the dark at 10pm during a blackout recounting a story of no water. I am so grateful.
In the garden, the bucket I am filling is to fill a large two-foot-deep plastic drum in the shower so I can use a smaller-sized bucket with a handle to douse myself in water and bath. My expensive L’occitane almond-scented skin smells of orange ‘Off’ mosquito spray layered with the spicy clove scent of tiger balm. The ‘Off’ is for before the mosquitos bite you (preventative). The tiger balm is for after they bite you (salve). Neither really functions to its full potential and I am always itchy, sticky and scratching at various-sized welts. I will fetch pails to shower. I will fetch pails to shower. Please, God, I promise I will never grimace about being clean again. I will fetch pails to shower. Little Jill went down the hill to fetch a pail of water… from the backyard, many times. Back, up and down the backyard stairs, Little Jill hauls up her wares. Little Jill, she fetches. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Okay, you win my Lord and Saviour. You win.
The guard at the exit of Fort Pilar man spreads himself over a plastic fold-out chair. There are two men stationed in full military dress including bulletproof padded vests. One is leaning his chin on the butt of an AK 47, conspicuously bored, he is scrolling through his Facebook, volume unmuted. His gaze remains fixed on the screen as we stream by unchecked for weapons. The other has the machine gun horizontal across his lap- balancing himself over his own knees, one elbow on the barrel, one elbow on the butt. As a safety measure during public events, the City cuts all cell phone service. I ask my Uncle why and he looks at me like I am a sweet idiot who doesn’t know that’s how terrorists detonate bombs. Babe, they use pagers now too. The safety measure makes me aware that I am in danger. That I am unsafe.
*** That’s interesting, we interrupt editing for this absolute live stream. I am finishing this piece in the freshly renovated and newly re-opened, first of its kind here, artisanal coffee house. They have cold brew and one alternative milk – it’s oat not almond. Blackout. Power failure. Zamboanga hermosa (beautiful Zamboanga), you check my privilege, forever. We are all cosplaying first world Instagram stories here. The humidity creeps in as the aircon checks out. I got time. Is this a sign? ***
Everything here makes me feel that I am in a precarious position of living. The mosquitos to dengue, the water to hygiene, the electricity to Wifi, the military presence, my family. So, we wait it out. Let there be light Lord, I got all day.
xx SJ