sanitation

March 1, 2012
tweet this

From the field: Getting creative in Malawi.

2 comments

I can’t get it to print.

It’s Monday morning at charity: water, and Stacie, one of our Development Interns, is standing next to my desk, laptop in hand, looking concerned. As the IT Manager, I run the helpdesk, which means fixing things for the staff when they fail — programs that won’t print, computers that seize up, emails that don’t go through. I’ve been managing our systems for two years now, and I’m proud that things run smoothly… most of the time.

michael

In a few moments, I figure out the problem, and Stacie smiles and goes back to her desk. I’ve learned that you can’t prevent every problem from happening. All disk drives eventually fail, IT managers say. But there are always solutions. One of the tricks is to be creative.

Don’t focus on why something won’t work; focus instead on how to make it work again, even if it’s not the way it worked before.

So far, this has in our office in New York City. Last month, I got to see how it could also apply to the challenges surrounding our work in East Africa. Specifically — how it applies to remote monitoring of our water projects here.

Nat Paynter, charity: water’s Water Programs Director, and I arrive in Malawi during rainy season, and everything is green and lush. I tell Nat it reminds me of my childhood in Florida; he seems disappointed. Nat has spent many years in Africa working on water and sanitation issues. It’s my first time here and I think he wants me to find it more exotic, foreign. But on the second day we get caught in a thunderstorm and again I think of Miami — it comes on quick and fierce, the trees blow sideways and the water washes off the rooftops in sheets, for a brief time it even hails — then suddenly it’s over and the sun is out, steam rising from the wet earth and trees.

shire valley

Despite this evidence of water abundance, Malawi is caught in the water crisis. The government estimates only 40% of the population has access to clean and safe water, and the actual figure is probably lower.

Malawi is one of the poorest countries in Africa. The government, though stable, has continuing problems with corruption and chronic revenue shortages. The local currency is of little value outside the country. As in many developing nations, public services such as water and sanitation are woefully underfunded. While there was a government presence in the districts we visited, they had little staff and few funds to carry out their work.

This is where Water for People-Malawi, one of our partnering organizations here, comes in. They have been working for more than a decade to bring improved water and sanitation to the people of Malawi.

Our first day in the field, we drive out of the city to the rural district of Chikhwawa, where about half a million people live. Heading south, we descend from the hills of Blantyre onto the expanse of the Shire valley, a broad plain bisected by the Shire river. Even though it’s the rainy season, we cross many dry culverts and washes. Later, I will read that the annual rainfall in Malawi has been gradually decreasing for more than a decade, a consequence of shifting weather patterns due to global warming.

At the first village we visit, we’re greeted by song and dance: women in brightly colored dresses, some with infants wrapped to their backs, clapping and stamping the earth with bare feet.

women

One of my first impressions is how clean and tidy the village seems. There is no clutter, no stuff lying about. Then it hits me: these people are poor. They don’t have much to leave sitting around.

Nat interviews the water committee:

“How were you selected?”
–The whole village had a meeting. We all decided.

“I see you are all women…”
–Yes, because it is the women who collect water.

Water for People doesn’t just build wells. They educate communities in sanitation and hygiene issues; they help to organize water committees; they develop new strategies for well maintenance and repair at the village level, and they try to keep it all affordable.

Ownership is key in their efforts. Only when a community feels invested in a water point and responsible for it is sustainability possible. Water for People is good at “thinking the entire process through,” Nat tells me.

well guide

I’m here to see if these efforts can be enhanced through remote monitoring, which means keeping an eye on the water points from afar. Back in Blantyre, I talk with Water for People’s Programs Director, Muthi Nhlema. He is using a technology called FLOW (Field Level Operations Watch) as a reporting and monitoring tool. Here’s how it works: Water For People gives specially-programmed cell phones to staff or volunteers, who collect data — GPS coordinates, populations served, how much water is flowing — at each water point.

Once these phones have internet access, they automatically upload all the data to be posted on Water for People website so anyone — government, partners and the public — can see them. Water For People monitors, evaluates and makes adjustments to their program with this info. It’s a brilliant idea, but the process is hampered by the need to send people into the field. Some wells are not visited again until a year and a half after they are constructed.

Now imagine if the cell phone could live at the well. Constantly, automatically sending back data: The well is working. The well is working. The well has stopped working. The well needs to be repaired.

This would be an invaluable tool to help all parties make sure the water keeps flowing. Here’s a breakdown of the difference between what Water For People uses now and what they hope to use in the future with charity: water’s support:

FLOW graphic

Water for People’s program and their commitment to sustainability are strong. This is a promising opportunity to support a pilot program on remote monitoring.

kids

On my last evening before returning home, I sit on the balcony at the hotel, watching bats flit against the sky as night approaches. Innovating a remote monitoring tool and deploying it will be a huge challenge — I think of a dozen reasons why it won’t work.

But charity: water is committed to keeping the water flowing. We owe it to the communities I saw here, to the local partners like Water for People who work hard to bring water to those communities, and to our donors, who make everything we do possible.

And I remember Stacie at the office, and the laptop that won’t print.

There are always solutions. Be creative.

– Michael Somoya
charity: water Office and IT Systems Manager

Categories:

August 10, 2011
tweet this

From the field: keep the girls at school.

14 comments

What did you care about when you were in the fifth grade?

Getting A’s or +‘s on your report card? Riding your bike?
Whether you’d make the first rounds in being chosen for a kickball team?

How about what would happen when you left school to walk a mile by yourself to use the bathroom?

Your school probably had restrooms. And you wouldn’t dare walk home by yourself, even if your house was within a mile from your school. You likely didn’t have to worry about this.

Khadija did.

(music: This Will Destroy You)

Khadija’s story.

Talking toilets — it’s not comfortable. But Khadija’s eager. She stands straight up, hands at her sides, in her school’s small yard, waiting patiently in the misty aftermath of Bangladesh’s heavy rain.

She politely answers questions: her age, who her friends are, where she lives, what she wants to be when she grows up. But it’s obvious Khadija is ready to get to the real stuff.

She wants to tell the story of how toilets brought her back to school.

khadija

A year and a half ago, No. 57 Government Primary School didn’t have a bathroom. At first, Khadija tried using the fields close to school, so she wouldn’t have to miss so much class. She’d have a friend stand guard so that no one else could watch or bother her.

But this became “too troublesome” — two people missing class instead of one. So Khadija and her friends started using the toilets of neighbors that lived near school.

In bright green uniforms, Khadija and her classmates stood out as they walked about 20 minutes along the street to strangers’ houses to take care of their business. Boys in the neighborhood would follow them, yell at them, sometimes throw things at them. One day, a crew of kids crushed stones on top of Khadija’s head.

The teasing was about being girls, but it was mostly about being poor. “You go to the school for the absolute poor people,” they taunted. “You have to go someplace else to get water — to beg for water!”

And the retribution wasn’t just from kids. The school’s neighbors were not happy about kids using their private restrooms.

“They’d ask our teachers, ‘Can’t your students pay to use the bathroom?’” Khadija recalls. “They’d say a lot of things to our teachers, but mostly to us.”

Embarrassment set in. Khadija started missing school to walk home alone and use the toilet at her house. Her walk increased to about two-thirds of a mile; with more time on the road by herself, the harassment increased, too.

“I’d feel really bad coming to school,” Khadija said. “I’d tell my parents that the latrines at the school are bad and because the boys are bullies, I shouldn’t have to go to school.”

khadija's school -- girls

They spoke of my school as ‘one where they live like absolute poor people…’ Another time, they crushed stones in my hair.

Last year, she missed 15 days of school as a result. In the United States, many public schools expel you if you miss more than 10 days in a year (unexcused absences).

And Khadija’s count was actually quite low. Out of the school year’s 229 days, the average days missed by No. 57 Narayanpur Government Primary students each year was 35 full days.

Girls specifically averaged 33 days missed; sometimes for sickness — 20% of students suffered from water-related diarrhea, dysentery or skin diseases last year — and sometimes to avoid harassment.

Khadija speaks about these problems in the past-tense because they’re a recent memory for her.

Now, she and more than 300 others at her school have separate latrines for boys and girls, installed by our partner Concern Worldwide. The students and teachers also received training in handwashing, personal hygiene, disease prevention and menstrual hygiene.

All of this has helped drive down the rates of waterborne illness by 15%.

The kids are healthier but more kids show up for school each day, too. Attendance and enrollment have both increased; now, 100% of students in Khadija’s area attend school.

And reports of harassment have fallen by 8%. Khadija told us she feels safer at school; she’s not the only one. Across Shariatpur, Concern Worldwide found that the increase in girls’ attendance was directly due to the decrease in abuse and harassment.

“I use the bathroom at the school — I no longer have to run to my house,” Khadija said. “Now, we don’t have those problems.”

There’s no guarantee that Khadija will never be teased again. Nor is there certainty that she’ll never have another water-related illness. But as she quickly ducked back into her classroom, narrowly missing the rain that started pelting the palms surrounding No. 57 Primary, one thing was for sure: this girl wasn’t going to miss anymore class if she could help it.

– Mo Scarpelli
charity: water multimedia producer

LINE

toilets

Why toilets?

We often get asked these two big questions about our projects that include sanitation (toilets):

Why are you putting money towards toilets? That’s not water.

Access to clean water is just the first step to reducing diseases. Safe water alone can cut the chance of diarrheal disease by 21%. But hygiene practices (like simple handwashing) with sanitation can drive disease rates down nearly 45%.

Health is one thing; dignity is another. Girls in developing countries are likely to drop out of school as soon as they hit puberty, i.e., when they start their period. Wouldn’t you, without a private, clean place to use the restroom and wash? Toilets built at schools have been shown to increase attendance, especially among girls.

What’s so bad about just going outside?

The privacy issue plays into this (explained above). And maybe you’ve squatted outside while camping sometime in your life — you’d think it’s no big deal. But imagine if all the members of your community were doing their business right in their — and your — backyards every time they had to go. Imagine that you walked to school or the store or work through trails of other peoples’ excrement.

People living in areas with open defecation live every day with a high risk of getting and spreading waterborne illnesses. And while diarrhea may be something you can cure with a little Pepto here, in developing countries, it’s often deadly, especially for kids under the age of five.

More about Concern Worldwide’s work in Bangladesh.

charity: water’s projects for schools in Shariatpur, Bangladesh, are part of the Amader School Project, a program implemented and managed by our local partner, Concern Worldwide.

khadija

ASP launched in Oct. 2006 and has since improved education and student health for more than 150 schools across Bangladesh.

The goal is to improve learning achievement in the classroom, increase attendance and retention of students and to make sure the poorest families have access to education.

Water and sanitation projects are an essential piece of ASP. Through charity: water’s projects at schools in Bangladesh, more than 59,000 people have received access to clean drinking water and latrines.

Concern’s local teams manage project construction and form local groups to look after the projects and handle hygiene training. They work with the local government to test the water quality of each well. And, they gather data from each area to track the impact of the projects.

Here’s how Concern’s ASP program uses water and sanitation to bring kids to (and keep them in) school:

concern

Khadija’s story is just one example of how water and sanitation projects at schools can make kids at these schools healthier, more prepared to learn — and even safer. We’re proud to partner with Concern Worldwide to enact change at schools in Bangladesh.

Learn more about Concern Worldwide here >

*Sources: Concern Worldwide, World Health Organization, UNICEF.

Categories:

May 25, 2011
tweet this

From the field: toilets in Pora Bosti.

7 comments

poppy

Poppy doesn’t speak much at first. She acknowledges me with a shy nod and smiles warmly, her red lipstick a perfect match to her bright floral sari.

Then, she promptly offers to show me her toilet.

I’m in Bangladesh with our Water Programs Manager, Jonna, to visit charity: water projects and explore new water and sanitation opportunities. Today, that means a block of latrines in a crowded slum in the country’s capital city. Toilets are nothing new to the charity: water team. During the last few months especially, we’ve racked up quite a few miles over some rough terrain to see varying latrine designs. But this latrine block is quite a bit different. In Bangladesh’s urban areas, nearly 20 million people live without sanitation. Yet these toilets were made to help a group that would otherwise likely sit at the end of the list — the physically disabled.

walking

We’re in Pora Bosti, which means “Burned Slum.” Years back, this entire area caught fire and burned to the ground; the name has stuck ever since.

Pora Bosti is home to an enclave of handicapped residents. Some use a crutch to walk; others have wooden wheelchairs or crawl on their hands. But with five different latrines built to accommodate different physical ailments, all now have ready access to a safe and clean place to do their business.

Poppy is the president of the management committee which oversees these latrines along with a freshwater well installed here. When she was 12 years old, she was hit by a car (this is not hard to believe in traffic-laden Dhaka). She now lacks the use of her legs, but seems to get around fine in her wheelchair. And she’s excited to show us not only what the toilet she uses looks like — but how quickly and easily she can hop on the seat.

“Before we had these toilets, we would try to go in other toilets that aren’t really usable for us,” she tells us. “So we might go by ourselves in an open space, in the dark so no one would see.”

Poppy’s committee of 18 members collects a monthly fee of 1,000 Taka per family that uses the latrines (about $14, though the rate varies based on income), which they keep in their group bank account until they need funds for maintenance or repairs. They meet once a month to discuss hygiene practices while making sure the current latrine designs are working for everyone using them. And if they aren’t? Then they alter the model. This is why Poppy’s chosen toilet has a rope dangling from the center of the ceiling; she proposed it to the organization that helped build the facility, it was installed, and now she can comfortably use the bathroom.

“I’m happy I can use this now,” she tells us, though she doesn’t really have to. Her eagerness to show us her toilet in the first place spoke for itself.

doors
On the way out, I take another glance at the latrine doors; they’re each decorated with colorful murals showing people with different disabilities. I’ve never seen so much artistic detail on (or in) a bathroom in my life. The paintings seem to me a mark of creativity and ownership, but also of pride. Poppy made it clear: she and her neighbors in this little corner of Pora Bosti aren’t hiding their disabilities. And they’re no longer ashamed of how they go about doing what we all have to do several times each day.
In fact, they’re making it plain for anyone to recognize their right to — and their excitement about — toilets. What better way to show confidence in how you do your business?
– Mo Scarpelli
charity: water multimedia producer

Categories:

January 18, 2011
tweet this

Liberia: soap and healing.

9 comments

charity: water has been working in Liberia since 2007, funding clean water and hygiene training for villages in mostly rural areas. One of our local partners here, EQUIP Liberia, has worked in the country for nearly three decades, through civil war and reconstruction. In August 2010, the charity: water team traveled to Liberia to monitor our work in the field. Here is our story:

line

handwashing

Rain has never been so loud. I can’t hear a thing.

Until Dave opens his mouth, that is.

“Do you use soap to wash? Every day?” he roars. Dave Waines is the director and founder of our local partnering organization, EQUIP Liberia. He’s grilling a room full of locals in Nimba County about the sanitation practices in their village. Well, he’s trying to. But rain pelting the zinc roof above our heads is so loud, it’s hard to have a conversation.

A man finally calls out: “Yes! We do. All the people in the village! We have soap in every house.”

“You have soap in every house?” Dave howls. “Yeah, right! Let me see, I’ll go knock on every door.”

We’ve interrupted the water and sanitation workshop here to see how charity: water’s funds for hygiene training are being put to work. Nearly every project we fund has a hygiene and sanitation component built in, to maximize success and drive down waterborne disease rates. The workshop attendees here are volunteers, wearing bright yellow and blue t-shirts with “Community Health Ambassador” (CHA) and “Pump Caretaker” printed across the chest. The CHA’s job is to practice cleanliness in their own lives and teach their neighbors to do the same. They know that hand-washing alone can reduce water-related deaths by up to 45%. They also collect small fees from the community to pay for well repairs — and then the Pump Caretakers handle well maintenance over time.

dave

This isn’t a job they take lightly. The way they see it, they’re not just making sure a water pump works: they’re changing the entire way their community lives, and saving lives in the process. Which is why they’re quick to answer us with confidence that their village is cleaner.

It turns out, not every house does have soap, as it’s expensive and hard to come by out here. But they do have ashes. A CHA with a big, white smile shows me how she uses them to wash her hands. “I do it everyday!” She’s proud to teach me: the caustic soda in wood ashes disinfects like the lye in soap. Dried ash cleans skin like any old bar of Dial.

We’re constantly learning new things in the field. This trip is no exception; from the CHA’s simple health tips to the best way to tuck your mosquito net into your bed. And then there’s Dave Waines, who has worked in Liberia for 24 years and never gets sick of talking about it.

Dave brought his family to Nimba County in 1986, where he then lived through Liberia’s “hell-on-earth war,” as he calls it. Ask him for stories and he’ll keep talking excitedly until you can barely handle it — Peter. Martha. Cecilia. Rose. He remembers every name. He remembers every child lost. He remembers every wave of dysentery that swept the villages following the war, after water projects had been looted by rebels and left broken. As we drive eight hours each day with him over washed-out roads, we notice Dave’s constantly on the lookout for old friends. When we spot someone, he orders the Land Cruiser to a halt and gets out to greet them. When we ask who they are, he smiles for a minute and reminisces. When he tells you their story, he cries.

dave

What brings tears isn’t just the horrible past — it’s the resolve of those who survived. The people of Nimba are forgiving, in ways few of us could ever imagine. During the 14 years of brutal civil war, many people here watched as their family members and their friends were murdered or raped. They fled from horrific acts of violence. They lived in the jungle for stretches of weeks or months at a time, without food, shelter or clean water. When the violence subsided, they returned to their villages to see their houses and their community water projects torn apart. Then, they had to start all over. Sometimes, they had to do it alongside the very people who had hurt them in the war.

Dave lived through it, too. He’ll attest: the fear and the caution is still here. But communities are slowly learning to trust one another again. They have goals to accomplish together; they have water projects to share the responsibility for.

* * * *

On our fourth day in the country, we venture to the furthest regions of Nimba to meet the village of Gbeivonwea (pronounced “Bay-von-wee-a”). Dave can’t talk about the women here without getting choked up. Not only have most of the surviving residents of this area found their way back home since the war; they’ve committed to making their community whole again. Women lead Gbeivonwea. They tend to the families’ needs. They fill half of the Community Health Ambassador positions. And they make sure, if you’re stopping in, you get a hot meal, some dancing and time to sit around and chat with them.

“We’ve come through a horrible fire. They know what we’ve come through together and the transformation of that community. They don’t forget how things used to be.”

– Dave Waines, EQUIP Liberia director
gbeivonwea

“Oh, ma, I’m back in Gbeivonwea!” Dave yells as we charge out of the car. Soon, he’s hugging grandmothers, chasing kids and teasing men on front porches. You’d think this was your typical small town, where everyone knows everyone else’s name. Where families have always gotten along, save a few neighborly squabbles.

“But Gbeivonwea was the scene of a massacre, a horrible massacre,” Dave later tells us. “Then, four years after the war, hundreds here died of dysentery because they didn’t have clean water. Gbeivonwea has gone through this incredibly tragic past of losing so many family members.”

He dances with “the ma’s” and smiles abound. “Whenever I come all the way out here, there’s dancing — there’s a reunion,” he says. “We’ve come through a horrible fire. They know what we’ve come through together and the transformation of that community. They don’t forget how things used to be.”

They don’t forget, but they do forgive.

We pile back in the car, but Dave’s in no hurry. He talks to a mother as she washes dishes with soap the way her CHA’s would. He walks outside and pauses to goof around with kids near the house. He speaks with a woman passing by. We wait. Rain starts to fall again and Dave stands in a bright green parka with his hood down, blinking away the raindrops. For once, I can’t hear what he’s saying. But this time, I don’t have to. He’s taking this moment to just be with Gbeivonwea. The healing, the rebuilding, the forgiveness — it starts there.

* * * * *

In four years, we’ve funded water projects in Liberia to bring clean water to over 100,000 people. More than half of these are in Nimba County, in small villages like Gbeivonwea, who use ashes to wash, clean water to stay healthy — and forgiveness to repair what they’ve lost.

– story by Mo Scarpelli
charity: water multimedia producer
donate

Want to help? $20 can provide clean drinking water for one person. And 100% of donations directly fund our work in the field.

Categories:

September 22, 2010
tweet this

september campaign: health, sanitation… disease.

5 comments

The Bayaka face a myriad of health issues in Central African Republic — malnutrition, waterborne disease, jiggers to name a few — but our local partner in C.A.R., ICDI, is combating all of these, using water as a stepping stone. Learn more in the latest chapter of the September Campaign.

Watch the stories. Learn our mission. Join us. > charitywater.org/september

Categories: