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Published on: 17/03/2011

At Akodokodoi village in Northern Uganda, the tree divides us. On one side, we the project staff from CARE and partner organisations sit on short wooden folding chairs, forming a loose circle with the men. On the other side of the tree the women settle themselves on the ground. I wonder if they prefer this shield of separateness, the better to breastfeed their children or shift them around on their laps. Some look off into the distance or tug distractedly at tufts of grass, their legs stretched out in front of them.

But to assume the women to be disinterested observers would be a mistake. After the men speak of how the community worked with us to get the borehole that is now their main water source, we ask the women what difference the borehole has made for them. They speak without hesitation and with the precision of those that know what they’re talking about. The first thing a woman named Janet Adongo says is that that their husbands don’t beat them anymore. In the past, they would leave early in the morning to walk three kilometres to the nearest water point at a school. Once there, they stood in line for hours. They came home to find husbands irate with hunger because lunch hadn’t been prepared yet and suspicious of their wives’ whereabouts. Violence ensued.

“This facility is encouraging our husbands to love us more,” says one woman.

The fact that lack of water close by leads to domestic violence was no surprise to me, having seen in other countries how water scarcity affects practically every aspects of domestic life. Yet this situation seemed particularly egregious.

“Why,” I question with the boldness of the naïve, “do the men not believe their wives when they say it takes half a day to get water?”

At this point, the pace of the conversation picks up. There is some back and forth between the men and the women. The rest of us wait impatiently for the translation.

Meeting with men, Photo: CARE 2010

As I understand it, the men’s viewpoint boils down to this: collecting water is a woman’s burden to shoulder. One of the men goes as far as to say that he paid a bride price for his wife and the issue of going to verify how long it takes to get water is none of his business, she must work. A woman counters that she finds the issue of bride price insulting.

The situation in Akodokodoi village is by no means typical. But it’s far from unusual. It was proof to me that water is not a neutral issue but rather a deeply gendered and political one. Women get stuck with the burden of collecting it, a matter in which they have little choice. Women are usually left out of decisions about how water is used and accessed, particularly when it is used for productive purposes like agriculture.

Access to safe water reduces death from diarrhoeal disease, helps keep children in school and frees up time that can be spent making a living. But this only temporarily ameliorates some of the unfairness to women and girls. If water scarcity increases once again, girls will be the first ones to be pulled out of school to search for water while their brothers remain undisturbed.

What are the implications for development organisations, donors, governments and other actors who promote, advocate and directly implement interventions that increase access to safe water and sanitation? If providing access to safe water and sanitation puts us at the nexus of power and prejudice it also gives us an open door into changing and challenging cultural and institutional norms that perpetuate inequity. Doing so not only improves the effectiveness of the programmes, as we’ve seen from direct experience in projects that prioritise women’s involvement, but also has far-reaching repercussions, as these norms are also at the heart of many other poverty and social justice issues.

Willing to challenge the status quo?

For development organisations, what if one of our criteria for selecting communities to assist with water access was whether they would be willing to challenge the status quo, having men and boys help with water collection responsibilities? What if policy makers prioritised women’s control and ownership of water and land as an important issue as their right to an education? What if councils and watershed management bodies actively sought the participation of women in decision-making bodies, realising that men and women think about and use water in very different ways? What if donors supported smarter policies towards the provision of water and sanitation?

After its heated turn, the conversation in Akodokodoi village flowed to other testimonies of what a critical difference the water point made for the community. But I was most moved by the early words of those women who were not afraid to speak the truth. Let’s act with the same boldness.

One of the prize winning field stories in the Source stories contest.

Malaika Wright, Learning and Communications Officer, CARE USA Water Team

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