Fetching Water, Bird Narcissism, and Paneer
Oh my God I fetched water today and I never want to do it again. I don’t mean I walked 25 yards to the tap at the headmaster’s house, where I usually get water for cooking and washing.
I had paid the village Water Guy, an old man who fetches water from a spring and hauls it around to various shops in the trading center for 10 shillings per jerry can, to bring some water to my shamba. (Apparently if you are a man who hauls water for a living, or sews clothes for a living, or cooks food at a hoteli for a living, you are not doing woman’s work, you are just earning a respectable living.)
My neighbor Ben made endless fun of me that evening when he heard I had hired someone to fetch water instead of doing it myself.
“There’s a spring right next to your shamba,” he said. “Why don’t you just fetch the water yourself and save 40 shillings? It’s the African way.”
Today I asked one of the shamba boys on the school compound to show me where this spring was. He took me through the forest, past the pineapple fields, and down a steep hill into another rainforest. There was a little spring at the bottom of the valley, and he helped me fill three 20-liter buckets with water. The spring was only about 200 yards away but it took me 15 minutes to haul one bucket back up the hill, past the pineapple fields, through the other forest, and back to my shamba. At first I tried to put the bucket on my head but it was too heavy to lift. It was only after I’d spilled half of it on myself that it was light enough to lift as high as my head. The shamba boy waited patiently for me each time I stopped to rest, which was every 25 yards. And he was carrying TWO buckets, but not on his head because he’s a man and men don’t carry things on their heads.
I don’t know how Kenyan women do it. Most people in my village still get their water straight from the source, a natural spring or a river, instead of from a tap or a tank where water is piped to. This means they have to descend into a valley, and then scramble back up with all that water, no easy feat during rainy season when hillsides are muddy, or during dry season when hillsides are sandy and loose. These women are fetching water for an entire family – a conservative estimate is five people per family, but ten is more accurate. They must be doing what I did today, but ten times daily.
When I got back to my house I told Ben that I had taken his advice and fetched water from the spring.
“And how did you see it?” he asked.
“I can’t believe women do this all the time, everyday,” I said, back on my crusade for gender equality. “It’s such a burden. You need to start helping your wives and sisters.”
“No, men can’t fetch water,” he said, laughing. “It’s for women.”
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There are two brown finches that have been visiting me each morning on my window sill. Or at least that’s what I thought they were doing, because everything revolves around me. I discovered that they’re just enamored with their own reflections in the window, and if they see my big looming figure moving around inside my house, they fly away. But love – and self-love – transcends all barriers, including fear and the self-preservation instinct, and 30 seconds later they are back, chirping and twittering and tapping at the window.
Suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
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My formerly cheeseless life is now filled with paneer! It’s so easy to make, and delicious sauteed in oil and salt. It even squeaks like cheese curds! The only problem is you only get a small chunk of cheese from a lot of milk. I used two cups of whole milk and got a little ball half the size of my fist.
Here’s how: Bring whole milk to a boil. I don’t know if this step is for Peace Corps volunteers who get milk straight from a cow, or if you need to do this in the States, too. Remove from heat. Add a few tablespoons of vinegar or lemon juice. The milk will separate into chunks of white solid and a yellowish liquid. Stir gently. Put a bandana or other thin cloth into a colander. Sieve the milk through the cloth. The white chunks are your cheese. Wrap the cheese by gathering up the sides of the cloth around it. Squeeze out the excess water from the cheese. Put the cheese, still wrapped in the cloth, back into the colander and set a heavy weight on top. This will help squeeze out more water. Leave for 15 minutes to 12 hours depending on how hard you want the cheese to be.
I had paid the village Water Guy, an old man who fetches water from a spring and hauls it around to various shops in the trading center for 10 shillings per jerry can, to bring some water to my shamba. (Apparently if you are a man who hauls water for a living, or sews clothes for a living, or cooks food at a hoteli for a living, you are not doing woman’s work, you are just earning a respectable living.)
My neighbor Ben made endless fun of me that evening when he heard I had hired someone to fetch water instead of doing it myself.
“There’s a spring right next to your shamba,” he said. “Why don’t you just fetch the water yourself and save 40 shillings? It’s the African way.”
Today I asked one of the shamba boys on the school compound to show me where this spring was. He took me through the forest, past the pineapple fields, and down a steep hill into another rainforest. There was a little spring at the bottom of the valley, and he helped me fill three 20-liter buckets with water. The spring was only about 200 yards away but it took me 15 minutes to haul one bucket back up the hill, past the pineapple fields, through the other forest, and back to my shamba. At first I tried to put the bucket on my head but it was too heavy to lift. It was only after I’d spilled half of it on myself that it was light enough to lift as high as my head. The shamba boy waited patiently for me each time I stopped to rest, which was every 25 yards. And he was carrying TWO buckets, but not on his head because he’s a man and men don’t carry things on their heads.
I don’t know how Kenyan women do it. Most people in my village still get their water straight from the source, a natural spring or a river, instead of from a tap or a tank where water is piped to. This means they have to descend into a valley, and then scramble back up with all that water, no easy feat during rainy season when hillsides are muddy, or during dry season when hillsides are sandy and loose. These women are fetching water for an entire family – a conservative estimate is five people per family, but ten is more accurate. They must be doing what I did today, but ten times daily.
When I got back to my house I told Ben that I had taken his advice and fetched water from the spring.
“And how did you see it?” he asked.
“I can’t believe women do this all the time, everyday,” I said, back on my crusade for gender equality. “It’s such a burden. You need to start helping your wives and sisters.”
“No, men can’t fetch water,” he said, laughing. “It’s for women.”
-----------
There are two brown finches that have been visiting me each morning on my window sill. Or at least that’s what I thought they were doing, because everything revolves around me. I discovered that they’re just enamored with their own reflections in the window, and if they see my big looming figure moving around inside my house, they fly away. But love – and self-love – transcends all barriers, including fear and the self-preservation instinct, and 30 seconds later they are back, chirping and twittering and tapping at the window.
Suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
-----------
My formerly cheeseless life is now filled with paneer! It’s so easy to make, and delicious sauteed in oil and salt. It even squeaks like cheese curds! The only problem is you only get a small chunk of cheese from a lot of milk. I used two cups of whole milk and got a little ball half the size of my fist.
Here’s how: Bring whole milk to a boil. I don’t know if this step is for Peace Corps volunteers who get milk straight from a cow, or if you need to do this in the States, too. Remove from heat. Add a few tablespoons of vinegar or lemon juice. The milk will separate into chunks of white solid and a yellowish liquid. Stir gently. Put a bandana or other thin cloth into a colander. Sieve the milk through the cloth. The white chunks are your cheese. Wrap the cheese by gathering up the sides of the cloth around it. Squeeze out the excess water from the cheese. Put the cheese, still wrapped in the cloth, back into the colander and set a heavy weight on top. This will help squeeze out more water. Leave for 15 minutes to 12 hours depending on how hard you want the cheese to be.
posted by Justina at 10:39 PM
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