Growing up along the pot-holed paths of south Georgetown, we were lucky to find water unpredictably trickling and sputtering from the shared standpipe in the yard. We would rush off to grab all available containers, anxiously await our turn and carefully fill every pail and pot with the essential, if amber-coloured liquid.
In the small upstairs flat, the kitchen sink was attached, as in the old style, outside the twin-timber solid slab Demerara window that hung hinged at the top and generously propped open with an attached stick allowing for the brisk breeze and a broad overview of the backyard.
For years, the setting sun would glint off the bruised brass tap which had long run dry, the tired, rasping gasps of hollow air eventually sputtering into permanent silence as the household’s misplaced hopes of high pressure died, with each enquiring twist. Having lost its ability to “sing” as we called the coughing sounds, the metal pipe corroded into a useless relic to be removed and never replaced.
All vital supplies had to be carried up the wooden stairs that ended with a square landing outside a pair of brilliant blue Dutch doors. One afternoon, just home from school, I hurried off to complete my chores and replenish our stores before the water went and my mother returned, struggling up the stretch of steps with a big bucket, panting as I reached the top. Turning too quickly, I hit a bony elbow on the hard rails and passed out with the pain. Lost and wondering where I was, I slowly came to, lying on the floor, my head pounding from the impact, bruised arms and legs at odd angles, and my entire dress soaked with the precious liquid. Horrified, I struggled up, to discover my bucket in its darker shade of the portal’s hue, upturned and completely empty. Alone, upset and disappointed, I burst into tears.
When the rains did come in a deluge to the thirsty coast after the heavy heat and haze of the dry season, we would race outside, with the desperation of dying desert dwellers, to celebrate, scream and bathe fully clothed under the refreshing rush of cold, clear water thundering in sudden excess, from the galvanised guttering, overwhelmed roof channels and open downpipes. The ubiquitous black plastic storage tanks that now line our properties had not yet made an entrance, and the colonial cisterns and vats had nearly all rotted and disappeared from the exacting tropical landscape. Residential water pumps were unheard of.
The word gutter derives from the Latin “gutta” meaning “a drop, spot or mark.” While I suffered no known long-term effects from the mishap in my birthplace of many waters, I have been forever marked by an irrational fear of lurking bannisters and “singing” faucets to rival stricken sailors lured to the death by sultry sirens.
I worry about drought and drudgery, rhythm and flow, but babble like a brook when I am happy with my pair of hydrophile children. I prefer to kick up a storm, take a rain check and seek silver linings when the dark clouds gather, for in every life there must be at least a little drizzle, preferably a delightful deluge or two. Streaming because my Flow connection is too slow or absent has a whole different meaning in my waterworld where all’s well that ends well. Yet, I am long past the age to publicly indulge in or under leaking spouting without alarming the neighbours.
Like Guyana which is now a “hotbed” of legal and illegal activity and political intrigue, Trinidad is suffering its own version of feeling the heat. With the annual activities leading up to Carnival, revellers are swinging into the popular “wet fetes” but the current intense dry spell may have dampened officials’ enthusiasm for openly wasting potable water, as the rest of the country is ordered to implement immediate conservation measures including restrictions such as a “hose ban.” Since the archaic fines are a paltry TT$75, the parties will no doubt go on until the dawn breaks and the aquifers run dry, although it physically feels like the land is on a steady descent into the burning nether regions, compounded by the ever-rising number of murders, in addition to over 500 last year.
Meanwhile, the country’s policymakers are insisting on the survival of the much-touted Dragon gas deal with the embattled Nicolás Maduro, even as the American Ambassador to Trinidad and Tobago (TT), Joseph Mondello breathed fire and expressed deep concern over the twin islands’ support for the Venezuelan President, declaring, “Democracy and prosperity require tough choices.”
Other Caribbean territories are facing hard times too. The Barbados-based Caribbean Institute for Meteorology and Hydrology (CIMH) warned about the region’s continuing dry spells, pointing to severe shorter-term droughts in areas of Barbados, Hispaniola, Guadeloupe and Martinique, and similar conditions likely as well in islands like Aruba, Bonaire, Curacao and TT.
Rainfall deficits in 2018 have further led to moderate long-term drought in many islands, the Institute said. According to its latest online newsletter, a long-term drought is evolving in Antigua, Cayman Islands, North West Cuba, North Dominican Republic Grenada, Martinique, North East Puerto Rico. The Institute predicted increasing temperatures and greater “heat discomfort from April onwards, with the occurrence of a few heat waves becoming likely, first in Belize and Trinidad and, from July onwards, elsewhere. Temperatures across the region are expected to be warmer than usual. In view of drought relief in affected areas, May to July rainfall may not provide immediate recovery everywhere.”
Last November, a landmark study from Cornell University stressed that climate change is already impacting the Caribbean, with millions facing increasing food insecurity and decreasing freshwater availability as droughts become more likely across the region.
Since 1950, the Caribbean has witnessed a drying trend and scattered multi-year droughts. But the recent Pan-Caribbean drought in 2013-16 was unusually severe, placing 2M people in danger of food insecurity, the University’s report said.
In Haiti, for example, over half of the crops were lost in 2015 due to persistent drought, which pushed about a million people to the brink, while an additional million suffered food shortages throughout the region, according to the United Nations (UN) Office for the Coordination of Human Affairs, the online Science Daily website reported.
Examining climatological data from the 2013-16 Pan-Caribbean drought, so called “anthropogenic warming” – caused by human activity – accounted for a 15 to 17 percent boost of the drought’s severity, hitting key sectors like agriculture and tourism.
By 2025, it is estimated 1.8B people will be living in countries or regions with absolute water scarcity, and two-thirds of the world population could be under stress conditions. Water withdrawals are predicted to increase by half in developing countries, and nearly one fifth in developed countries, UN Water estimates.
Soon we might well have to reconsider the absurdity of proposals to tow icebergs from the poles, as outlined in various schemes. In the 1940s, it was suggested that one be towed to San Diego to quench a Californian drought. In the 1970s, Saudi Prince Mohamed Al-Faisal wanted to haul an Antarctic iceberg across the equator to Saudi Arabia and funded two international conferences on the subject. The European Union received proposals in the 2010s to transport an iceberg from Newfoundland to the Canary Islands, and the latest schemes have emerged from Cape Town, South Africa and the United Arab Emirates – two regions suffering from extreme and persistent water shortages.
ID agrees with her spouse that Guyana is now alight with political fictions, frictions, factions and fractions. Trying to get to the truth is like attempting to nail a drop of water to a wall.
