Walking Water

Today I woke up early at 6:30 and went to Rocky Nook Park, which is about a mile from my school. On my back was an empty five gallon paint bucket. 

I reached down to take off my shoes. My classmates around me were doing the same. Then I went to a water spigot and filled my bucket to the top. 

I set my bucket down and saw some of my friends heading over to a nearby creek. I ran over to join them.

We spent a while jumping from rock to rock and hanging out by the creek bed. I suddenly felt sad. Kids in Africa don't have this creek to play in, I thought. 

It was wednesday, May ninth, and the 6th and 7th grade of my school were meeting at a park. We would carry water filled containers to our school, and some of us would be barefoot. We wanted to know what it feels like to be in a poorer country where you have to carry water home from a well to stay alive.

We grouped up to set off for school. I snapped a lid on my bucket and strapped it to my head, and I  started walking towards school. Within the first few steps, my feet were already hurting. The hot asphalt burned my feet and shattered glass and oak leaves were cutting into my toes. A few steps later my head was aching. The strap was cutting into my forehead and my shoulders were screaming. I stumbled and a big splash of water spilled down my back. I thought of how I would have to go back to get more water if I was an African child getting water for his family. I was glad I wasn't in that situation. 

The flat path started to curve upward. Soon we were trudging up to APS, a road on the top of the hill we were at the base of.

I stumbled along, trying not to let my water spill, trying not to stub my toes, trying not to let the pain of my strap make me give up. I stepped on a piece of sharp glass and winced as I pulled it out of my foot. I looked around. The sidewalk was littered with glass. It disgusted me that people could be so careless. 

The only thing that made me go on was the thought that it would be over soon. 

At last, I saw my school's driveway. I was so excited. I burst out in a sprint and ran the rest of the way. I threw my bucket down and put my shoes back on. Then I got an otter pop and sat on a bench enjoying the weight off of my back.

I happily thought that it was over.

But then I realized it wasn't over for everyone.

All around the world, girls my age, older, and even younger were only a quarter of the way done with their walk.

The water they collected was contaminated with germs and mud and life threatening diseases. 

Their path was littered with sharp thorns, wild animals, and threatening people.

Their walk would not end at school. It would end right back at home, and they would go to bed.

Then they would wake up again the next morning. 

And do the whole thing over again.

Every day of their lives, they would be carrying water. 

Dirty water.

On a dangerous road. 

They would be lucky if they didn't die before they got too old to carry water. 

It wasn't fair that us Americans could turn a faucet and get crystal clean water without thinking twice. 

That we dump water out like it is useless.

That we get almost unlimited resources while other countries fight over the simplest of needs. 

That we just throw glass bottles out the window without worrying about who could step on it.