Introductions

Enqua’e beselam terakhebna! Peace and welcome!

I am excited to explore East African water politics with you in these upcoming reflections!

I grew up in Ethiopia and the UK, which is an enlightening upbringing that has shaped my way of thinking. In the UK, like most people, I had access to potable water from a tap in my home. In Ethiopia, the situation was quite different. While I lived in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, daily access to water was not guaranteed. In the first neighbourhood I lived in, electricity would be cut off every evening at around 6pm and water would be cut from our taps for weeks at a time. One distinct memory I have of this experience was when I was at a clinic getting stitches in my injured knee. Power went off as the doctor was doing my stitches. Without hesitating, the doctor grabbed a head torch from his pocket and exclaimed “This is Africa”, as he continued sewing. 

Evidently, powercuts are occurrences that most people can equip for. However, water cuts are much more difficult to prepare for. Privileged families and institutions had water deposits to store water in anticipation of water cuts. Equally, wealthier parts of the city, such as the second neighbourhood I moved to, had fewer power and water cuts; In Addis, social class clearly determines who is entitled to electricity and water. Moreover, while the majority of people have access to a mobile phone torch or candle to deal first-hand with powercuts, few can say the same for water. Sewage and water infrastructures are unable to keep up with Addis’ rapid population growth and industrialisation, meaning the majority of people live without access to stable and clean water services. Moreover, unsafe WASH, which often results from contamination of faecal waste, proves detrimental to residents’ health. Returning to my time at the clinic, had there been no water instead of electricity, the hygiene situation would have likely been much more complicated. The times I learnt the impacts of water stress and contamination most, were on visits to Tigray (an arid region in northern Ethiopia). We would fill a bucket or jerry-can to bathe with minimal water, using the rest for drinking and domestic purposes.

Tigray's arid landscape (taken in late February on my last visit there)

Me in Mekelle (Tigray) taking a bath

Much of Tigray’s water is fecally contaminated making it unsafe to drink but most people drink it because it is the only option. However, the consequences with regards to water borne illnesses such as E.Coli, are significant and especially harmful to children. Disinfection (eg. Chlorination, solar disinfection) and maintenance of water services is improving, but decisions for these are deeply political and economically driven, as will be explored in these upcoming reflections.

I chose to take this class with the aim of making sense of of my own observations and experiences, drawing from the pre-existing research in sustainability and equitable water access in the African continent. Too often, western media and organisations paint Africa as a barren place grappling with perennial state of famine, drought and calamity. Simplistic solutions are sometimes proposed as though the water problems of the continent's 1.4 billion people can be solved with donations to distribute water bottles to children and build wells. In addition to raising false hopes and spreading damaging narratives regarding the African continent, these  “solutions” overlook the underlying reason for water stress in Africa: politics. In these coming months, I hope to explore some of the political drivers of water inequality in Eastern Africa, and specifically how ethnic politics determines who is entitled to water services and who is denied this right. While I will draw from news and literature from across East Africa, I hope to focus on the role that politics plays in water access for the Maasai people in Kenya/Tanzania, as well as the Tigrayan people in Ethiopia.

Until next time.