It is a Monday morning, my Grade 2 son needs to bath before going to school, but my tap has been dry for five days. I grab my car keys and drive off to a friend’s house 5 kilometres away from my residence.
Luckily this time the queue at the borehole is not very long.
I think back on how it used to be, when life in the city meant a life free from the burden of rural challenges, where people expect to walk for miles to fetch water. Now I ask myself what is the difference between me, a Highlands Harare rate paying resident and my mother who lives in the rural areas and who also depends on borehole water?
Because I am a close friend of the borehole owner I am given the chance to skip the queue to fetch water.
To avoid the drama of having to run around for water, I have now made it a habit to carry with me water containers in my car to work and I fill them on my way home. Usually this prevents me from having to wake up early and look for the precious liquid, usually from my friend.
Yet, I receive water bills every month from the authorities demanding huge sums of money despite spending most days without water. I have never seen the municipal worker whose job it is to take water metre readings at my house, but I continue receiving water bills, all based on their unfounded predictions.
I am ashamed to say that when I see my children visiting the toilet and using the rationed water I have carried, I get angry. It pains me to tell them that they should not waste water, not because we are water conservers but because of its scarcity.