Water of Life...

The first rays of light creep through my curtains and mosquito net, and I open my eyes. Morning has come again. I drift back to sleep for some minutes until I hear the back door opening and my maama calling my sisters to wake up.
Quickly, I push aside my net and roll out of bed. I rub my eyes as I walk down the hall to the bathing room, where I brush my teeth and wash my face. Then, back to my room, where I trade my shorts for a skirt and pull on long sleeves. I head outside, where my youngest sister is waiting for me to walk to the well with her, a few jerry cans in tow.
As we walk the half mile or so, I watch the sun rise and the village begin to awaken. It is quiet today; the power has still not come back on since it went off yesterday.
We arrive at the well around 6:45. Another sister is already there, waiting in the queue of children for our turn to pump. The day has begun.
My thanks to UNICEF for the bore hole well from which we pump every drop of water we use. Each day, my arms and hands grow stronger from pumping. I still cannot fill a full can (I'd guestimate about 3-5 gallons) by myself, but my 12 year old sister and I can fill the 6-8 cans our family brings each morning (the family of Katongole Joseph uses a lot of water!). Once our cans are full, we line them up, then begin the trek home with the first few.
The walk which seems so pleasant in the wee hours of dawn now seems to take much longer, though my pace quickens each day. Last week, half of the pumping and walking to and fro one or two times was about all I could manage before my hands were blistered and I only wanted to lay down. This morning, my sisters have told me I have "much power" - I now walk to and fro twice during their first time.
By 8:00, we have carried home every drop of water that will be used for that day's cooking, bathing, drinking, washing, and cleaning.
Water.
It is necessary for life to exist. It has a sacred place in most every major religion. It is one of the world's natural resources. Some places, it is taken for granted, used in excess, bought and sold, and often, polluted. But here, in Bukoto village, water is not so easy to come by, particularly during the dry season. And already, after only a week, I can no longer drink a single cup without considering the sweat and labor necessary to bring it to me.
Today, it sickens me to consider how much water is wasted every day in my native country. Gallons flushed every time you urinate, drained when you run your 20 minute showers. Watered lawns and sparkling cars. Bottles bought because you don't like the taste of tap water.
Dear America, as you use and abuse water to your heart's content, may you remember your Baganda brothers and sisters, the small ones who trudge to the pump multiple times every day, seekng only the water of life.