“Mi can have one bucket a watah?”
She’s at the bottom of the steps, bucket placed by the spigot, ragged little kids in tow. The kids were a calculated move.
Water is on everyone’s mind in Jamaica, which seems odd. Everywhere you turn, lush green meets the eye.
It rains here in St Ann if not everyday, then a few times a week, with enough rain falling in an afternoon or evening to fill a large container. Lots of households do have catchment systems in place, and throughout the island, you can see large concrete triangles paved onto hillsides to collect large amounts of rainwater. There’s one such public catchement system right “down di road so”, I can see it from my back stoop. Which is what is making me so “vexed”, as Sister Betty, my landlady would say.

I share a comfortable home with an older woman. We are fortunate to have plenty (most of the time, but I’ll get to that) of running water. It may not run like I’m used to- water pressure in the shower is non-existant and all water in the kitchen needs to be hauled in from outside- but still, we don’t usually have to worry too much about where our cooking or drinking water comes from.

Water is a political situation in Jamaica. It is everywhere, but not always easily available. Who has it piped, and who doesn’t, can deeply divide communities and drive local politics. The first time I went to the home of someone who had no running water was a shock. Especially here in Jamaica, which superficially seems to be fairly developed. In Claremont, at least in my neighborhood, most people do not seem to worry about the availability of their water.

Our situation is pretty typical of our community, but like most communities in Jamaica, there are vast discrepancies between the sort-of haves and the really-have-naughts. Most houses along our little lane are similar to ours, solid, “normal” houses strongly built of concrete, with porches, glass windows, indoor plumbing and multiple rooms. Middle class houses that would not be out of place in Ohio, Arizona, California.

There are a few notable exceptions. One such exception likes to wait until Sister Betty is gone to take advantage of my naivite. To make things more complicated, she’s the mother of a student of mine, and their tiny wooded slatted house is across the lane. This is not the first time she’s come “a beg watah”. And its not the first time she’s tried to use me.

“My mother wants to know if yuh kin give mi $100 (about a dollar) fi lunch today and she kin pay yuh back tomorrow.” Right. Sorry, but no.
Yesterday, knowing Sister Betty was in town, she came around, asking for water so “mi peckney dem kin bathe”. One bucket, I said, really uncomfortable. One bucket, apparently, filled 4 times.
When Sister Betty returned, I explained what had happened, and asked her advice on what to do.
“You say, no,” She said, stirring her soup. “You say ‘I can’t give out water if Miss Betty isn’t here. She can get water from the public catchement. Or she can put out buckets for rainwater. But watch her, now. She’ll beg a bucket and sneak two. And she only comes here to ask you because she knows I’m gone.”

That is why I am so “vex” this afternoon. Because it’s not as though the water isn’t available for the public. Yes, it’s a bit of a longer walk, but no one else on our lane come “a beg watah.” Or “tief” it. No one else on our lane asks me for lunch money for their kids, or if they can have Sister Betty’s laundry soap. It’s just that it’s assumed that I will give her anything, not only because I’m a white lady from “a farin” ( foreign, or overseas), but because her oldest is my student “down a school”. Yes, I do work with her child. But that is all I can, all I will do. It is not appropriate for me to step in financially. If I do it for one family, how can I say no to the other children who need assistance (and there are many)? I’m not the first Peace Corps Volunteer to be in this situation, nor will I be the last.

The most unfortunate aspect to this is that the community ends up resenting her deeply. Everyone has worked hard for what they have, and when she comes “a beg”, what, if any, is given, is handed out begrudgingly. I worry about the kids, who as they get older, become aware of how their family is perceived. That’s no way to grow up, and I see the direct effects every morning in the classroom.

So as much as it hurts to look into two pairs of very young, very big, very brown eyes and say “I’m sorry, but I can’t let anyone take water when Sister Betty is not at home”, I do. And she picks up the bucket, the little boy and girl following her down the hill to the next house.