Tanzanian Tales IV: Water is Life

There is a steady rain falling outside. It is early morning and therefore an unusual time for the rain to fall. Generally, we get rain in the evening and at night here. The downpour interrupts both our television satellite service and our microwave connections to email and internet. I walk through the house making note of places where the ceiling leaks and carefully watch where I put my feet. Both dangerous and benign (but still large) creatures tend to seek higher ground as their own homes are flooded outside. But I am by no means complaining. In fact, the sound of rain drumming on the roof and even dripping through onto the ceiling and floors inside gives my heart peace and raises my spirit with hope. I say let the rain fall and keep falling.

We are stationed in the heart of a region that has experienced severe drought this year. Here at Mwadui, the rain that has fallen since the wet season that was due to start in November is not even the amount that they usually expect to fall over a week. This is not a disaster that strikes quickly but it is as cataclysmic as a flood. We are witnessing the daily deterioration of the people and their economy knowing all the while that the mine’s continued operations and therefore our posting also rely on significant amounts of water being available to the process of separating diamonds from tonnes of dirt.

It began late in the dry season. More and more cattle, sheep and goat herders were allowing their charges to stray into the mine area to graze on the (more) abundant fodder available here. The mine is probably one of the only diamond mines in the world whose area is not protected by a perimeter fence. However, the demarcation of mine property vs. outside is clearly distinguished by the presence of trees on the inside and almost none but small scrub, the odd mango tree and the mighty baobab (unsuitable for fuel wood) on the outside. If anyone needs convincing of the importance of trees to the ecosystem and especially their cooling and moisture retaining qualities, I would strongly encourage them to visit places in Africa where trees are protected and compare these to their neighbouring areas that have been stripped of trees.



As time has progressed, the demarcation between mine area and the outside has become hotter, dustier and more barren looking by the day. Fields that were prepared for planting when the first rains began sit idle, their earth mounds turning to dust. A steady stream of enterprising cyclists can been seen riding between Mwadui’s Songwa Dam and Maganzu township about 10km from the mine. These men have strapped as many as four 20litre containers to their bikes which they fill with dam water to sell to the residents of the township. All the closer sources of water have dried up. The aforementioned herders have come from ever farther away to bring their animals to food and water. At least five cows have died on the mine property, too exhausted from their dry walk to take advantage of the nourishment available. Sadly, their erstwhile companions in the herd are used to drag the carcasses out of the mine area.



Another sign of slowly advancing disaster is the water level in the mine’s dams. This is a particularly dry part of Tanzania. We have been in the habit of visiting three of the dams that were constructed in the mine area to supply the town of Mwadui in addition to the water requirements for the mining process. During Williamson’s time, Songwa Dam (dam in this instance means man-made lake or reservoir) was turned into a recreation area with the addition of a sailing club complete with club house, boats, imported water fowl and fish. In each location, one can walk out into the basin of the dam quite some distance. Dam walls that should be barely containing the deluge of water are exposed and dry. The dam overflows and natural wash aways or seasonal rivers that would normally be running with water at this time are dry with well trodden footpaths running through them towards the puddles that remain inside the dams themselves. The flocks of migratory birds that come to enjoy the usual seasonal abundance of water are here. We’ve seen flocks of spoonbills, open billed storks, ducks and geese of several varieties and, ironically, so-called “rain birds” a type of stork that comes with the rainy season. Unfortunately, their picturesque presence standing in the centre of the Alamasi Dam is a sign of the times – the water barely comes up to their knees. Their numbers put the water purification systems to the test as they can be seen to contaminate the little supplies we have left.

In the wider picture, the newspapers and television news are full of ominous stories. Power cuts will soon be more prolonged and frequent due to the reduced capacity of the hydro turbines that power the national grid. Without power and water the rest of the struggling industry in this poor country will be under more strain. Animals in the national parks are dying due to lack of water, putting tourist dollars at risk. Even the route of the great migration of wildebeest and zebra has been affected. The herds are off course, gathering and staying at water points that are not usually on their itinerary and competing with human communities for water supplies. Animals are going longer between these oases and the less hardy are suffering and dying. To some this is a tragedy, to others it is a part of a natural cycle. If blame is to be apportioned, deforestation often appears at the top of the list, followed by global warming and the continued effects of the ElNino/ElNina weather pattern.

It is not only Tanzania that is suffering this drought. It appears to be a regional phenomenon, affecting the micro and macro economics of countries and the entire region. It is two weeks since I began writing this missive. We have had no rain since the glorious shower that inspired me to begin writing in the first place. Almost daily, the wind rises, clouds gather and thunder rumbles promisingly but nothing falls. The people here, like their fellow subsistence farmers in Malawi and in Uganda seem to prefer not to discuss the rain, or when it might come. They are stoic, literally going the extra distance to water livestock and fulfill their meager household needs until it falls and then they rejoice in the relief it brings.