Water Part 1

I grew up in conditions where water was abundant, only there were several ways to get it. One way is pictured here….the river.

Our outdoor playhouse



Joel and his buddies



Obviously this water wasn´t drinkable, although the people in the village would sometimes drink it, and since they started from a young age, their bellies got used to it. Even though we didn´t use it for hydration, it provided an alternative to TV….endless entertainment! On hot days, laundry days, and bath time, swimsuits couldn´t be donned fast enough. Towels were grabbed (or sometimes not,) and the ¨black bag¨ - the most trademark Hoobyar possession, was snatched up. This contained a bar or soap, small shampoo and conditioner bottles, and a razor. Swinging this happily from our hand, we would make the 10 minute walk to the best river in the world- the Caracana. If it happened to be laundry day, a plastic bucket was perched on my head and all my best friends were summoned, and several other kids would merge into our group along the way.

During dry season, the black rocks would emerge from the river, providing endless games of tag (which Mom would sometimes watch with bated breath, or not watch at all, praying we wouldn´t crack our heads open on the rocks. Amazingly that never happened…our young bodies could calculate the perfect leaps and bounds.) There was a certain pointy rock which was the perfect diving board. We knew (and still know) exactly which underwater spots didn´t have sharp rocks, and aimed accordingly. In rainy season, the river would burst to the seams, and waterfalls would form all over the place. Right after a rain it was pretty wild water, but after a couple days of sun, nothing could beat the fun times we had in that rushing river.

It was usually dusk by the time we were marching on home



Another method of getting water was our well, which was the most frequent. Every day, a grumpy kid would meander out to the well, completing the dreaded chore. If it was especially hot, pulling the wet, swinging bucket up out of the 20-foot deep well brought forth the most mature form of whining. In all honesty, it wasn´t really that hard – it was just mundane. The ¨dailyness¨ of it made it annoying to elementary and junior high kids. Looking back on these memories now that I am an adult (at least that´s what my age tells me), I realize the blessing it was.



Dad being lowered into the well to clean out muddy gunk and fallen objects (shoes, toys, dead pig, etc.) The dead pig was actually when we had been gone for a year and then the water was undrinkable until promptly cleaned by Dad and David. I was 8 when I tried to muster the courage to do the routine cleaning job, and was excited all morning until my head was inches from being inside the well, and I started crying and couldn´t do it. The thought of cockroaches probably did me in.



In part two I will be detailing the water experiences I´ve had here in Peru. Quite different so far.