Water warriors: Ten hours, five jerrycans, zero choice and the price Marsabit women pay
Halima Bonaya (Left) and Tume Abata fetch water at one of the Jaldesa shallow wells in Marsabit County on December 12, 2024.
What you need to know:
- These women sacrifice productive hours walking for water, forcing them to choose between farming and fetching this essential resource that takes up 40 per cent of their day.
- The harsh realities of life in Marsabit County, a semi-arid region, are shaped by recurring droughts.
In the misty dawn of Jillo Jaldesa, Marsabit County, a group of women make their way through the morning air, empty jerrycans in hand. Their quick footsteps mark a daily race against time, as they hurry to fetch water before the gentle morning gives way to the harsh semi-arid sun.
At the shallow well, the routine unfolds with quiet efficiency. A Form Three student, at home for the holidays, climbs down into the well. She draws water with practised movements, passing each container up to an older woman waiting above. Like many of her peers during the school break, she has taken up this essential task that helps sustain her family.
The women work steadily until their containers are full. Using their lesos, they secure the heavy jerrycans to their backs, the traditional cloth wraps providing crucial support around their necks and shoulders. Then begins the careful journey home, each woman finding her pace under the weight of the water.
Halima Bonaya is among them, preparing for her hour-long trek back to her house. The mother of five knows this journey intimately – it's one she makes multiple times a week to provide water for cooking, washing, and other household needs.
Clean water
“We come here early and quickly because we need clean water, and there are always other duties waiting at home,” Halima explains.
“If I spend too much time here, I'll only manage to fetch one container before the sun becomes too intense. And one jerrycan is never enough for my family's daily needs.”
The shallow well where Halima and her neighbours gather is alive with activity, its surface dotted with green water lilies – a small oasis in this drought-prone landscape. For Halima, who has spent her entire life in this village, from birth through marriage, shallow wells have been constant companions in her daily routine.
She recalls harder times, when water meant a gruelling 25-kilometre journey. Even this well, which she now considers relatively close to home, once demanded hours of her day.
Patience
Women from the Jaldesa community would form long queues, their wait stretching endlessly under the sun. During the dry seasons, when water levels dropped, their patience was tested even further.
“We would arrive at dawn full of hope,” Halima tells the Voice, “but the water flow was so minimal. Sometimes we would stand here until evening, only to return home empty-handed, with no water to cook for our children.”
About a hundred metres from where Halima draws water stands a gabion – a water catchment structure built two years ago to harvest rainwater. While it stands dry today, its impact on the surrounding shallow wells is clear.
From left: Dubo Guyo Barfata, Tume Abata, Tom Nyongesa Juma and Liban Denge Jillo during the interview at Jaldesa, Marsabit County, on December 12, 2024.
Even in what should be a low-water period, the wells are brimming with water, a testament to the gabion's effectiveness in preserving the precious resource underground. “The abundance of water has transformed our lives,” Halima says, a smile crossing her face as she hoists a 20-litre jerrycan onto her back.
She quickens her pace to catch up with the other women, knowing that today, unlike in years past, her family's water needs will be met. “We even have rainwater stored at home now, which we keep specially for drinking because of its purity.”
Despite the gabion's benefits for the Jaldesa community, Halima finds herself caught in a difficult balance between water collection and other responsibilities. Her voice carries a note of frustration as she describes her unused farmland.
“We have fertile land here in our village, but I spend most of my day carrying water instead of farming,” she explains. “We end up buying food from the markets when I could be growing our own. By the time I reach my farm in the evening, I can only spare a few minutes before darkness falls.”
Her daily routine is a testament to the persistent challenge of water access: five jerrycans of water, each requiring a two-hour round trip, consuming 10 precious hours of her day. Like other women in Jaldesa, she has learnt to live with this burden, though it never becomes easier.
When evening arrives, exhaustion settles deep in her bones. But true rest remains elusive – before she can fully recover, her phone alarm signals the start of another day. She rises in the dark, collects her empty containers, and begins the familiar journey to the shallow well once again.
“Waiting for the birds to wake me isn't an option,” Halima says. “No matter how tired or sleepy I feel, I must get up and go.”
The early morning darkness brings its own concerns. The shallow wells, dug along the Jaldesa seasonal riverbed stretching from Marsabit forest, pose risks beyond just the physical strain of water collection.
Though Halima hasn't experienced assault herself, safety remains a constant worry. It's why the women have developed their own protection system, travelling in groups to support and safeguard one another during these vital but vulnerable journeys.
“A single jerrycan is barely enough for my family needs,” Halima explains, “yet I spend so much time collecting water that I can hardly tend my farm or care for my livestock – they all need my attention too.”
Quality
The race against time carries another urgency: water quality. Halima must begin her water collection before the livestock arrive at the well.
The animals drink from a makeshift basin, an extension of the main well, but their presence inevitably affects the water’s cleanliness. When shepherds bring their herds, the process becomes rushed and messy.
“Once the men bring their livestock, everything changes,” she tells the Voice. “The water level drops, and it becomes contaminated when they step into it with their dirty feet. From dawn until afternoon, my life revolves around this single task – fetching water.”
As a mother with children in school and a small herd of goats, Halima has developed her own financial strategy. She occasionally sells a goat to cover school fees, but knowing she can't rely on livestock sales alone, she's joined a women’s savings group. The 50-member group meets at 3pm every Tuesday, offering a crucial financial safety net. Yet even this lifeline is affected by her water-collecting duties.
Ten hours
“By the time I reach our afternoon meetings, I've already spent 10 hours carrying water,” Halima says. “I arrive exhausted, but I can't miss these meetings. This group is where we save our money, earn interest, and can borrow funds when emergencies arise. My presence is mandatory.”
The harsh realities of life in Marsabit, a semi-arid county, are shaped by recurring droughts. The Jaldesa Water Resource Users Association (WRUA) emerged from one such crisis – the severe drought of 2017 that pushed the community to organise for better water management.
“That year, the water levels dropped so low that people were reduced to filling their containers with cups,” recalls Tume Abata, WRUA's treasurer. “Today, the situation is dramatically different. Even during dry spells, our community has reliable access to water.”
But for women like Halima, water collection carries risks beyond just the physical strain. During dry seasons, the desperate search for water isn't limited to humans alone.
“When drought hits, elephants migrate through our area searching for water,” explains Liban Denge, the WRUA secretary. “This puts our women at serious risk of wildlife encounters during their water-gathering trips.”
He pauses before adding, “Then during the rainy season, we face the opposite challenge – devastating floods.”
Beneficiaries
The Jaldesa WRUA has taken on a vital role in managing these extremes, working to improve both water quality and quantity while promoting conservation throughout the catchment area.
Their work benefits a significant population: 42 shallow wells across the Jaldesa sub-catchment serve more than 42,000 people and their livestock.
The community’s 42 shallow wells operate under a careful management system. Rather than accessing all wells simultaneously, the community strategically rotates which ones are open each season. This thoughtful approach, combined with natural underground recharge, ensures water availability even during the dry months.
“When water is scarce, women suffer the most,” Tume tells the Voice. “During droughts, they must wait until after the livestock have finished drinking before they can collect water. A woman who comes needing water for cooking or washing clothes must simply wait.”
While the gabion’s construction has largely solved the water shortage, providing enough for both domestic use and livestock, Tume acknowledges that distance remains a significant burden for women like Halima.
“These women have no other water sources,” she explains.
“They can only catch and store rainwater when it falls, which they preserve for drinking. For everything else – cooking, washing, cleaning – they depend entirely on these shallow wells.”
The wells serve multiple purposes in the community. In Dub Gindole village, Tumme Golicha, a mother of eight who has called this area home for 15 years uses the water not only for household needs but also to irrigate her kitchen garden.
We find Tumme Golicha on her farm, about 500 metres from the shallow wells, tending her maize plantation. The past two years have brought welcome rains, allowing her to plant for two consecutive seasons.
However, her farm's success remains at the mercy of rainfall patterns, and during dry spells, her family must rely on market-bought food from her husband – a supply that often falls short of their needs.
Like other small-scale farmers in the area, Golicha works with two primary planting seasons – April and December. But good harvests of her maize, beans, cowpeas, and green grams are never guaranteed in this region of unpredictable rainfall. This uncertainty led her to establish a kitchen garden, sustained by water from the shallow wells.
“The shallow wells have become my safety net,” Golicha tells the Voice. “During droughts, my kitchen garden becomes our lifeline. When I can combine these vegetables with the maize flour my husband brings, we manage to keep food on the table.”
Unlike Halima, Golicha's proximity to the water source – a mere 20-minute walk – allows her to balance her farming duties with water collection. Though she still fetches five jerrycans daily, the shorter distance means she can dedicate more time to her fields. Yet even this more manageable arrangement doesn't fully meet her combined household and irrigation needs.
“Farming here, where rain is so unpredictable, requires constant adaptation,” she explains. “Sometimes I prepare the land for planting, but the rains either come late or arrive when I don't have seeds ready.”
Despite Marsabit County's drought-prone nature, residents like Golicha have welcomed recent rainfall. During our December interview, just after the rains, her optimism is evident as she surveys her growing crops.
“The rain brings such relief,” she says, looking over her farm. “I don't have to irrigate my kitchen garden now, and I'm hopeful for a good harvest by the end of February – enough to feed my family properly.”
The presence of water in more than 40 shallow wells across Jaldesa marks a significant achievement in a region where water access is a persistent challenge.
Transformation
George Ralak, the Water, Sanitation, and Hygiene Technical Adviser for the Rappid+ project in Marsabit, notes that the gabion's construction has transformed life for community members like Halima, providing water for multiple purposes – from irrigation to livestock needs and domestic use.
“The gabions have done more than just store water – they've helped prevent conflict,” Ralak explains.
“The community has embraced their role as stewards of this resource, understanding that the water belongs not to any single person or group, but to everyone.”
The structure serves as a silent but effective guardian of this precious resource. During rainy seasons, it captures flood water that would otherwise be lost, allowing it to slowly seep into the ground and replenish the shallow wells. This natural recharge system ensures that women like Halima can access water even as the seasons turn from wet to dry.
It's a story of transformation – from the desperate days of using cups to collect water in 2017, to today's more reliable supply. Yet for Halima and many others, each dawn still brings the same journey to the wells. The distance remains unchanged, but now they walk with the certainty that water awaits at the end of their path.