Solidarity at the watering hole

“Don’t let a good crisis go to waste” is what one of my good friends likes to say when I’m going through one of them. And let it be said, they are not infrequent! Now, as I find myself in the midst of a crisis that could turn the city I live in to chaos, I wonder if there could be any better opportunity to test this philosophy.

I have been reading countless accounts of people reflecting on the water situation, providing suggestions, debating the reasons why, how and when it might have been avoided, and describing the technology expected to save us from complete obliteration. All of it has been incredibly useful, particularly these concrete tips to build community and how in the next few weeks we can really support each other.

Yet I am struggling to connect with my own ability to see the silver lining and, most dishearteningly, to bring up the best of my humanity.

In the past few days, I have watched myself being less than kind to others around me — or at least not as nice as I know I can be. For instance, on Friday last week, I got home after work to follow through what has now become normal procedure: fill up bottles from the water point our building has made available for non-drinking water. A neighbour in front of me said: “Isn’t it funny we are having to queue for water already?” If I hadn’t been reading the many stories of people all over Cape Town going through this process the entire week, I might have found some humour in her statement. Alas, I simply couldn’t laugh, let alone respond with a funny line of any sort. I didn’t say anything mean but am sure I could have at least smiled and, though I did wish her a good evening, I knew I had already broken the spell of this neighbourly opportunity to build something positive on what was visibly mutual anxiety.

A few days later, in a restaurant bathroom, the woman at the basin next to me made a comment about how guilty she felt about washing hands. Then she proceeded to move away from the tap, leaving it dripping. My immediate reaction was to lash back at her with: “Well, the least you could do is close the tab properly.” It was too late when I tried to soften the response as she walked off. I am unsure what she thought but I am certain that somewhere in her mind she wondered, as I did probably right at the same time: is this crisis going to bring our the worst in us?

It’s already happening. From the reported fights breaking out at shopping centres and water holes to the perennially antagonistic social media platforms, there is a general sense of tension and apprehension in the air. In a city like Cape Town, infamous for its unfriendliness, this might not seem surprising. In fact, it’s a big part of what, in my mind, explains the lack of solidarity that has characterised the city all along. But what dawned on me this weekend is that the buck stops with me. My experience of an unfriendly city has also fuelled my attitude towards those around me. Will the water crisis thicken that barrier or will it help us liberate ourselves from it?

I am trying to think of ways to be constructive, some of them simple, like using the platform that my organisation provides to connect with others to encourage interaction and exchange and propagate useful information. At a personal level, I have shaved my head because it seemed like a straightforward way to cut down my water use. What I wish for the most, however, is a magic formula to contribute to the pool of optimism that I have clearly overdrawn from in the past few days.

And so, while I continue to fill up bottles of ground water at the bottom of my building, I wonder where the source is to replenish the collective good will and solidarity I believe exists innately in us, because even in Cape Town, we are simply humans going through a crisis.