I lost my camera at the gates of Gaza. I was preoccupied with the street boys who were grabbing at my bags in the back of the taxi. “La, la,” I yelled as I turned to get out, and as I did, the camera fell unnoticed from my lap.
On November 2nd and 3rd 2009 I attempted to enter the Gaza Strip through its only viable border crossing, its Egyptian border to the desert south. Rafah is a border crossing for human traffic; it’s shared by armored personnel carriers and ambulances alike. The border opens sporadically and is guarded by an outpost of armed troops. Sometimes the gates of Gaza open a couple consecutive days a month. Sometimes they open every three months. Since 2007 the Gaza Strip has been under siege, so movement of any kind is strictly limited.
I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on photographs. Their proliferation, their meaning, their worth. Does our reliance on photographs, the assumption they most accurately capture a scene, alter the way we pay attention? What do we notice about a sandstorm or a handshake that in a photo is lost?
There is one image I wish I had captured, though I don’t know how I would have done so even with my camera. It is difficult to capture, in still frame, something as volatile as movement.
In Rafah, these are images of movement: families struggle to walk the meters dividing the loved ones they haven’t seen in years; a line of orange and green ambulances waits days to cross the border; children beg in the streets—for water.
There is one image from the Gaza border crossing I’ll never forget. Perhaps my attention to this image was enhanced because I carried no camera. I knew I would have to etch the moment in my mind with sensation, reaction, emotion. For two days I inscribed the faces of people and the undercurrents of events. Especially the children, I was aware of their impermanence.
During my first day at the Gaza border, I sat through an eight-hour sandstorm. I made slow progress with the border agents. After my second day of waiting, I sat to one side, temporarily defeated, on a cement stoop with two journalists who had likewise been rejected. There was a café behind us that sold strong tea in plastic cups for a single Egyptian Pound. The journalists and I sipped tea as we stared across the road at Egyptian women wrapped in billowing black hijab who sold bottles of olive oil to passersby. Next to these women, a military outpost housed soldiers dressed in riot gear. It was afternoon, and the traffic of people successfully crossing into Gaza was slow.
Then the water truck appeared. We watched as the water tanker, with a wave of blue painted on its side, inched toward the inspection gates. As the truck came to a stop, two young street boys ran to the back of the truck. The children had torn clothes and dirty hands. They were worse than hungry. One of the boys turned a valve and began drinking water that dribbled from the truck’s back hose. When the truck lurched forward, the boys grew frantic. Their desperation was palpable. Despite the armed guards, one boy ran after the truck gulping as quickly as he could water he moved by his hands to his mouth.
Humans build walls for many reasons. The wall surrounding the West Bank snakes and curves, diverging in some places for miles to accommodate Israeli settlements or to choke and isolate Palestinian cities. Every day the wall moves closer to enclosing and fragmenting an island whose land mass is slowly wiped away as if by an encroaching sea.
The sea, forming the west wall of the Gaza Strip, rises as well as it sinks. And seeps. The freshwater aquifer buried under the Gaza Strip has been mined to exhaustion inviting saltwater intrusion. The population of the Gaza Strip, at 1.5 million, is crammed into an area twice the size of DC, making it one of the densest on earth. Gaza’s semi-arid land, large clods of it, are washed away with time, with opposition, and with little recourse.
Freshwater is the most precious natural resource in the Middle East. There is not enough for those living in the West Bank and Gaza Strip. Inhabitants of these islands raise their eyes, their cups, their barrels and their catchment troughs to harvest rain that falls like mercy.
Most water quality problems in the Middle East are a combination of three factors: overpumping aquifers; agricultural runoff; inadequate sewage collection and treatment. All three factors contribute to the Gaza Aquifer’s severely degraded condition.
The Gaza Aquifer is the only significant source of water for the Gaza Strip. Due to both salt and nitrate contamination, fewer than 8% of wells in the Gaza Strip meet World Health Organization drinking standards. Salt in the aquifer is a result of both Mediterranean seawater intrusion and lateral saline inflow from Israeli agriculture. Two recent studies report if no action is taken to repair the water quality of the Gaza Aquifer, then the entire water source, Gaza’s only, will degrade beyond usability in 10 years’ time. These studies were conducted before the recent targeted and widespread devastation that included Gaza’s water and sanitation infrastructure.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Water in an Oasis
It is with salt that the ancient Siwans built their homes. Karshif, a Siwan mud infused with salt, was used to construct homes seven and eight stories high. The salt allows the mud to retain a solid, cement-like structure when dry. It almost never rains heavily or for more than a few hours in the desert oasis of Siwa. When it does, roughly every 50 years, the floods dissolve the salt, and the houses collapse.
“I remember when I lived with my big family—my father, mother, brothers, sisters—one night it rained all night long, and that night my father didn’t sleep at all,” Mahdi Hweity said between long sips of mint tea. As one born and raised in Siwa, educated in Alexandria and positioned to speak to Siwa’s international visitors, Mahdi holds an interesting perspective on the environmental constraints faced by a shifting Siwan population.
Siwa is the northernmost oasis in a string of desert oases from middle Egypt to Tripoli, Libya. It’s nearly 400 miles west of Egypt’s Nile Valley and 30 miles east of Libya.
Siwa’s history is ancient. The oldest human footprint is said to have been found here. The cliff notes of written history look something like this: From the 22nd to 26th Egyptian Dynasty, Siwa’s Oracle of Jupiter Ammon grew in fame; Siwa fell under Roman rule from 30BC to 2nd century; In 331 B.C. Alexander the Great traveled by caravan through the Western Desert for roughly 10 days (from Marsa Matruh on the Mediterranean coast) to reach Siwa, where the Oracle confirmed Alexander a son of the gods.
The period between the 2nd to 12th century is ambiguous. A clear record of who lived in Siwa and what they did is missing. Many believe this is due to Siwa’s historical and geographic significance as a major trade route and way station for those traveling across Africa and the Middle East. It was one of the most well-established oases in the Saharan-Western Desert belt, and many smaller, nomadic tribes may have moved through the area.
Berber history in Siwa began around the 12th century and has remained firmly rooted ever since. Siwa, due to its isolation, has always remained separated and distinct from the rest of Egypt. Siwa is a spring-fed oasis in the Great Sand Sea near Egypt’s border with Libya.
Mahdi Hweity’s family, he tells me, traces its lineage to the beginning of Siwa’s Berber settlement. The Hweities built their home on top of the old Shali fortress.
Siwa’s problem with water is that there’s actually too much of it flowing and not enough drainage. Siwa averages 18 meters below sea level, and many of its springs drain into the surrounding salt lakes. This causes the salt water levels to rise, destroying homes and claiming large tracts of once arable land.
“Yes, Siwa has too much water. And you know why that is?”
I let Mahdi explain.
A long time ago, Siwa had 200 water springs irrigating gardens directly around the springs. Each spring was divided between families. Between family gardens were water canals that drew borders. Each spring, “Hassam” went around Siwa to tell each family what days and hours each family could irrigate. Irrigation per family might only take place every two weeks. The Hassam was paid for his services solely in date harvests. Water in Siwa flowed from round spring to canal to salt lake.
In the past, up until 1972, there was not an issue with too much water, Mahdi emphasizes. In 1972 a Baharian man (from a neighboring oasis) arrived with metal pipes, and he hand-dug them into the ground to increase Siwa’s irrigation. The people of Siwa thought it wonderful. Everyone wanted to dig a personal spring. By 1997 Siwans had dug 1600 new springs. These were not controlled, and people irrigated their land around the clock. This caused the salt lakes to rise. This caused the water table to rise. Many people with carpets on their floors began to notice their carpets were wet.
After people realized the problem in 1997, most of Siwa’s springs were officially closed. Larger, deeper springs were dug with canals to share water between families.
Q: What water do you drink?
The water that Siwan’s traditionally drank is close to the surface. It’s salty, and this has caused kidney problems. In 1991 the first commercially produced mineral water arrived to Siwa. A Russian oil company had been drilling nearby at Bier Wahid and found water. The government then dug deep wells to harvest this spring water. Siwa now has four deep wells that provide its tap water. Because these wells are drilled a kilometer down into the earth, they produce good quality water. The spring water at this depth is 42C. The factories that harvest this water have to filter dust and control the minerals.
Most homes in Siwa have deep spring tap water, Mahdi tells me, but you have to set the water out for a while before you drink it. “Direct tap water has dust, it’s not OK.” You need to put the water in a plastic jerry can—or in iron—and leave it out for two days. Then the water is clear, clean.
Q: What dust?
“Mud, sand, something green. When you dig so far down between rock there is dust. Before the water was more clear, but now after so much drilling there’s more dust.”
Q: Do the water companies (Hayat, Siwa, Aqua) pay for the water they extract from Siwa?
“No. The companies pay the cost of the drilling and pumping, then take the water for free. What does Siwa get? Jobs. Each company may give 100 jobs to Siwans. That’s 100 Siwan families getting paid for an easy factory job.”
The fourth water factory in Siwa, Safi, stopped drilling when it ran into a permit problem with the military.
During a pause in our conversation, Mahdi shifts positions for a better view over the balcony. “You see what’s in the back of this small blue truck?” he asks. “In front of the police station. There.” He points.
I look across the street and see a truck delivering bottled mineral water idling in front of the police station.
“You know what is backsheesh?” Mahdi asks with a smile.
I ask Mahdi if he sees any potential solutions to Siwa’s rising salt water lakes. He considers for a moment before answering.
“To keep the soil healthy for vegetation, Siwa must let its salt water run off to a lower depression. But where? Siwa is 18 meters below sea level. There have been proposals to divert Siwa’s water, but Siwans don’t want this. They say the 21st century will be fighting over water—even water that’s a little bit salty.”
“I remember when I lived with my big family—my father, mother, brothers, sisters—one night it rained all night long, and that night my father didn’t sleep at all,” Mahdi Hweity said between long sips of mint tea. As one born and raised in Siwa, educated in Alexandria and positioned to speak to Siwa’s international visitors, Mahdi holds an interesting perspective on the environmental constraints faced by a shifting Siwan population.
Siwa is the northernmost oasis in a string of desert oases from middle Egypt to Tripoli, Libya. It’s nearly 400 miles west of Egypt’s Nile Valley and 30 miles east of Libya.
Siwa’s history is ancient. The oldest human footprint is said to have been found here. The cliff notes of written history look something like this: From the 22nd to 26th Egyptian Dynasty, Siwa’s Oracle of Jupiter Ammon grew in fame; Siwa fell under Roman rule from 30BC to 2nd century; In 331 B.C. Alexander the Great traveled by caravan through the Western Desert for roughly 10 days (from Marsa Matruh on the Mediterranean coast) to reach Siwa, where the Oracle confirmed Alexander a son of the gods.
The period between the 2nd to 12th century is ambiguous. A clear record of who lived in Siwa and what they did is missing. Many believe this is due to Siwa’s historical and geographic significance as a major trade route and way station for those traveling across Africa and the Middle East. It was one of the most well-established oases in the Saharan-Western Desert belt, and many smaller, nomadic tribes may have moved through the area.
Berber history in Siwa began around the 12th century and has remained firmly rooted ever since. Siwa, due to its isolation, has always remained separated and distinct from the rest of Egypt. Siwa is a spring-fed oasis in the Great Sand Sea near Egypt’s border with Libya.
Mahdi Hweity’s family, he tells me, traces its lineage to the beginning of Siwa’s Berber settlement. The Hweities built their home on top of the old Shali fortress.
Siwa’s problem with water is that there’s actually too much of it flowing and not enough drainage. Siwa averages 18 meters below sea level, and many of its springs drain into the surrounding salt lakes. This causes the salt water levels to rise, destroying homes and claiming large tracts of once arable land.
“Yes, Siwa has too much water. And you know why that is?”
I let Mahdi explain.
A long time ago, Siwa had 200 water springs irrigating gardens directly around the springs. Each spring was divided between families. Between family gardens were water canals that drew borders. Each spring, “Hassam” went around Siwa to tell each family what days and hours each family could irrigate. Irrigation per family might only take place every two weeks. The Hassam was paid for his services solely in date harvests. Water in Siwa flowed from round spring to canal to salt lake.
In the past, up until 1972, there was not an issue with too much water, Mahdi emphasizes. In 1972 a Baharian man (from a neighboring oasis) arrived with metal pipes, and he hand-dug them into the ground to increase Siwa’s irrigation. The people of Siwa thought it wonderful. Everyone wanted to dig a personal spring. By 1997 Siwans had dug 1600 new springs. These were not controlled, and people irrigated their land around the clock. This caused the salt lakes to rise. This caused the water table to rise. Many people with carpets on their floors began to notice their carpets were wet.
After people realized the problem in 1997, most of Siwa’s springs were officially closed. Larger, deeper springs were dug with canals to share water between families.
Q: What water do you drink?
The water that Siwan’s traditionally drank is close to the surface. It’s salty, and this has caused kidney problems. In 1991 the first commercially produced mineral water arrived to Siwa. A Russian oil company had been drilling nearby at Bier Wahid and found water. The government then dug deep wells to harvest this spring water. Siwa now has four deep wells that provide its tap water. Because these wells are drilled a kilometer down into the earth, they produce good quality water. The spring water at this depth is 42C. The factories that harvest this water have to filter dust and control the minerals.
Most homes in Siwa have deep spring tap water, Mahdi tells me, but you have to set the water out for a while before you drink it. “Direct tap water has dust, it’s not OK.” You need to put the water in a plastic jerry can—or in iron—and leave it out for two days. Then the water is clear, clean.
Q: What dust?
“Mud, sand, something green. When you dig so far down between rock there is dust. Before the water was more clear, but now after so much drilling there’s more dust.”
Q: Do the water companies (Hayat, Siwa, Aqua) pay for the water they extract from Siwa?
“No. The companies pay the cost of the drilling and pumping, then take the water for free. What does Siwa get? Jobs. Each company may give 100 jobs to Siwans. That’s 100 Siwan families getting paid for an easy factory job.”
The fourth water factory in Siwa, Safi, stopped drilling when it ran into a permit problem with the military.
During a pause in our conversation, Mahdi shifts positions for a better view over the balcony. “You see what’s in the back of this small blue truck?” he asks. “In front of the police station. There.” He points.
I look across the street and see a truck delivering bottled mineral water idling in front of the police station.
“You know what is backsheesh?” Mahdi asks with a smile.
I ask Mahdi if he sees any potential solutions to Siwa’s rising salt water lakes. He considers for a moment before answering.
“To keep the soil healthy for vegetation, Siwa must let its salt water run off to a lower depression. But where? Siwa is 18 meters below sea level. There have been proposals to divert Siwa’s water, but Siwans don’t want this. They say the 21st century will be fighting over water—even water that’s a little bit salty.”
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Western Desert Preview
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Friday, July 10, 2009
What water do you drink?
Florence Casssassuce explains to me that the main difference between tap water in the United States and tap water in Mexico is that the city only has enough plumbing pressure to provide water for a couple hours a day to one particular neighborhood at a time. People take advantage of this pumping to store water in a personal, 200-gallon rooftop tank. The issue with drinking tap water in Mexico is storage contamination. Even though the tap water may be relatively clean and chlorinated, storage tanks may be full of algae, and you can’t reach inside to clean them.
Flor is the director of Instituto EOZ de Technologias Rurale, a company she recently started after developing a point-of-use ultra violet light disinfection system for drinking water. During the past five years, she’s worked on this technology and on distributing it to rural communities of Baja.
There is one more significant problem with Baja water, and that is salt. “We have the same problem as Australia or the same as most arid land with volcanic rock,” Flor explains. “There is very high salinity – won’t pass US EPA drinking standards – from aquifer intrusion.” There are health problems associated with drinking water containing too much salt. Many people drinking salty water in Baja, especially in the rural communities that don’t have reverse osmosis purificadoras, develop kidney stones over several years that require surgery.
For this reason, Flor chooses to buy 5-gallon jugs of water from a family-run purificadora in La Paz for her drinking water at home and in the office. Her tap water, from a 200-gallon rooftop tank, she uses for washing dishes, showering, and other household chores. She places a bucket under her kitchen sink to capture used water and recycles this water for her plants.
Adrian Schalkwijk, an industrial designer from Mexico City who is now working in La Paz to develop Flor’s next UV system prototype, lives on a ranch outside La Paz city limits. In his house, Adrian explains, water is delivered by truck to his cistern, which he then pumps to a rooftop tank and flows through his tap. He doesn’t drink water directly from his tap – he filters it through a Primag filter, a home system containing sand, clay, and colloidal silver. At his office, water is from the 5-gallon blue jugs.
David Vasquez, Adrian’s former student and current product-design colleague, says he has no water filter at home, so he drinks only from the 5-gallon jugs.
Monday, June 15, 2009
World Water Projects
This website, which will chronicle water projects around the world, is under construction.
Visit us again soon!
Visit us again soon!
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