So when Shiny was born, we did not go to Holland, but instead were dropped in the desert. We eventually found a well, and managed to put together a dusty little life with just enough water to get by most of the time. There were drier times, and the occasional deluge, and for a little while, we had steady, frequent rain and things started to bloom.
Then, abruptly, there was a sandstorm. I woke up one morning to find that my well was gone, the garden covered with sand, my shelter blown away and the sun beating down. There were some jars of stored water, but not enough. And some of the jars I thought I’d set aside had cracks in the bottom, when I moved a jar i found the one behind it dry as a bone. I’d known there would be dry times, but I wasn’t prepared for how thoroughly the water had disappeared, how quickly.
I knew there was water across the valley, if I could just get there I’d be allowed to stay for a while, and we would be okay. But I had to get there. Across parched earth, with a few jars to sustain me. And so I set out. “One foot in front of the other,” I thought. “I just have to keep moving, eventually I’ll get to the other side. Then I looked at a map, and realized it was farther than I thought to the other side of the valley. There was supposed to be an oasis on the way, but when I got there, most of the water was gone, I ended up thirstier digging for the water than I’d been just walking across the desert.
Weeks passed. Occasionally I came across a water seller, and paid for a cup here, a sip there. Just enough to not die. I asked someone for help, and she said, “Oh, hey, just over that little dune there, there’s this oasis! You can stay there for a couple of weeks, it’s wonderful, they have a pond and a cabana boy. You’ll have to go a little bit out of your way, but it will be fine. I took the map she offered me and was about to step that way when someone else said, “No, there’s another oasis even closer, and you won’t have to go so far out of your way!”
Grateful, delighted, and looking forward to a good long drink and a nap in the shade of a palm tree, I stepped over the hill, and saw a palm tree and what looked like a deep well…. I pulled up a bucket and began to drink. At first the water was clear and cold and refreshing. Then without warning my mouth was full of sand, and I looked up and saw the palm tree was made of plastic and the green oasis I was promised was just more sand. Someone leaning against the palm tree said, “Oh, just scoop some of the sand out, there will be more water… I did, there was enough for a few more swallows, even enough to put a little bit of water in a jar, but those swallows were bitter and sandy and I cried… no two week oasis, just another water stop, and the edge of the valley looked farther than ever.
I called out for help, and a woman came rushing forward, put her arm around me and said, “Over that hill, we have more water. And you can stay, and we will make sure you have water for as long as you need it.”
“I can’t walk much father,” I said. “I need water now if I’m going to stay in this desert. I’ve been thinking about leaving. I don’t want to, but I might have to.”
“Just over the hill,” she said. “Right there.” She pointed, and I could see the shimmer of water and tall trees.
“Okay,” I said, and kept walking. I could still see the water, the trees, but they didn’t seem to get closer. My arms felt like lead, my throat parched. I called out to find out if the water was there, and a man answered, “Oh, it’s two hills over, but they may not have enough for you. We might have to send you to another hill, and then it’s only if the people there say you can go.”
At this point I was almost to the edge of the valley… but the community which had been if not green, at least capable of sustaining us through the winter, had a sign up, saying, “Water shortage.” I asked the man, “But isn’t there something you can do?”
“There’s a guy over the next hill,” he said. “He might be able to help you.”
I trudge onward. Friends stop by and offer me a drink, just enough to keep me alive. The guy over the next hill is almost to the hill after that. There was a sign stuck to a cactus about how over the mountains there is a rainforest, how if you say the right words and talk to the right people and then wait for a while, they might build a pipeline and irrigate my home for good.
And if I’d known about those things before the drought, I’d never have had to march across the desert.
I will believe in the water when I see it, not before.
If one more person offers me a “water” bucket full of sand, I’m moving to a rainforest. Someone else can tend my cactus.
