Ugandan Water Project

Kkalwe school is a lively place! Our approach is on another nameless stretch of red dirt ribbon, textured with deep ruts – reminding us that rain can change the landscape around us. Our driver and friend, Eriab Kawuba, navigates the terrain as best he can but the old Toyota van still bounces and rubs it’s way down the road.  Eriab never spends his english frivolously and this is no exception, he glances at my expectant face as I ride shotgun, and says “Here.”  Looking ahead I see children on either side of the road waving branches and jumping up and down.  As we pull up to the school compound we are ushered out of the van in a sea of brown faces and hands and eyes and smiles.  Paul is the Headmaster of Kkalwe School and he greets us heartily as his face wears a smile so big that it has run out of face.

After exchanging the customarily long greetings that are culturally appropriate in East Africa, we walked over to inspect the 10,000 liter rain collection tank that sat next to the building.  Every Time I see one of these big black behemoths I am always amazed that love can take such a large, awkward shape.  This water project was funded by a small church north of Albany, NY called Rolling Hills Christian Fellowship. There are only a few families in that small community but they were moved by compassion for the children at Kkalwe School and provided the funds to install this tank.  Looking at the installation I noticed that despite the large cement base, the tank was overhanging about a foot on the front edge. I was concerned because the weight of the water can press down on that overhang and cause a stress fracture that can eventually split the tank.

I laughed at the explanation for this  odd placement of the tank.  Apparently the length of downspout that connects the gutters to the tank was too long and Paul does not own a hacksaw to trim it so the tank can be slid back to the center of the base.  The school doesn’t have a hacksaw either among their tools; nor does anyone else in the village of Kkalwe.   The future stability of those students and teachers was resting on a hacksaw.  What could we do  . . . . . .