In Kibera, a slum of Nairobi, Kenya, clean water is too scarce. But a new technology that takes just a plastic bottle and six hours in the sun is helping reduce sickness and diarrhea in the community, and in other developing countries around the world.
The water in our house has been turned off for days and my back is absolutely killing me. I've been squirming around on our dirty couches all evening, desperately seeking a position that doesn't hurt. My spine feels permanently compacted and I'm convinced in my self-pity that I can actually feel the vertebrae rubbing against each other.
ON A FRAYED MAT ON ONE of the dusty streets of Kibera — Africa's largest slums — in Nairobi, Sophia Mohamed sells her wares: two mangoes, five oranges, a half-dozen calcium-based chewing stones and a pan brimming with bhajia (a potato snack).
In a small shack made of iron sheets and pieces of clothing in the slums of Addis Ababa live the Alemu family - Abiy, Marasit Bishaw, and the couple's three-year-old son and 25-day-old baby daughter Yanit.
And just a few metres from their one-room home is a mass of sewage and garbage, mixed with the carcasses of dead chickens and cow and goat skulls.
The Alemus live near the gully where the Kabena river used to meander gracefully through the Ethiopian capital.
But the river is now full of the city's waste, and a stench of sewage is the first thing that hits.
As day breaks over the rusty tin roofs and makeshift homes of the sprawling Kibera slum in Nairobi, the water sellers are already at their water tanks, waiting for their first customers.
Selling water in one of the world's largest slums is a good business. On most days the vendors charge 5 cents for five gallons, 100 times the cost of piped water provided by the city. But the city does not send water to the residents of Kibera--at any price.
Frontline World is featuring the Pulitzer Center-sponsored reporting from the Common Language Project as part of a feature highlighting the human consequences of climate change.
A series of multimedia reports show how water stress across the horn of Africa is fueling conflict and threatening ancient ways of life.
As the morning sky lightens, the sound of machetes hacking through thick grass echoes along the lake's coastline. Fishermen, stripped to their underwear in the already stifling heat, are looking for silvery baby fish along the shoreline in defiance of laws against taking them in breeding grounds.
East Africa's Lake Victoria is the world's largest tropical lake—but some experts think it may disappear within twenty years.
Water levels have dropped dramatically in recent years thanks to climate change, hydroelectric dam projects and increasing pressure on the lake's threatened resources. The crisis endangers the livelihood of the more than 30 million people who rely on the lake for food and work.
Africa's Lake Victoria, the world's largest tropical lake, is shrinking. As its waters subside, battles over the lake's resources increase.
Chala Ahmed had a dream. He wanted to build a waterfront home for his family on the shores of Lake Haramaya, in eastern Ethiopia. Now, that's impossible. The lake has dried up. Lakes around the world are shrinking. Some blame climate change. Others believe poor water mismanagement is the root of the problem. Whatever the cause, the shrinking water supply is affecting communities across the globe. Jessica Partnow reports from Ethiopia.
World Water Day on March 22 reminds us of the 1 billion people on Earth who lack easy access to the water most of us take for granted. Global climate change is making that struggle worse, as we see in this report from the rugged region of southern Ethiopia, where drought is drying up wells, threatening an ancient way of life and fueling conflict.
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Credits:
Special thanks to Salihu Sultan and the Ethiopian Red Cross
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