The task at hand:
Explain, to a five year old human being,
that she cannot brush her teeth
in the same water she bathes in.
Tell her you’re here to change lives, by giving everyone water.
This water isn’t from a tap
or even from a sink, tub, or pool.
But rather from the river, the Amazon,
the muddy, poisonous, disease ridden water,
that our house-boat floats on through.
Chickens wake us up with their pecking,
fowl that we will later eat.
Seasoned, fried, and served with a side of
fresh fruit and cuy, a Peruvian delicacy,
which is actually guinea pig.
All of this food is washed, prepared, and cooked
on our boat, with water.
We drink grape flavored Kool-Aid,
made with ice cold water.
Clean, sanitary, H2O.
Glaciers are melting at alarming speeds.
Meaning that the needs of the people
aren’t only being neglected, but destroyed
as time progresses and global warming rejects them.
As years go on and promises of water are washed away.
We reach ten villages along the shores of the massive,
more than 4,000 mile-long river.
Which means that we’ve seen a small sliver on the spectrum.
We’d have to cover the distance between New York and Rome,
to get clean water to everyone.
But that is what has been promised and preached
by the government of the country.
Clean water for each man, woman, child, who inhabits the land.
Millions will be able to drink, shower, and enjoy the amenity
that isn’t infested, infectious, insect-ridden water.
No longer will there be more worries of malaria
or cases of cholera caused by the lack of clean water.
Lima, Arequipa, and Pucallpa, Peru
all will the know the comfort that comes
from a life-saving sink, or a wondrous well.
The task at hand now:
Deal with a nation that has given up hope.
By the time we get there, it’s been years
since that prophetic promise has been made
and broken by the horrific bind of terror and time.
So we distribute filtration systems
and plenty of pamphlets stating,
“This water is dirty, do NOT consume.”
Systems we barely understand because we’ve never been deprived,
of this valuable natural resource.
What do we expect them to do?
The indigenous villages we visit have no clue
what’s going on in the world, what their lives are at stake for.
They don’t have smartphones or tablets, to get the latest news
about their country’s issues with worrisome water.
We teach them hygiene in hopes
that they’ll take what we herald to heart.
Do not drink from the river you wash in,
even though you don’t really have a choice.
Avoid, at all costs, the contamination that surrounds you.
So we sail back to our home
where plastic water bottles form wastelands.
The land of thirty-minute showers
and newly-washed, worn once, articles of clothing.
Sinks, bathtubs, toilets overflow, brimming and bountiful.
The task at hand now:
Worry about plumbing problems and pool parties.
While other places, like Peru, perish and wish for,
a place like our home,
where there is water for everyone.
Corinne Palese is a senior English major and writing minor at Penn State Harrisburg, where she also works in the Marketing Research & Communications office.
