As one of Ekurhuleni's dwellers who’s been suffering through water restrictions for more than a year, please allow me to extend a dry welcome to City of Johannesburg residents who only received their initiation a few weeks ago. We’ve been expecting you and, as SA’s water crisis is reported to only worsen, we’ll soon be inducting more parts of the country into our Hall of the Parched.
I knew things were bad when my family started having to constantly pay attention to our washing machine, as it would spit all sorts of visual and audio cues at us, letting us know that it can’t do its job as it used to, back in the day when water was freely coursing its veins. No year-end bonus for this lazy employee.
Various errors are displayed on the keypad, either noting that there’s absolutely no water available, or there is low water pressure, so it will take a day to wash the dirty tennis uniforms of our teenage boys.
Now that we have somehow solved the load-shedding challenge, it seems we’re moving swiftly along to the next phase of being South African, and it will be a wild one.
There’s the basic need of just being able to survive by drinking water and preparing food, but there are other really serious implications. Just this week, the Constitutional Court could not hold physical, in-court proceedings as water throttling and pressure restrictions kicked in.
This meant that ablution facilities were not available and hygiene would have been compromised had court cases proceeded. I reckon the real reason they had to continue online was that the court’s washing machine was displaying the same error messages as mine. I mean, really now, how are the legal practitioners’ robes supposed to be washed if there's no water? Even the wheels of justice need water to turn smoothly.
Interestingly, I learnt that in our country a presiding officer’s dress is determined by the nature of the matter. If the case is a civil one, the judge will wear black, and if criminal, then red. Constitutional Court judges have worn green robes since February 1995, when the court was formally opened. So it makes sense that the justices didn’t want to risk being the first to appear in court with dirty robes, as their washing machines had no water to run a load. Let’s hope they separate their colours accordingly.
Most of us remember between 2015 and 2018, when Cape Town’s 4.6 million residents flirted with “day zero”, when they’d have been had the honour of being the first major city in the world to run out of water from a municipal supply. This also started with water throttling and restrictions, and ended with Karen from Camps Bay queuing at a water truck to fill her Woolies water bottle after a taxing Pilates session.
Joburg isn’t quite there yet, but no one can predict what will happen in the future. Things aren’t looking great at all. This brings me to an impulse I've had lately: to quote lyrics from one of this generation’s most influential, award-winning and deeply relevant thinkers, Tyla. When you really think about it properly, her song Water is a wake-up call to all of us:
Either way, this means that you and I have to contend with irritable washing machines for the foreseeable future.
“Telling me (yeah);
That you really ’bout it, why try hide it? Ooh;
Talk is cheap, so show me;
That you understand how I as it.”
This was her way of sending a subliminal message about how some municipalities have been hiding that they continue to cut maintenance budgets, and just how cheap their talk is when it comes to service delivery — with very little new infrastructure having been constructed since 1994.
It’s shocking to read reports detailing how half of Joburg’s reservoirs are leaking, and that all three of Gauteng’s metros are facing water shortages and interruptions.
As to be expected during times of crisis, a blame game is ensuing between the City and Joburg Water; they’re throwing each other under the bus. Joburg Water is pointing the finger at the City, citing how it bills the water entity. Either way, this means that you and I have to contend with irritable washing machines for the foreseeable future. Forget load-shedding’s stages, as they are about to be replaced by water throttling levels.
At level 1, the supply is reduced by 15%. Level 2 means the supply is reduced by 22%, and level 3 will result in water supply being reduced by 46%. The worst will be level 4, when there will be no water supply at all. That is when all South Africans will ditch Mandoza’s Nkalakatha as our unofficial anthem and collectively sing the chorus to Tyla’s hit song:
Make me sweat, make me hotter.
Make me lose my breath, make me water.
Make me sweat, make me hotter.
Make me lose my breath, make me water.
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