The Government forced arrived one dusty Harmattan morning with uniforms, and a very straight face. They gathered the town beneath the old umbrella tree(as it was called) and explained that water was now regulated. Not scarce regulated. Scarcity implied failure, they did not want that. “This is for your own good,” the Director said, voice calm, without a single care in the world, with a smirk on his face. Each household received a metal tag stamped with a number. That number decided how much water you deserved. The higher your rank in society the more water you were entitled to. At first, the people complied, a defeated people they were, whatever the government threw at them , the people only grumbled and later on complied. Buckets were filled carefully. Baths became brief, it became a luxury few could afford. Conversations shortened because of the dry throats. The Authority praised this “discipline” and rewarded obedience with small extensions of supply. Those who questioned the rules found their taps slowing, then stopping and eventually being taken from their homes forcefully and sent to the prison, speaking against the authority was considered blasphemous, and even considered treason.
If your tap flowed, it meant you were loyal. If it didn’t, it meant you were being taught a lesson. Inspectors began their rounds, knocking politely, stepping into homes without removing their muddy boots, they checked storage pots and counted containers asked questions that sounded harmless but weren’t.
“Why do you need this much?”
“Who did you share with?”
“How do you have this much water?”
The Authority called it order. Years went by and the people seemed to have adapted until one hot afternoon, in a season where drought had hit and the authorities came yet again and despair was prominent on the face of the people. They remembered how the wells had once been open to all. How water had belonged to the ground, not to men with clipboards. How they were allowed to fetch rain water and now they weren’t. The turning point came quietly. One afternoon, the Authorities cut off an entire district after a small protest no shouting, no violence, just people standing with empty buckets in the sun. The message was clear.That afternoon, something changed. Not the anger, the anger had been there for months. What changed was coordination. Women began meeting under the pretense of food preparation. Youths took long walks that were not walks at all. Elders told old stories louder than usual, stories about hidden wells dug before boundaries existed. The Authority controlled taps but they did not control knowledge or history. Someone remembered an abandoned borehole sealed years ago because it served “too many people.” The revolt began with water moving again. The revolt began with asking questions that no one dared to ask, it began with raising heads that were once lowered in total submission but most importantly IT BEGAN!
One morning, taps across the town opened without permission. Buckets were filled and Containers overflowed. The Authority panicked, sending inspectors to find the source, but there was no single source anymore. Water came from many places at once. The people had stopped asking. The metal tags were thrown unto the streets. The inforcers came with their batons and weapons, but they understood why power actually belonged to the people and unfortunately for the authority the people had finally realized this and it was over for them, their eyes had opened and the people had woken from their slumber.
When the Director addressed the town again, his voice was no longer calm. “This is illegal,” he shouted. “You are undermining stability!” An old woman stepped forward, her hands wet. “No,” she said. “You were.” The Authority tried punishment. Arrests failed when entire neighborhoods refused to cooperate. When water flowed freely again, fear lost its leverage. People gathered openly this time to decide. They dismantled the meters first. Then the posters. Then the offices where scarcity had been manufactured. The Director fled before sunset. Later, children played near the reopened wells, The town did not become perfect after that. There were still disagreements, still shortage but then one thing was settled forever. No one would ever again be allowed to rule thirst.
The younger generation looked at their elders with total admiration from then henceforth, as is usually said and echoed tough times create strong people and my word were they strong, they sacrificed their today for a better tomorrow.
P.S Imaged are created through A.I