Without official access to water supplies, residents of Korangi Dhai improvise.
For the uninitiated, it's surreal: men and boys stepping out of their homes into the unpaved and narrow alleys of the Korangi Dhai slum in the wee hours before dawn, armed with rolls of colorful plastic tubing and heavy electric pumps.
For over 15 years the only way that squatter families living in many slum settlements in Karachi, Pakistan, have been able to access water for their daily needs is by illegally tapping it from the mains.
Over 60 percent of this port city's population of 16 million lives in informal settlements, according to urban planner Arif Hasan. In the absence of proper infrastructure, many communities have improvised sewerage, drainage and water supply systems.
According to Understanding Karachi, a book written by Hasan, 90 percent of these homes "have linked themselves illegally to government supply systems."
But Shahid Gill, a resident, refutes this allegation. "Each house paid Rs2,500 (US$36) to the union council [smallest administrative unit], so how can you call it illegal?"
Illegal connection points can be seen as small rubber protrusions and the pipes are readily visible alongside storm water drains that run parallel to the main lines. It is from these connections that water is siphoned off into homes using suction pumps running on illegally tapped electricity.
While the slum dwellers of Korangi do not pay for their electricity and water, they must work hard at tapping the utilities.
"The first thing to do is to attach the electric wire with the help of a kunda (a metal hook) slung over a power cable," explains Asif Ayub, 17, a moviemaker. "It's not an easy task, especially for those who are still groggy from sleep." Once the connections are set, the water is pumped into storage tanks inside the homes.
With such a jumble of pipes and cables, safety is a concern. "Getting electric shocks is quite common," says 28-year-old Shakil Gill, whose chore it was for six years. But now, following his marriage, his younger brother has taken over.
"It's usually the youngest male in the family, but one who is old enough to be able to carry the heavy gear, and fix the wiring," interjects Kashif Naeem, 18, who has been on duty since he was 14. "The idea is that he's someone who does not have to get up early to go for work," said Naeem who dropped out of school after grade six.
There is no letup for 16-year-old Shahin Waris who is in the middle of his matriculation board exam. "I've been doing it for the past three years." Asked if someone else can take over so he can prepare for his exam as well as take enough rest, he explains: "I have an older brother, but he is in his second year of medicine, so . . . "
In homes where no men are available for water duty, the women step in.
Water supply is available from four to six in the morning every alternate day. And then there are days when the mains run dry. Or there is no electricity supply.
"It takes us almost an hour to set up the equipment. Can you imagine the frustration? And the extra burden we incur buying water for the day?" says Jamaluddin, fighting back his anger.
The more enterprising among the squatter residents have taken advantage of the erratic supplies and entered the water supply business. They have several suction pumps and large storage tanks. "When the water does not come in the main line, we buy water from these people," says Gill.
Squatters can also buy water from tankers at Rs250 (US$3.73) per 1,000 gallons (3.78 cubic meters), though this is brackish and unfit for drinking, or from individual water suppliers roaming about the lanes with water loaded on donkey carts at Rs100 (US$1.49) per 25 gallons (95 liters).
Courtesy of IPS Japan/www.ips-j.org
Religion & Ecology