The reason I sleep in a cocoon of cat hair.  #NoMoreLaundry #TheseSheetsAreGoodForAnotherMonth

Yesterday, a dear friend asked if she could come and stay with me while visiting Cape Town, and it got me thinking, especially as I'm seeing a lot of anxious queries from people from abroad and elsewhere in South Africa who are planning on visiting Cape Town in the next little while. These all end with piteous promises to be "water-wise" and to "bring their own water". Alas, unless you're going to be constipated for the duration of your visit, and are able to haul at least 12 litres per day onto the plane, face it: you WILL be a drain on our terrifyingly depleted municipal water resources. This might not be the best time to be planning a relaxing family holiday here, and you may in any case not want to visit a city where in a few months we could be fighting each other in streets running with effluent. (I'm JOKING. I hope.)

But: life goes on, work trips happen, bookings have been made and deposits paid, guesthouses (significant sources of employment) are desperate to fill beds. Besides, we love you, and we want to see you. So what's to do?

Some ideas (and as always, please send yours): as someone who always hit the "economy" button on her washing machine and thought that was good enough, it has been an eye-opener to discover how much water laundry takes. So that's one thing to minimise.

Guesthouses, AirBnBs, etc, could put up banners on their websites and booking sites offering a discount or some nice freebie (good bottle of wine? aquarium or cable-car tickets?) to everyone who brings their own sheets and pillowcases and takes them home again to wash. Offer to make up the beds with the borrowed linen and strip them again on departure. Flat sheets and pillowcases take up almost no room in luggage; I found this out when I once hauled mine to Trinidad (true story). And plan your packing so that you don't have to do laundry while here.

This also goes for visitors to private homes. I've decided to ask my guests from out of town to bring their own bed linen. Remember the sleep-sacks of youth-hostelling years? Here's the first link I found with instructions on how to make one. Into the suitcase they go; even if you're coming with just hand luggage, you can fit in a pillow-case.

The spare bed. You're truly welcome to it, but be advised: this linen ain't getting changed any time this year.

More ideas: shower and wash your hair before getting on the plane; you may not get another chance for a while (certainly not if you're staying Chez Moi); pack hand sanitiser, dry shampoo, a travel mug and wipe-able chopsticks, and try not to generate piles of washing-up. Don't leave food on your plate unless your host/ess has a compost bin or pit (or Fido's bowl) you can scrape it into. If you offer to wash up, find out what the protocol of the house is before merrily running a sink full of hot water. Remember that it is a hairshirt-worthy sin to pull a plug absent-mindedly.

Then there's the matter of being a good guest myself. I've prepared a pack I now take with me when visiting friends or meeting them in coffee-shops: travel mug for coffee (quite a few places offer a discount if you bring your own mug in); my own water and ice (both boiled well water) in a little thermos (so far, restaurant staff have been extremely grateful when I produce these); a 5-litre bottle of water from the local spring where I Dare Not Drink (it emerges from under a construction site; tirra lirra by the river it is not.) This last-mentioned item is because it seems a tad over-familiar to let my yellow mellow in someone else's loo, plus what if my paper is the proverbial last straw that blocks my host/ess's pipes? Plus it was extremely handy when I went to lunch this weekend and had a misadventure with an exploding Lindt ball that involved chocolate hair, face, hands and clothes. I managed to clean up everything without touching a tap or invoking that great middle-class signifier: wet wipes.

Have own water, will travel. (No municipal water was harmed or bottled water bought in the making of this pic.)

PS: You really are welcome to visit. Especially if you're a Rain Goddess.

My friends fancy themselves as comedians. They're coming up with suggestions for a name for my water-saving blogs that include "Jugs" (this person got a very beady look), "The Bucket List" (I rather like this one), "The Think Tank" (also "Everything but the Kitchen Sink"), and my personal fave so far, "Fifty Shades of Greywater". But I'll stick with my Arabian Nights reference for now, especially as the water-saving tips are pouring in such vast quantities, we may even reach 1001 tips. It's something to aim for, anyway. Thanks to all who are sending -- I am so grateful. I think I'll do a regular round-up/recap of tips received so far, and number them, so watch this space.

Meanwhile, I've been thinking some more about partnerships and crisis and community. I was touched to get an email from a lovely young friend currently living overseas on a student budget, who wanted to know what practical help she could offer, at a distance, to local NGOs whose jobs are going to be made much more difficult by the water crisis. This at the same time as I've been noticing that a lot of tips I'm being sent involve buying gadgets that not many will be able to afford. (And once again, it's shaming that a lot of the clever devices that the middle classes associate with jolly camping holidays would make life so much easier for those whose daily reality involves queuing for water or coping without electricity.)

I know almost everyone is being hammered by the recession, budgets are cut to the bone, businesses are struggling, but a really nice idea would be to find a local NGO and pledge to make a water-saving contribution for the next six months or more. Pick one small enough for your contribution to make a real difference. Talk to the staff to find out what they need. If it's a creche or similar, commit to a monthly donation of disposable nappies, or wet wipes (see link at the end of this blog) or hydration salts or strong plastic containers (smaller is better -- have you tried LIFTING a full 25-litre container?). The same goes for organisations serving the elderly, those with physical and intellectual disabilities, and more.

I've found just a sampling of goods you could donate to suit a fair range of pockets. For the costlier, maybe businesses could step up. I'm in love with the electric bucket I found via MissMelissaWrites, at R165. This could go to almost anyone who needs to heat (harvested) water, although maybe not suitable for where there are a lot of kids in a small space, in case they pull it over.

Then I got tempted by a Sputnik electricity-free washing machine, but my canny friends Fiona and Patsy explained I could get near-identical results using a hard-sided, sealable cooler box. Here's the first one I pulled off the web,* although I want a much smaller one, about 10-litre capacity. Pour in 5 litres of hot water, add detergent, put in the dirty clothes (don't fill all the way to the top) and stir with a wooden spoon. Then seal the lid (make sure it's absolutely tight) and then toss the box around if you're feeling strong -- in Patsy's version, you put it in your car while you run your errands, and this gives the contents a good laundering -- Patsy must have nifty cornering skills. Apparently the pressure caused by the lid-seal and the trapped heat do the job. After a few hours, pour out the water (save for flushing), add clean rinse water, repeat. Water used: ten litres, compared with anything between 40 and 70 for a machine wash. I guess if you have a washing machine, you could then put the wet clothes into that to spin, or hang them on the line and shove your pot plants underneath to catch the drips (I got this last idea from someone called Cindi). Meanwhile, order a Sputnik anyway (looks like there's a waiting-list), and donate it to an NGO or vulnerable family when it arrives.

Then there's this gadget suggested by my clever sister -- basically a garden sprayer that you fill with warm water for a 5-litre shower. (This is the first one Google took me to.)* For those nursing the frail, this looks like it would be really helpful: you could sit someone in a plastic chair in the shower, and give them an all-over rinse this way.

Water storage: it's a dilemma, as discussed yesterday. Even if tankers deliver to NGOs and vulnerable households, where is this water going to be kept, AND in a hygienic state? Donate water tanks by all means, but these "Hippo" rollers can be moved around a lot more easily, and take up less room. Not cheap, but will apparently last a lifetime.

But this is my dream item, for those NGOs that have a little bit of open ground, and provide shelter and assisted living for elders, those using wheelchairs, children with disabilities and so on. The price tag is a hefty R22 000, but people with disabilities already have so many assaults on their dignity, especially regarding their rights to toilet access. I am deeply worried about the impact that Day Zero, or indeed the drastic water-saving measures we now have to implement, will have on them. Obviously, consult with those who would have to provide the maintenance and composting (or offer to do it yourself), and find out if a gift like this would indeed be helpful and appropriate. But if you have deep pockets, pleeeeeease...

A friend was wondering: what if she bought all these water-saving devices and Day Zero never came? She figured that first, we are NEVER going to be able to go back to our wasteful ways. Anything can that reduce our water usage is going to be valuable for the foreseeable future. Second, if (for instance) she goes back to using her washing-machine one day, there are many who will be thrilled to take her Sputnik off her hands. Remember, for many poor South Africans, Day Zero is already a lived reality: one that is not going away any time soon. Third, if spending a bit on these items now delays the onset of Day Zero, then it's a no-brainer.

The list of 30 water-saving tips circulating on social media I mentioned yesterday : I have tracked down the author of an almost identical list, and will be featuring them soon, but in the meantime, as a wrap-up feel-good tip, she sent me this link to a recipe for homemade, enviro-friendly wet wipes. It looks so soothing, as well as fun for cooks and crafty types -- thank you, Kate Noir.

* BTW: when I post links, esp to products, I'm not advertising or making recommendations: people send me links, or I google stuff, then slap in the first thing I find that doesn't cost an arm and a leg. You're advised to do your own product research: items posted here are to give you ideas.

I'd forgotten the diversity of water. I remember the river and dam water of my early childhood and how soft it felt on my skin; and I relished the borehole water on my parents' smallholding (so full of minerals it was always clogging up the kettle); but water in my own home was just something that came out a tap until recently.

Now I have so many different kinds of water in my home, it makes my head spin. I treat the taps as radioactive, but this leaves me with:

• Harvested well water (in baths and buckets and pots and jugs everywhere)
• Harvested rainwater (mostly in small tanks formerly known as dustbins)
• Harvested spring water from two different sources (this is relevant, as we shall see), with their own dedicated containers
• Grey water (saved from showering, bucket baths, laundry, and, very rarely, house-cleaning -- I wash the floors only when the cats start sticking to them)
• Black water (i.e., the water I've washed the dishes in -- black water is apparently the correct term for water in which there's biological matter such as food particles, grease, etc).

Then there's the emergency stash of bottled water. Oh, the irony: bottled water has always been in my top three list of Utterly Unecessary Environmental Evils of the 21st century (the other two being 4X4s in the suburbs and fabric softener). But, alas, I can see that in certain circumstances (rehydrating a sick child, for instance) we need water that we know is 100% safe to drink.

To go back to my water buffet: some of it starts out in one form and becomes another (I'll use well water in a bucket bath, transforming it into grey water). This is the NB message of the day, good people: all the water we're collecting needs to be stored appropriately and used in such a way that it poses no hygiene risks. Water is life: is is also a fabulously efficient means of incubating and spreading disease. This means that water shortages easily lead to outbreaks of tummy bugs, some of which can be lethal; also, coping with vomiting and diarrhoea without running water is pretty much a nightmare scenario. (This is also -- I imagine -- one reason why we're being warned not to store/stockpile municipal water. It may be safe to drink as it emerges from the tap, but there's handling, possibly contaminated containers, etc: you do not want to be brewing up a bug-fest in your garage.)

So this is tricky and serious business and takes some thought. For starters (side-eyes the City of Cape Town severely), I'd really like to know which of Cape Town's springs are safe to drink from. I have to rely on social media -- not necessarily reliable -- for the info that water from the Newlands spring is potable (safe to drink), but the one in Glencairn isn't. Also, I need to know what KIND of unsafe: if it's got bugs (e.coli) in it, I can still drink it if I boil it first, but if it's polluted with heavy metals and chemicals, no amount of boiling will help. A LITTLE INFO WOULD BE NICE, CofCT.

Ahem. I was saying. I've seen proof that the well water I harvest is safe to drink (in fact, it's full of all the good minerals), but I collect it in conditions that involve wind, sand, mud and bits of vegetation flying around (the southeaster always decides to blow on well-harvest day). So I use this for drinking and cooking, but only after boiling. Not just when making tea, coffee, etc; I boil it, wait for it to cool down, pour into ice-trays and water bottles that go into the fridge.

The Newlands spring water I drink as is, if it's just me. But I don't want to take even a small risk with the health of others, so mostly it all gets boiled too. The Glencairn water is always boiled, but even then, I drink it warily, not knowing what's in it.

So there's strict segregation, both in treatment and storage, between what I use for drinking and cooking, and the rest of my (non-municipal) water. Any water I'm going to use for drinking and cooking gets stored in those tough plastic storage jugs (I have them in the 25 litre and 5 litre sizes). I do my best to keep these sterile: as soon as they're empty, I pour in a tablespoon of bicarb, a cup of boiling water, shake around like mad, empty, add a bit more boiling water and rinse out. I also pour boiling water over the spout and lid. (BICARB IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND.) Someone pointed out that you can use Milton the same way. AHA.

I had a bit of a worry a few days ago when I realised I couldn't remember which container had Glencairn and which Newlands spring water. And was that well water in Jug No 3, or more spring water? Am going to get masking tape and label all my containers clearly: WELL WATER, SPRING (NEWLANDS) H2O, etc.

Once I've filled my "sterile" containers, which have proper tight-fitting lids, the rest of my well and spring water goes into basins, buckets, baths and is used for: bathing myself and my clothes; washing up; watering the animals; swabbing down surfaces and general kitchen clean-up. After it's been through these processes, it gets used for flushing.

Rainwater is a conundrum: usually it's full of visible dirt, so it goes into those 5 l bottled water containers that we're all re-using, and which can't really be sterilised (boiling water makes them melt), and is taken directly to the bathroom to be used for flushing. But once in a blue moon, it rains so heavily (NOSTALGIC SIGH) that the water from the gutters runs clear and I can't resist drinking it, and it is delicious and makes wonderful tea. I have used it for bucket baths as well, but basically, I treat rain water as a gentle form of grey water and reserve it for flushing. I also use it to wash dirty pots, adding a bit of heated well water.

You may have spotted that I spend my life boiling water, which is not the greenest thing to do, especially as my kettle is electric. You see what I mean about the water crisis disrupting the usual green principles. I'm also using (as well as bicarb and vinegar) more bleach than usual: both in the toilet (which hasn't had a handle flush in four months now) and a little splashed into the washing-up basin and the basin where I soak all the kitchen cloths. The latter can become bacteria mosh pits in the current conditions, so I'm always pouring boiling water on them. And if the stored water in the bath starts smelling stagnant, in goes half a cup of bleach. Note that once you've added bleach to any container of water, you can then ONLY use that water for flushing. DO NOT DRINK!

Something I like to do to keep my hands clean -- CRITICAL -- also when I have friends round, is to put out a basin of warm recently boiled (well) water to which I've added some fragrant bubbly handwash. People will set out the salad or cake or whatever and immediately look round for somewhere to wash or wipe their hands. It also means everyone can wash their hands before eating without going near a tap. Once this is cold and the bubbles gone, voila, more grey water for flushing.

My rule for grey water is that I ONLY use it for flushing, or (very rarely) pouring onto one of the very few plants left alive in my garden. If you dig into the City's website, you will find (eventually, under Guides) a pdf file on grey water that is both exhausting and exhaustive: it's not that user-friendly, but it will tell you everything you could ever wish to know about grey water. The guidelines seem hyper-cautious to me, but if you have small kids, elders, anyone frail or immune-compromised in your home, take a look and follow their suggestions.

Washing veggies, salad leaves, rinsing rice, lentils, etc, is another conundrum. I have a special jug for this, and I use spring and well water without boiling it first, with no ill-effects, but you may not want to live as dangerously. This also becomes grey water once all the rinsing is done.

A last word on black water, basically, water in which you've washed up: if this is greasy, it's not advisable to use it for flushing. I have a home-made outdoor water filter in my veg garden that I pour it through. If you live in a flat, I reckon this is one category of used water you should tip down the kitchen sink. All other kitchen and laundry water, if it has chemicals and detergents in it, should go down the toilet rather than in the garden.

Fun tips of the day: everyone is forwarding me a marvellous list of 30 water-saving tips from an anonymous Facebook source that starts: "1. Stock up on bottled water exclusively for drinking while the water stations figure themselves out." I don't want to publish them without attribution -- if you know who the author is, please let me know so I can share with credits. And if you find it on your social media feed, pass it along, it's such a useful list. (I had to google Wee Pong -- now there's a robust name for a product -- and am somewhat enchanted by #25: "Ladies, extend underwear life by wearing panty liners.")

Link of the day: this little gadget, which operates on harvested water and human-muscle power, will wash your clothes for you (I am shocked at how much water my little 5kg-load washing machine uses, even on the most eco-friendly wash -- 42 litres! and it's about to be mothballed). Friends on Facebook are giving Sputnik good reviews. Sadly, at R640, it's very much a middle-class option.

At least, that's the impression I got in response to my last blog. I was sent so many links, tips, ideas and queries, from the tiny and almost silly (but every bit helps) to the huge and challenging (change the way we live, transform the way we think about water and use it). And nearly every piece of advice was a rabbit-hole to more fascinating places on the interwebz. (WHO KNEW THERE WAS SO MUCH ABOUT COMPOSTING LOOS? Seriously, folks: half of us are going to have to recalibrate our basic toilet-training. But that is a post for a day when we're all feeling a bit stronger.)

Meanwhile I am swimming in so much information, it's both a bit bewildering and very heartening. Do I start sorting by category: kitchen, cooking, cleaning, laundry, toilets, bathing/showering/washing, kids, pools, hygiene, harvesting? Grey water, black water, well water, rain water, spring water?

But first I should explain why I picked "1001 ways to save water" as a title for this very homespun project. Obviously, it's a reference to the One Thousand and One Nights (aka the Arabian Nights), the tales told by the canny and learned Scheherazade each night to her husband the Sultan, who had a habit of murdering his wives as dawn broke. Each story buys her another day. And another. And another. And in the end, her life is spared. I didn't realise it in the moment, but I'm obviously hoping we'll somehow be spared Day Zero. Maybe it can still happen? Either way, doing everything we can to save water will buy us another day. And another. And another...

The other things I've realised is that saving water and confronting a crisis as huge as the one facing us can't be done in a vacuum. Many of the water-saving tips I've been getting belong within a set of broader green living principles, along the "reduce, re-use, recycle" lines. There are things we do (like chucking away food -- the spaghetti our child refuses to eat, the lettuce that's gone slimy in the fridge) that waste the water used for growing/production in the first place -- but we're not taught to think of the secondary consequences of such everyday acts. So a general water-saving rule of thumb is GO GREEN, as much as you can.

On the other hand, the urgency of this crisis means we'll have to break all sorts of green "rules" -- those of us with cars will be using them a lot more to haul water, we're going to be using more disposable plates, napkins, kitchen towels, nappies ... and please spare a thought for the families who will have to go on washing cloth nappies throughout the coming months because they can no more afford disposable nappies than fly to the moon. (I know it's Januworry, but if EVER there was a time to donate nappies to NGOs and creches that care for littlies...)

So I'll be writing about those tensions as well -- where saving water means more paper in landfills, for instance. Generally, though, the greener your lifestyle, the less water you'll use. And although I'm talking to the middle classes here, going green is not just for the wealthy (where DID this idea come from?): my parents are so green they're almost emerald, and as my mama remarks every time I say how lucky we were to have them as role models growing up: "We were being frugal, darling." Green living saves money.

But mostly what I've realised is that if we're going to save water and deal with a truly horrendous crisis (and we need to do both at once), we need to rethink our community ties. We can't live in sealed little bubbles: we need to get out and find out who our neighbours are, and which of them are vulnerable. The Day Zero scenarios present all sorts of horrible visions of criminal opportunity: water thieves preying on the weak and the confused. Let's say Auntie Mavis, who has asthma and no car, is thirsty and desperate -- and opens her door to see a likely-looking lad flashing a name-badge and offering to collect water for her for a hundred bucks and her ID book -- and never sees any water, her money or her ID again. So get to know Auntie Mavis and her set-up NOW.

OK, our suburbs stratify us by class to a horrible extent, but you have no idea how many terrified people might be a stone's throw from you: the widow next door may eat off Dresden china, but she may have arthritis in her hands that makes it impossible for her to carry water. The mum with toddler twins and a partner working in Dubai might barely be managing, and the thought of collecting water on top of everything else has her weeping in despair.

Fire up existing community networks: churches, mosques, synagogues, all those parental mafia groups that circulate around schools, every club, every charity, every neighbourhood watch network. Adapt them into "water webs". Don't interfere, gossip or stoke existing tensions, but do ask people -- especially those who aren't up to speed with the latest technology -- what plans they have, and if there is anything you can do to support them. (If nothing else, help them get online.) Establish trust now so that when the paw-paw hits the fan, you're a familiar face.

Some saint in one of my neighbourhood groups made an incredibly generous suggestion: that everyone with an UNSTRESSED well, wellpoint or borehole identify three "adoptees": a neighbour; a nearby vulnerable family; a nearby small and vulnerable NGO. And commit to giving them water for flushing and basic hygiene (washing up, cleaning kitchen surfaces, etc) once Day Zero arrives. I think that IF you have a source of groundwater that is plentiful and perennial, put this plan into action before Day Zero, in the interests of eking out those last few puddles in our dams.

As not many of us have wells, I reckon this principle could apply if you have a car and are able-bodied: every time you collect water from a spring, take a few folk who can't manage on their own. If you own a bakkie, load up as many people and their containers as you can, and get the huskier folks to do the lugging for the frailer ones. Make this a regular gig. Separate your strapping teens from their electronic gidgets, give them sunscreen, hats and reflective vests, and send them to the nearest spring for an hour or two to help little old ladies cart water.

Same applies if you have rainwater-collecting tanks: many don't, and while I love harvesting rain, it's strenuous, time-consuming, and very wet work. So the minute rain starts to fall, hand the strapping teens cozzies and gumboots, and send them off with jugs and plastic containers to harvest Auntie Mavis's downpipes for her.

Remember, this water is primarily for flushing: no matter how strenuously we may be saving water, everyone using a conventional toilet will HAVE to flush once a day (unless you hail from Planet Sfinkterlus), and every flush -- unless replaced by harvested or grey water -- drains our depleted dams. So start having frank conversations with your neighbours now.

And now for your bonus fun tip of the day: everyone has to count in the shower for as long as the water is running. So get wet while counting, switch off, stop counting, lather up. Switch on, resume counting. Rinse and repeat. Time's up at 60! This comes courtesy of my sister and her teenage daughter. Cost: free.

Link of the day: this made me happy for so many reasons.

Here's another link I just found on how to have a 5-litre shower -- I DID NOT KNOW there was such a thing as an electric bucket! Well done, Missy, I've been wondering about my bucket baths once the weather turns colder. (Have been abluting in cold well water, which is fine when the temps average 30 degrees, but...) Cost: R165, if you want that cute bucket. Otherwise, free.


 

Dear Patricia:

(Forgive the informality – we’ve been introduced several times.)

You’ve really, truly, deeply stuffed this one up, haven’t you? Yes, #WaterCrisis. I’m not blaming you for the fact that it hasn’t rained, btw; and it’s not your fault the middle and moneyed classes of Cape Town treat water as an infinitely endless resource which they are entitled to abuse. I’m talking about the way-way too little and late response of the City to the fact that we’re about to run out of water (something every successive city administration has known about since 2001). I’m won't mention the fact that as little as seven months ago, you were still sitting on your Queen Canute throne shouting “I will not allow a well-run city to run out of water!”

But at least in the last few months, the penny has dropped that no human agent on earth can fly up to the clouds and wring precipitation from them. So now you’re saying we’re almost certainly going to reach a day when the taps will be switched off. Well, yes; some of us have been trying to tell you this for a very long time now.

I read your statement of yesterday (18 Jan) with disbelief. As a means of communicating with a frightened citizenry – about a coming apocalypse, no less – it was one more in a long line of spectacular fails.

Alas, you are not to get us to save the tiny bit of water we have left by scolding. That’s just going to alienate those who’ve been doing their best, hauling water from springs, saving every drop of grey water, wearing dirty clothes and letting our yellow mellow. We are hot, tired, scared, smelly, and our backs hurt from lugging buckets.*

Now this, and frankly, these lines take the biscuit: “Despite our urging[…], 60% of Capetonians are callously using more than 87l per day. It is quite unbelievable that a majority of people do not seem to care and are sending us all headlong towards Day Zero[….] At this point we must assume that they will not change their behaviour[….] We can no longer ask people to save water. We must force them.”

“Callous”? Do you think the callous, by definition, care about being called names? Did you believe you could simply ASK these people to do the right thing, and they would? How did you think this was going to go down in a city with Cape Town’s particularly toxic history of disparities and injustices, and a particularly arrogant and entitled middle class?

You needed to launch an arsenal of sticks and carrots yonks ago. It was YOUR JOB to force the uncaring and oblivious to save water. Surely you understand that the kinds of people who guzzle water sans conscience respond to only one thing: being hit really, really hard in the goolies (err – I mean pocket)? That, and fear – particularly of having to smell their own ordure (of which, more later).

The rest of us – we are only human – respond to encouragement, clear and helpful information, and incentives. Including financial incentives. Remember when we got rebates and subsidies and tax credits for gas stoves and solar panels? Why has there been nothing similar for those installing rainwater-harvesting systems and composting toilets? Or even tanks and greywater-trapping devices?

I grant this would mean co-operation between local, provincial and national government, and you’re trying to roll this boulder up a hill at the same time that national government is trying to kick it down again, because they would rather hang Cape Town out to dry (LITERALLY) in the hopes of grubbing a few votes than uphold their sworn duties to their citizens.

Nevertheless, apart from a City poster here and there, and the water restrictions reported in the media, I’ve had to turn to civil society resources to find out HOW to keep cutting my water usage. But there are a thousand things I want my local government to tell me. For starters, which natural springs in Cape Town are producing potable water? Who tests this water, and how regularly? How are you going to manage access to these (parking, queues, amount of H2O permitted) in the coming months?

Now, apparently, a crew led by Tony Leon is going to be paid a fleet of wheelbarrows filled with leopards to manage the PR/info side of this trainwreck. Yet on the day Level 6B water restrictions were announced to us, we had to rely on an NGO unrelated to the city (thank you, WWF) to explain what Day Zero is actually likely to mean in our daily lives, and how to prepare for it.

Well, here’s a PR tip for free. If you had started telling people at least a year ago that come Day Zero, they WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO FLUSH THEIR SHIT, we might not now be in the shit. Why haven’t you hired planes to fly this message across the skies? Why still so dainty? We’re seeing pics of the water collection stations, but where are the pics of the mass communal portaloo stations that YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO SUPPLY? (You DO know you’re going to have to supply these, don’t you?)

The bottom line (sorry about the punnage) is that ordinary folk HAVE to have water for drinking and cooking (at least 2 litres per person per day) and flushing shit (5-9 litres a day). Everything else can go by the board: we can get filthier by the day, wear dirty clothes, pee in a pot and empty it down the shower drain: humans have always done this in times of crisis.* But we cannot stop drinking or shitting, and our shit needs to be safely disposed of. If you’d been warning water guzzlers that the toilets in their en-suite bathrooms are going to block up; if you had been showing pics of the portaloos they’ll have to hire; if you had supplied info on composting loos and encouraged the middle classes to install them years back – we might not be in this pickle.

And yet still not a single squeak from the City on this subject. For the love of all that is holy, START HARPING ON IT NOW, and don’t stop until the 60% get in line.

And all this stuff about forcing water-guzzlers to cut back, and punitive measures: if you had been cuffing water-abusers aggressively for the last two years, and if you had instituted sooner the punitively high tariffs for over-consumption you are only now rolling out, we’d have more water, and you’d have more much-needed lolly.

I actually feel bad about being so harsh, and I guess it’s no good crying over spilled water, but could the City PLEASE do better from now on? Those of us who are trying our best feel isolated and confused. Because it’s important to do more than moan, I’ll be starting to gather and publish every water-saving tip I can find: something the City should surely be doing too (there’s precious little on your website: some pretty pics, and instructions on how to find leaks and use greywater – that’s about it, and I had to go digging for it). I still hope that this is something we can all do together, rather than residents feeling that we’re on our own, or worse – pitted against City Hall.

For more on how the middle classes – the biggest guzzlers – can save water, click here.

*NB to remember: the poor of this country live in conditions close to Day Zero ALL THE TIME.