No water, no worries

JAKARTA (JP): There are a few things I have taken for granted in my life. Electricity, telephones and running water head this list. Living in Jakarta has shaken my belief in these icons of modern living, none more so than when our water supply ran dry a few weeks ago.

It was a warm afternoon when we received the diagnosis of our water situation. Our landlord, who had been tinkering with the water pump for a couple of hours, informed my husband and I that the pump was fine, but the well had run dry. A new bore would have to be dug, he gently explained, which would mean a few days without running water.

No worries, we thought. We can cope with that. Like most Australians we've been camping and know what it's like to live without the above mentioned luxuries, let lone without just one.

An army of staff was brought in to effect backup procedures. A water truck was ordered to provide us with emergency water rations. Tubs of water started springing up in our house like mushrooms, the bathtub was filled to capacity and ladles supplied to dish out the non-running water.

"All set," I thought, as romantic notions popped into my head like "rising to the occasion" and "putting my best foot forward." My husband broke the second bit of bad news to me that day.

"Don't forget we only have one flush left," he casually remarked.

"One what?" I asked, hoping he had said brush as I had left one in Australia on my last trip home and had hoped he wouldn't notice. He hadn't.

"One flush of the toilet," he said, sounding a bit exasperated.

Now this was not something that had entered into my romantic notion of "rising to the occasion" and all that. I suddenly realized that flushing toilets could be added to my list of things I took for granted. I had never wondered about how they flushed, they just did. That was their job and this was no time to quit.

"So what do we do?" I asked, realizing that what we do on camping trips in Australia was not going to be an alternative here as we have a small yard with not much privacy.

"We can fill up the system by hand," came the more patient reply.

"Good idea," I said, sounding optimistic and relieved, even though I didn't know which part of the toilet the cistern was. But, I knew that filling it up by hand sounded like a job to be delegated to my husband because he was obviously so knowledgeable about this subject.

With this potential crisis dealt with swiftly, it was time to test the waters and have my first indoor wash with non-running water. I surveyed the buckets and the bath brimming with water, and decided that a cold bath might be refreshing.

Armed with a ladle, I stepped into the bath tub and froze. The experience was not just refreshing, it was chilling. I had bathed in creeks before, but they were outside, not nestled in an air- conditioned house. Shivering, I jumped out, wrapped a towel around me, headed for the kitchen and boiled the water in the kettle. Meanwhile, I let the bath water out. Armed with the kettle of hot water and my buckets of cold water, I started again.

Standing in the empty bath tub, I filled the ladle up with a bit of hot water and a bit of cold water, and poured it carefully over my legs. It felt great - and warm. Over the next few days I perfected this method and was able to have a pretty good bath. My husband, probably inspired by my pioneering lead, also used this method.

Three days later some people came with a hole digger and dug a new well by hand. Two days after they started this task we had water gushing from our taps again. And we were grateful.

Camping is one thing, but having no running water in your house for a few days is an entirely new ball game. It is, however, an experience I would recommend to people like me who take some modern conveniences for granted - like running water and flushing toilets.

-- Elizabeth Roderick