In Fiji, a project to provide clean water becomes an exercise in multifaith cooperation.
By Rowena Cuanico

Muslims, Hindus, Catholics and Anglicans all worked together to make the well project a reality. Workers who would ultimately benefit from the well dug a canal for water pipes.

To run water to our house, a water pump was connected to the home of Master Gyan Want, our sector leader. Sometimes, we would fetch water from the home of our neighbor, Master Mul Deo. To save water, I would do my laundry in Master Gyan’s house. Columban Father Diego Cabrera Rojas provided drums to collect water from the water spouts of the church and the house. Whenever Master Gyan’s son Nicolas would see me running down the hill, he already knew what the problem was—no water in the house.

During these times whenever I would pray the “Our Father,” I wasn’t simply praying “give us this day our daily bread.” It was more like “give us this day our daily water.”

Life improved when we were able to buy a new pump. Still, the water had a brown tint and foreign objects, especially during the dry season.

We sought help from men in our community to clean the well, but they were afraid—the well was simply too dangerous. We bought a water purifier for our home and the Red Cross provided water purification tablets.

A Revived Project
One day, Fr. Diego learned that 13 families in the school district had started a community borehole project in 1997 after a severe drought. The families had contributed money to drill a well, but because of a lack of money, the project didn’t get far. Still, the borehole had been created, and there was water.

Soon, the 13 families and the Holy Cross Catholic community petitioned the appropriate government officials to revive the project. Under the leadership of Fr. Diego, meetings with local officials were held. But there was one big problem—the project documents could not be found. The only solution was to start over.

One day, I accompanied a group of surveyors in the area. Most of them were indigenous Fijians, and I had to use the best Hindi I could muster to translate for them. It was fun and rewarding.

I remember when we arrived at the house of Uncle Jitten and Aunt Mala. Their well is only about 60 yards from their house. But if it does not rain for a week, they must fetch water from a source farther away.

When we arrived, I greeted Jitten and Mala in Hindi and explained our presence. Aunt Mala hugged me. “Weng, jab paanii aae, ham aap ke kapRaa doegaa jab aap Naleba me hai.” (“Weng, when the water comes, I will wash your clothes when you are in Naleba.”) She was unexpectedly teary-eyed. This gave me inspiration to work even harder on the project.

A Bureaucratic Tangle
Despite our legwork, we had trouble getting a cost estimate for the well. We had to be patient and persevere because we were aware that we were dealing with bureaucracy. Finally, in January 2002, there was a meeting between government officials and the beneficiaries of the project. I was nervous, because almost everyone there was a man.

With all the courage I could muster, I introduced myself and described the project. After my explanation, George Shiu Raj, minister of the Department of Multiethnic Affairs, asked me when I was returning to my native Philippines. I told him April 2003.

He gave me the assurance we needed. “Lady, before you go, you will have water here,” he said.

Multiethnic Affairs Minister George Shiu Raj (in suit) discussed the progress of the borehole well project with Rowena Cuanico, a Columban lay missionary. The completed well benefits the Holy Family parish and 13 families in Naleba, Fiji.

The week before work began in August 2002, Minister Shiu Raj visited our church and gave me and the water committee clear instructions: make sure the project is implemented as proposed. Perhaps for this reason I was given the title sardaar—the name given in Fiji to the head of sugar worker “gangs.”

A Community United
Once work on the well started, each family that would benefit from the well contributed a worker as part of their contribution to the project and helped supervise all those working on the well.

For me, this wasn’t just building a well. It was a community united and committed to pursuing their dream of providing safe and clean water for all.

It was a sight to behold as Muslims, Hindus, Anglicans and Catholics all worked together. It was a joy to hear them after a hard day’s work laughing and talking over cups of yaqona (a traditional drink in Fiji).

Now that the well is built, there is a lot of openness and sharing as the water pipes crisscross properties.

This project involved crisscrossing boundaries of language, culture and gender, as well. In Indian culture, women and men don’t and can’t mix freely. But we gave each other the opportunity and the space to work together.

I remember that three months after the well project was completed, we were not getting enough water. I went to see the water committee officers and told them about the situation.

That same afternoon, three Hindus and two Muslims came to the Church to check the connections. I was touched, and I could feel how much they respected us.

Fr. Diego and I were not at the project inauguration held at the church compound. He was back in his native Peru, and I was in the Philippines. The minister came, as did my classmate. They had a good program and refreshments, I was told.

I felt sad that I missed the celebration, but I did have a good shower the day I arrived back in Naleba.