Drought of despair for civil servants in water sector

The existing structure, where multiple agencies oversee water resources, has led to significant inefficiencies. Reports of non-revenue water issues are rampant in counties like those in the Rift Valley, Busia, and Vihiga. 

The proposed merger could enhance accountability, streamline operations, and reduce such problems. However, to avoid repeating past mistakes, the new board must be structured to prevent excessive bureaucracy and corruption. 

Community and stakeholder involvement in decision-making will be crucial for transparency and trust-building. The merger will require amendments to the Water Act 2016, guided by international best practices for sustainability, particularly in drought-prone areas. The reaction from county governments will also be critical to the proposal's adoption.

For over a decade, Mary worked in the water sector, a role she once cherished for its stability and purpose. Her job was to ensure clean water flowed into homes, schools, and hospitals across a Rift Valley county, whose identity is concealed for safety reasons. 

But for the past 16 months, her life has been a living nightmare. Every day she goes to the office, hoping for a miracle—that the long-awaited paycheck will finally arrive. Instead, she is met with disappointment and growing despair.

Mary hasn't received a salary for over a year. As the months passed, the financial strain became unbearable. Missing deadlines for school fees and rent quickly escalated into something far worse. With no other options, Mary had to make heartbreaking decisions. 

She pulled her four children out of a good school, a sacrifice that devastated her. "No one believes you when you say you don’t have money because of unpaid dues. I couldn’t afford to keep them there anymore," she says, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

Her children's education, once a source of pride, is now a daily reminder of her struggle. “Ever since we started missing salary, we’ve had problems with the landlord who often locks the house, only reopening it once we make a partial payment," she mutters in frustration.

One of the hardest decisions she made was signing the transfer papers to move her children to a new school. She couldn’t bear to look at their faces, knowing how much they had grown attached to their teachers and friends. Their once-bright futures now feel uncertain. "They have adapted, but I feel like I’ve let them down," Mary says.

Now, her children attend a local public school with overcrowded classrooms, scarce resources, and overwhelmed teachers. Every night, she prays for a change, for a return to normalcy. But each morning, the harsh reality strikes: her salary isn’t coming anytime soon.

To survive, Mary has taken on menial jobs after work hours—scrubbing floors, washing clothes, and doing anything that offers a bit of cash. It's a far cry from the job she was trained for, and the work is grueling and sometimes humiliating. She cleans the homes of people she once considered equals, unable to look them in the eye. It’s a life she never imagined for herself.

The money from these jobs barely covers food for her family. Some nights, she goes to bed hungry, making sure her children have enough to eat. The financial pressures are relentless, and debt collectors have lost their patience. They call her daily, their voices growing more threatening with each missed payment. They don’t care about her excuses; they want their money, and Mary has none to give. “My mother helps with food when she can. She can’t just sit and watch us suffer. We’ve become a burden to our parents," she says, the weight of her situation evident in her tone.

Mary isn’t alone in her struggle. Her colleagues, once proud civil servants, are in the same sinking ship. Unpaid salaries have driven many to desperate measures. Some have turned to illegal practices, collecting revenue from water consumers but not remitting it to the company. They know it’s wrong, but they feel they have no choice—families are starving, and bills keep piling up. 

This theft has become widespread, contributing to the staggering levels of non-revenue water in the county. “Some plumbers here have resorted to private practice, collecting money directly from customers, which only worsens the company’s financial situation,” Mary reveals cautiously.

Though she knows what her colleagues are doing, Mary can’t bring herself to join them. She’s tempted, but fear holds her back—the fear of getting caught, losing her job, and bringing shame to her family. Most of all, she fears losing herself. So, she continues to struggle on, clinging to her dignity even as everything else slips away.

The stress is taking a toll on her health. Restless nights filled with dreams of drowning in debt, of her children crying for food, of relentless debt collectors knocking on her door. Some days, she can barely get out of bed, the exhaustion running deep, both physically and mentally. And she’s not alone in this either.

In hushed conversations, she’s learned that many of her colleagues have started taking antidepressants to numb the pain and get through the day. But even that comes at a cost. The pills aren’t cheap, and buying them means sacrificing something else—food, school fees, or rent. It’s a vicious cycle with no end in sight. "I’m afraid to start taking the pills because I’ve read about their side effects, and they’re not good," Mary says. 

Perhaps the most painful part of Mary’s ordeal is the ridicule from society. Once respected members of their communities, she and her colleagues are now seen as failures. They were the ones who kept the taps running, who ensured that water flowed. But now, they can’t even provide for their own families. Whispers follow them everywhere—at the market, in church, at school meetings. Mary avoids social gatherings, too ashamed to face her neighbors. The weight of their judgment is too much to bear.

The situation in Busia County mirrors Mary’s struggles. Water users face a crisis as the local water company grapples with inadequate infrastructure, unreliable electricity, and a malfunctioning pumping system. The absence of essential components like chlorine and alarms exacerbates the problem, leading to severe service disruptions. 

Mark, a water sector worker in Busia, attributes these failures to misinformation provided to the executive and the appointment of unqualified professionals in the water department. "There’s now a profound lack of trust among water users," Mark says, highlighting the growing frustration and skepticism towards the management’s ability to deliver basic services. The situation underscores the urgent need for reforms and accountability to restore public confidence and improve water service reliability.

Mary and Mark’s stories are just snapshots of a broader crisis in the water sector. Unpaid salaries are not just about money—they represent broken lives and shattered dreams. Every day, Mary and her colleagues show up for work, hoping that today will be different, that they’ll finally get paid. But as the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into months, hope fades.

Yet, they continue to work because quitting isn’t an option—there’s nowhere else to go. And so, they hang on, clinging to the last thread of their dignity, waiting for a miracle that may never come. Mary still believes in that miracle, but with each passing day, it feels more like a distant dream, slipping further out of reach.

Charles Chitechi, president of the Water Sector Workers Association of Kenya, notes that the water sector loses Ksh.11.3 billion annually due to non-revenue water—a figure that could be used for development projects like affordable housing. 

He emphasizes that the physical causes of non-revenue water directly impact commercial losses. "If an employee hasn’t been paid for months, they won’t fix a broken pipe—this contributes to physical non-revenue water. These are things that can be seen," Chitechi warns.

The challenges faced by Mary and others in the water sector are not isolated but part of a larger systemic issue that affects basic human rights, including the right to education. In Kenya and globally, financial instability and unpaid salaries lead to a ripple effect where children are pulled out of schools, compromising their future and perpetuating cycles of poverty. As the water sector crumbles under the weight of corruption and mismanagement, so too does the foundation of education for the next generation, underscoring the urgent need for reforms that prioritize not just water access but also the fundamental rights of individuals and communities.