A Drop in the Bucket

In Namibia, resources seem to come in windfalls. A goat is slaughtered and must be cooked, dried or sold before the meat spoils. Ripe eembe (berries) drop from the tree in the strong winds that precede thunderstorms and must be gathered before the rain arrives. Paychecks are issued at the end of the month and spent within a week or two. Ombidi (wild spinach-like greens) sprout in the fields and must be collected and dried into cow pie-looking patties before disappearing from the earth as quickly as it arrived. Rain falls in torrents that cause temporary floods, and then not a drop falls from the cloudless sky for the remaining nine months. When it floods, the fish “run” and must be caught and dried before the ephemeral oshanas evaporate.

These cycles of abundance and drought create periods of intense work, like the kind I stumbled across last week. Upon entering the homestead, I walked into a group of memes sitting under a tree with a massive pile of marula fruits making omagongo (marula juice). Like everything else in Namibia, I immediately decided that I needed to try it, at least once, so I joined them in the shade. After some confused laughter and quick observations I got to work on a small pyramid of marulas, using a cow horn to pierce the fruit and loosen the skin, letting the juice drip down onto a plastic plate and all over my hands. An hour later, the plate was only beginning to look full. Clearly, I forgot to mention one very small, very important detail: marulas are 10% skin, 10% juice and 80% stone. As auto-pilot took over (puncture, loosen, squeeze; puncture, loosen, squeeze), my mind began to contemplate the process occurring under the tree.

PHOTO: Marulas ready to be juice and cow horn to help with the job.

For some unfortunate reason, clichés are always at the forefront of my mind, so I couldn’t help pondering the “drop in the bucket” theory that was unfolding in front of me. As overused as it is, it’s true: we may feel that our action is only a drop in the bucket, but over time these drops add up ounces, ounces to pints, pints to gallons. And location matters naught – a drop is a drop; a drop in Africa is a drop in America is a drop in Asia.

Just a few days before, I’d listened to NPR’s broadcast of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech. I’d heard it many times before, but this time it was different; I didn’t just listen to the speech, the speech spoke to me. It reminded me that we all have rights – and along with those rights come equally important responsibilities. Among those responsibilities is public service; to serve our communities, wherever they may be, in whatever way we can. By some convoluted logic, people seem to think that drop in rural Africa is somehow bigger than a drop in urban America or in one’s hometown. But it’s not. A drop is a drop. So let’s keep Dr. King’s dream alive by serving our communities and speaking out for human rights, wherever we are, however we can. Drop by drop.