It’s that time again. Dar es Salaam—my city, our city—is gasping. Not from heat, but from thirst. Walk down any street in Tegeta, Ubungo, or Manzese, and you’ll see it: young men and women carrying buckets like weary pilgrims. They’re not fetching water for ritual—they’re surviving.
What looks like work is, in truth, a national subtraction. Every hour spent queuing at a tap is an hour lost to productivity, to dreams, to dignity. And yet, what choice do they have?
