The solar pump that struck fresh water

Dear Delyara, Every elder in our village told me I was out of my mind when I took a loan to drill for groundwater on the dry ridge above the maize fields. They said three international charities had already brought heavy rigs out here and failed, leaving nothing but dry holes in the red clay. I spent three months sweating alongside the drillers, sleeping under the rig in a dusty canvas tent, watching my savings drain away meter by meter while the village whispered that I was ruining my young family. At two o'clock this afternoon, at ninety-four meters down, the pipe hissed, sputtered, and then gushed a four-inch column of ice-cold, crystal-clear water straight into the sunlight. The women screamed, the children ran through the mud, and I fell on my knees in the wet earth, thanking God for giving me the courage to keep digging.