No water? Give them shampoo and rain

After waking up with dirty hair on day 25 without water, Westdene resident Lieza Louw pulled on a swimming costume and coverall, slipped into her slops, grabbed shampoo and conditioner and staged her own rush-hour protest.

The 72-year-old, a regular at the recently established daily demonstrations over Johannesburg’s ongoing water outages, stepped into a busy intersection in the rain and washed her hair in the street.

“I was part of the protests and shutdown on Thursday evening, and we had decided to go out again on Friday morning, even if it was raining. And so I just decided I would go out in my bathing costume and wash my hair in the rain. After the water container was empty I managed to rinse my hair in water gushing out of a downpipe,” she said, adding that the activism she felt during apartheid had surged back.

“I can just pray that what we are doing will make a difference,” she said.

Louw is one of hundreds of thousands of residents across Johannesburg who have gone weeks without running water, with little clear communication about the cause or when taps will flow again.

Josh Nel of the Melville protest steering committee said residents were coordinating rolling action to pressure authorities.

“A highlight has been seeing the community join together. It’s been great to see motorists support us and neighbours going out of their way to help each other. But the response of leaders has been disheartening,” he said.

“On Wednesday we planned to meet with officials when the premier (Panyaza Lesufi) pitched up with his blue lights. He walked up to us and then turned away, split the grouping to make the gathering seem smaller and then called his own press conference,” Nel said.

“Then the MD of Johannesburg Water arrived and stayed only briefly and left without engaging with us. We tried to stop them leaving and there’s a video showing how they just drove off.”

Despite the standoff, Nel described the protests as a rare bright spot illustrating the surge of neighbourly cooperation in the face of official silence.

Louw echoed that sentiment, saying she had been energised by the mix of residents sharing frustration, desperation and practical help.

For Cheryl Stevens of Parktown West, who lives alone and has also been without water for more than 25 days, the outage is the worst she has seen in 50 years in the suburb.

“Joburg is waterborne sewage, and the impact of that on hygiene and mental health is immense. You have to keep things flushing; it’s pretty unbearable and then you’re faced with this lack of communication and accountability. I’m amazed that the president even commented on this,” she said.

Stevens now plans her life around water runs — collecting containers whenever she leaves home and rationing laundry, makeshift showers and dishes.

“It’s been very hot — like camping in the desert without a river nearby. But this morning it was raining so I managed to have an outdoor shower under the gutter,” she said.

“Yes we have cars, and some people have water tanks or boreholes, but it’s exhausting. I don’t bother opening the taps anymore to check; it’s impossible to clean the house, and because I bring my own water in myself I’m limited to small 5l containers. It’s traumatic actually and people are taking real strain,” she said.

Still, she points to flashes of generosity. A Palestinian family in Greenside with a borehole has opened their hosepipe to anyone in need, asking only for restraint and a prayer for their homeland.

Like many others, Stevens has joined growing groups of residents banging drums in the streets and demanding answers.

Pressure is mounting as officials signal water could return by Sunday, albeit at lower pressure and on shifting rationed schedules.

“We’re not interested in excuses and commissions of enquiry. We want to see action. And we want water,” Nel said.