Yesterday was one of those days that makes everything worthwhile. I went to see our programs in Kompong Thom. Apo, my manager there, took us to see a village called Preah Nongkor. My first impression was one of total dismay.

The dirt track we travelled on kept getting smaller and smaller. We were surrounded by scenes of utter desolation. The fields were dry and dusty and the homes of people were small and decrepit. I thought, “Oh, no, how can it get worse?” We visited a few families and the stories were all the same: husbands had left to work on the Thai border because there was no work near home. The fields were empty and dusty. The old folks and a few moms were struggling to keep it all together. The children were malnourished and dusty. It was all a bit too much.

In the midst of this desolation was a field of emerald green. Several small plots of land were growing rice. “What is this?” I asked Apo. “This is what I wanted you to see”, she said. As we got out of the car, we walked through the rice. We came to two of the small decrepit homes. As we walked past the houses, two families were there. They had the biggest smiles, waiting in anticipation for what they would show me. There before me was a pond, 5 metres deep, 5 metres wide and 10 metres long. It was surrounded by a wall of dirt, removed to make the ponds.

The pond was almost empty and the husband was gathering fish from the muddy bottom. They had their speech prepared: “Remember last year when we talked about ponds?" Apo asked me. “Remember I told you that wells would not work in this area? The water, when we find it, there is very little – enough to keep clean but not enough to grow food. I asked for a pond which would cost the price of three wells and you said, 'Go ahead.' This is the pond.”

I looked around me. The rice was almost ready for harvest, the husband told me. “I emptied the pond so that we can make it stronger and be ready to do this again. We raised 1,000 fish. There are a few remaining. We wanted you to see because my family is no longer hungry. We no longer have to buy food at the market each day, food we couldn’t afford and so we ate just rice. Now each day we have rice and fish, and we have vegetables to go with it.” The wife spoke up quietly: “Now my husband is home, there is work for him here. I am safe.”

I kept staring with amazement at what I saw and listened with a heart bursting full of joy. “We brought you here,” said Apo, “because the one thing our families have is land - an average of two hectares - but they have no water. They would all like to have a pond – a pond to grow fish in; a pond to irrigate their land; a pond to give work to their husbands; a pond to give security to their families. “What is stopping us is the cost of a pond. It costs $350.00. The families are willing to pay $50 from their first crops towards the cost – if Tabitha would pay the $300.” I looked at their faces, I looked at the emerald fields around us, I looked at the pleasure of the husband as he caught a fish for me, and I knew I couldn’t say no. “How many families Apo?” “There are 500 families in the program in the three villages needing the ponds. At least 150 families will want one. We have 20 families that are ready to begin right now.” I said, “Go ahead and start”, because I couldn't bear the thought of returning through the desolation without some hope.

So I now turn to each of you. The past year has taught us what water will do. Our field wells are amazing as they turn barren soil into flourishing crops of vegetables – changing desperation and hunger into food and income, turning helplessness into fields of dignity and respect. We have learned that water is a source of life and we are learning that this water must be developed in many ways. So now we must do ponds.

I often use a phrase: “Who will hear our families when they cry?” – I am thankful that it is each of you who have heard the cries. $300 for a pond sounds so very much – and yet – this $300 can grant life. Thank you.

Janne