01 A city with no river

It is worth seeing the problem at its real scale. A city can solve water scarcity by bringing it from far away, but that requires a source to bring it from. Here, on the Khomas Highland plateau, at 1,700 metres and deep in semi-desert, there was no large source at a reasonable distance.

The only abundant, reliable and nearby source of water the city had was the one it had already used: its own wastewater. It is a resource that does not depend on rain, that grows at exactly the same rate as the population and that is already where it is needed.

02 What 'direct' means

Almost every city reuses water without saying so, because the river downstream collects what the one upstream discharges. Here the river was taken out of the middle.

The key word here is 'direct', and it deserves explaining. In practice, half the world drinks reused water: one city discharges its treated effluent into a river and another, downstream, takes from that same river for its network. That is indirect reuse, and it happens in almost every populated basin on the planet.

What Windhoek did in 1968 was to remove that intermediate step. Domestic wastewater is treated and enters the city's drinking water system directly, without first passing through a watercourse or an aquifer. That is the technical difference, and it is what makes the Goreangab plant the first of its kind.

It was not improvised. Commissioning came after eight years of pilot studies, and the design rested on a long chain of treatment steps in series, conceived so that no single failure would compromise the final result. What is interesting here is not the daring but the caution.

A view of the city from a wooded rise, with intense cloudless blue sky filling the upper third: at the back, a chain of low, rounded, purplish-brown hills stretches from side to side, with one higher summit standing out at the centre; at the foot of those hills, the city unfolds in a flat, compact band of low white and grey buildings, with two or three office blocks and a construction crane; in the foreground and the lower half, dense crowns of green and yellow-leaved trees cover the slope, and on the right appears the grey metal roof of a house.
The city and the semi-desert around it. There is no permanent river in any direction: the water had to come from inside.Zairon / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0·CC BY-SA 4.0

03 Sixty years on

The system was not an experiment that got abandoned. The original facility was replaced by a new plant, completed in 2002, with updated treatment technologies and greater capacity, and that plant today covers around a quarter of the city's potable water demand.

Sixty years of continuous operation make the case more than a curiosity. It is the longest operating record that exists in direct potable reuse, and that is why it is cited as a reference when other water-stressed cities consider doing the same.

A very wide panorama of the city taken from a hill, in warm late light: at the back, a continuous chain of low, toothed, bluish-brown hills runs across the whole frame; at their foot, the city spreads in a flat band with white industrial sheds, some six- to eight-storey office blocks and a continuous mass of low building; in the middle ground, a residential quarter of single-storey houses with red-tiled and metal roofs, widely spaced, appears wrapped in dense trees; in the foreground, a white boundary wall, a street and several tree crowns in shadow.
The trees of the residential quarters, green in a city of 377.8 millimetres a year. That green also comes out of the system.Zairon / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0·CC BY-SA 4.0

04 What to look at while you are here

The plant is an industrial facility and is not set up for visits, so this is not a fact that translates into a stop on the itinerary. What it does change is how you look at the city, and that starts with the reservoirs in the hills on the edge, which are the other half of the system.

The contrast within a few metres is worth noticing. In the residential quarters there are dense trees, gardens and lawns; at the edge of town, thorn scrub, straw-coloured grass and stony ground. That jump is not produced by climate: it is produced by an engineering decision taken in the nineteen-sixties.

A castle-like building seen from a reddish cobbled drive climbing in a curve: the main volume, rendered in ochre and beige, ends in a square tower with stepped merlons and a round arch over a dark wooden door; to its right, a lower wing with rectangular windows and an arcaded gallery; in front, a retaining wall of dark slabs holds a planted bank with shrubs and flowers; at the centre, a tree with a thick whitish trunk and twisted bare branches; palms, bougainvillea and dense green trees grow around.
Palms, bougainvillea and lawn on a hill in the city. A kilometre from here there is nothing but thorn scrub.Zairon / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0·CC BY-SA 4.0

And there is a detail that rounds the whole thing off and that almost nobody keeps in mind: if you drink tap water in Windhoek, it is fairly likely that part of what you are drinking has already been through the city's system. It is an uncomfortable idea for a few seconds and a perfectly ordinary one from the third onwards.

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Lucía Montes

Worth Knowing editor · Flowtravel

Lucía stops at what a place takes for granted and nobody explains.