I have spent most of my life submerged in water. As a competitive swimmer, water was where I first felt comfortable. It was where I found my life’s pacing, my control, and my freedom. The swimming pool was where I first learned to push my body and mind’s limits. Every breath, stroke, and lap was a product of meticulous, rigorous, and sometimes painful, practice. Nonetheless, I loved it.

However, throughout the 15 years of swimming in chlorinated pools, I never once questioned the complexity behind keeping a facility of this kind afloat and functional. Not once did I think about my swimming as an immense privilege or as a product of unjust water distribution.

In the past, water had always been tied to pleasurable movement. Swimming, running, hiking, walking; all activities of exertion, or of release. I have always made time for them to ease any nerves stemming from daily life, move my body after hours of sitting at a desk, and chase endorphins. In my, some may say, ignorant mind, “going for a run” or “going for a stroll” was equivalent to self care, to connection with nature, to tranquility. These movements were elective, or even indulgent. But, for many, these actions, running, walking, and hiking, are not leisure, but instead, an act of tremendous labor. Thus, we live in an unfortunate world of contrasts, and distinct, life-influencing connotations.

In modern wellness and outdoors culture, movement is marketed as freedom. We wear absurdly expensive tops and leggings, become members at top-tier gyms, and hike to remote waterfalls and post a photo on social media, sometimes under the guise of “disconnecting” from reality. Running, hiking, and walking are seen as some of the few ways to reconnect with our natural environment and our body; as if access to safe spaces and time to practice “wellness” in them were universally obtainable. These interpretations of outdoor movement reflect a particular kind of privilege, one of choice.

This privileged notion disregards that for many women across the world movement is not a chosen action, it is an act of subsistence or survival. One of these women is Rosalina Martinez Zamora, a woman from Teocuatlán, San José Tenango, in Oaxaca, Mexico. Rosalina is part of the Mazateca collective, Naxo Tjondi, and she received a rainwater harvesting system from Isla Urbana in 2024. Her story, like many others, invites us to define movement differently.

For years, Rosalina walked and climbed in the dark in order to retrieve water for her family. In an interview, Rosalina shared, “Before, when I did not have a cistern, I used to get up at 1 in the morning to go and fetch water. Because that was when there was water, it was necessary. I had to get up and carry a 20 liter jug. Even though it was unpleasant and unsafe where I would go to get water, I had to do it.”

In my life, I always ran towards something visceral, whether that be a better mood, a clearer mind, or a different vantage point. But, for Rosalina, running was a movement away from scarcity and towards survival.

The journey was long. The route to reach the water was complicated, dangerous, and rough. The emotional and physical cost was immense. Rosalina continued to share, “I would arrive back at home at 5 in the morning. Yes, at 5 in the morning, arriving again. The sun was rising when I left the place where there was water. I carried 20 liters of water. My son carried a 35 liter container. And that was the water for the day, 55 liters. It used to be 55 liters of water for 7 people. But, now that my mother has passed away, there are 6 of us.” Even after the daily battle to retrieve water, the 55 liters was only enough for cooking; it was not enough for bathing or washing dishes and clothes. Contrast this with the image of a sunrise runner, moving their body with a full bottle of water. It is the same motion, but for completely different reasons. She was not hiking to a mirador, she was hiking back exhausted, just in time to start the day’s tasks.

The differences between how people interpret walking, running, or hiking highlights the systemic inequality in our globe very clearly. Every person on this planet has varying ingrained behaviors, habits, and perceptions spending on their specific life context. Our analysis of movement is shaped by the aforementioned life context; where we live, our socioeconomic background, and our schedules, to name a few.

As someone who grew up with steady access to clean, reliable water, and immersed in sports, movement was always a choice. But for Rosalina, and many others, her movement was many times a result of scarcity. Her walking, hiking, and climbing was a requirement, not a choice. This is the overlooked reality behind the way many talk about reconnecting and moving our bodies. Unlike outdoors and wellness culture’s definition of self care, the act of walking is not always recharging, it is completely depleting. Their definition excludes the millions of women who exert their bodies to its maximum for hours on end. Sure, this does not happen in fancy climbing gyms, pilates studios, or on hiking trails, but, instead, is in search of necessary natural resources, including water.

Every early morning wakeup to begin the journey to collect water is lost time. Lost time from schooling, working, resting, and, importantly, enjoying. Rosalina is familiar with this reality. But, after the installation of her rainwater harvesting system, also has felt what it means to be free of it.

A year ago, Isla Urbana collaborated with Naxo Tjondi to install a rainwater harvesting system in Rosalina’s home, permanently changing her relationship with movement and water, physically and emotionally. Rosalina voiced, with immense emotions, “It has helped me a lot. I no longer have to go and fetch water. I feel so much more relaxed now.”

The abundance, or mere presence, of water also turned into increased time to rest, create, and fulfill everything Rosalina previously could not. As a skilled artisan, she always enjoyed embroidering and knitting, alongside many other women from Naxo Tjondi. Before her cistern was installed, she barely had the energy to focus on what brought her so much joy and tranquility: creating. Rosalina turned to me and said, “Now my hours of going to find water at one in the morning are over, and I can rest a little. At dawn, I start my embroidery and knitting work. Those hours I used to spend looking for water, I can now do other things. When I used to arrive at home, I was already tired. I did not feel like doing anything.” Now, with the cistern, Rosalina wakes up and has more of a choice over how to start her day. Rather than hauling a 20 liter hug, she can embroider and knit.

Alongside embroidery and knitting, Rosalina has also had the time to sell atole, a traditional corn-based creamy drink, and tamales in her community. She commented that with products like atole and tamales, she is able to trade with fellow community members. Her new time capacity to be able to enjoy new habits has expanded Rosalina’s individual freedom. She perfectly described it by saying, “Whatever comes to mind, I make it every day. I like my job, and thanks to having water, I have grown to love it.” Moreover, the cistern supplied Rosalina and her family with both the biological necessity of water, and newfound joys and practices.

Rosalina’s story is deeply human and should provoke an emotive reaction in readers. It is a manifestation of how quickly the definition of movement can change, especially once basic biological needs are met. Rosalina, who once fought to carry 20 liters of water every morning, now has more autonomy over her daily routine and creative processes. When I met Rosalina, she was chatting with her friends from Naxo Tjondi, painting a mural, and walking. Now, rather than walking for water and survival, she walks for her community and for herself.

So, as a society, what if we reimagined running, walking, and hiking? What if they became social indicators, rather than mere physical behaviors? What if the liberty to move our bodies in a joyful manner, rather than out of survival, became a way our society measures equity?

Now, when I swim, run, or even walk, I think of Rosalina. I think of the many who walk miles everyday just to grab enough water to survive. I think of the transformative power of one cistern.

When Rosalina was asked about how to support the communities across Mexico that faced similar struggles to hers, she was direct in her response. She said, “Keep helping us. Thank you very much. I mean, keep helping them. Because, as I said, I already have experience with water scarcity. There are many people who now need it more. There are many people who need that help.”

So, if you have ever felt the joy of movement, whether that be the wind on your face during a run or the comforting coldness during a swim, consider what it might mean to move for survival, not for recreation. Consider what it means to view the joy of movement as a right that could be given to all.

To support women like Rosalina, visit Isla Urbana. Your support can help transform steps of survival into steps of pleasure.

The post Running for Water or Running for Joy? How Movement and Meaning Shift Depending on Access appeared first on Isla Urbana USA.

Oaxaca is a southern Mexican state known for its rich Indigenous heritage, cultural diversity, and mountainous geography. It is home to 16 officially recognized Indigenous groups, including the Zapotec, Mixtec, and Mazatec peoples, many of whom maintain distinct languages, traditions, and governance systems. Approximately 48 percent of the population in Oaxaca has indigenous lineage, second most among Mexican states to Yucatán. Despite its cultural wealth, Oaxaca is one of Mexico’s most economically marginalized states, with limited access to infrastructure in many rural areas. The region’s rugged terrain and historical neglect have contributed to challenges in education, healthcare, and especially water access for Indigenous communities.

Rural Indigenous communities in Mexico face some of the most acute water access challenges in the country. Many indigenous settlements are located in remote or mountainous regions where public water infrastructure is limited or nonexistent. This lack of infrastructure, compounded by deep-rooted poverty and social marginalization, severely impacts the health, education, and economic future of these indigenous communities. As a result, families often rely on unsafe or distant water sources, with women and children bearing the brunt of water collection. These conditions contribute to health risks, lost educational opportunities, and broader social inequities. Structural neglect, geographic isolation, and climate variability further deepen the crisis, making community-led solutions, like rainwater harvesting, essential for achieving water security and preserving Indigenous autonomy.

Water supply has been an issue for the Mazatec people in the Oaxacan region for many years, resulting in lost opportunities and hindered academic development for school-aged children. According to Maribel Gallardo Escobedo, climate change has already started to impact her community in San José Tenango, Oaxaca, further complicating the water issue.

Maribel Gallardo, Regional Coordinator of Nandá Jtsí, San José Tenango. Photo by Camaroni Producciones.

“In our municipality, we do not have potable water – especially in the eastern communities, as there is no potable water supply. Every year we suffer from four months of drought – February, March, April, and May. However, now with global warming and climate change, it has been varying; sometimes it starts from January to June, and at times the droughts are very severe. The way we get water is mainly through rainfall; we try to retain as much as we can in bottles, containers, buckets, and water tanks, which is how most families do it.”

Those who can afford it (and live in accessible areas) may opt to purchase water from delivery trucks. It would take many members of the Mazatec community several days to earn the money required for one delivery truck, though, and storage is limited, meaning those who do rely on delivery trucks are required to pay for multiple deliveries throughout the year. These fees add up and represent an additional stressor for families who are already economically vulnerable.

To confront these pressing issues, Isla Urbana, in conjunction with the Mazatec, launched the Nandá Jtsí in 2019, a transformative program focused on the installation of sustainable rainwater harvesting systems on the rooftops of the homes and schools of the Mazatec. The program has offered a lifeline to the region during a time of increasing uncertainty. Its name, which means “rainwater” in Mazatec, reflects the core mission of the program – bringing sustainable water access to communities where an astonishing 89.6% of households lack access to clean water. Isla Urbana also offers comprehensive training in the installation, maintenance, and repair of rainwater systems to community members, empowering them to take ownership of their water supply.  This initiative provides immediate access to water and invests in the long-term capacity of the community to manage and sustain their systems. Isla Urbana works with the local cooperative, Naxo Tojndi, to foster technical expertise and community autonomy. Through collaboration among certified technicians, cooperative members, residents, and Isla Urbana’s regional team, the program ensures that solutions to water scarcity are both sustainable and locally led. Its impact extends well beyond infrastructure, advancing a broader vision of resilience, dignity, and self-sufficiency for the Mazatec communities it serves.

Though the Nandá Jtsí program began in 2019, the relationship between Isla Urbana and the Mazatec began in 2014. “We found Isla Urbana when the communities were looking for allies. To achieve the vision that the community had of having water and making that water available at home, and having a good way to store it.” The partnership is already having a transformational impact on members of the Mazatec community.

In just about six years, the Nandá Jtsí program has made a great deal of progress in changing the outlook on water for the Mazatec. According to Gallardo Escobedo, the program has installed 108 rainwater harvesting systems on private homes and 12 systems on public schools since being launched. “The plans to continue are to keep following up on these installations and systems, as well as to cover more communities that need one or two pilots in each community, according to the organizational structure of each community.”

When asked about the impact the Nandá Jtsí program has had on the Mazatec community in San José Tenango, Gallardo Escobedo reflected on the program thoughtfully. “The impact has been very great. Both economically, for our families, since when there is no water during periods of drought, it is not just about losing one day or two days of it, but we lose months dedicated to searching for water, and that is a significant impact for our families. We can have water available at home with certainty, allowing us to engage in other activities to generate income in the context of the cooperative.”

The post Nandá Jtsí: Rainwater and New Horizons appeared first on Isla Urbana USA.

From the outside, you might not even know it is a school. It doesn’t necessarily stand out among any of the other streetside buildings in urban Toluca. However, shortly after stepping inside the front gate, it becomes readily apparent that Escuela Primaria Cinco de Mayo is a uniquely special place. Director Escolar Samarey Ramírez Ríos has intentionally fostered an environment where school children are not only students: they are changemakers as well. Water was once a serious issue facing the school and now, thanks to the rainwater harvesting equipment and expertise provided by Isla Urbana, it is a tool for empowerment, education, and change.

Isla Urbana launched their Escuelas de Lluvia program in 2018, beginning with just 9 schools in the Mexico City area. These schools were selected out of necessity, characterized as being located in “particularly water impoverished areas” by Escuelas de Lluvia director Ana Paula Mejorada. The program has since expanded to include over 1,000 schools in 28 different states throughout Mexico. Escuelas de Lluvia is also currently working with pilot programs in Panama, Chile, and the Dominican Republic. Mejorada describes Escuelas de Lluvia as “a beautiful program with a lot of soul.” Their primary focus is on increasing water access by implementing rainwater harvesting systems in public schools around the country. The program also places a large emphasis on educating school faculty, staff, and students on maintaining and caring for the systems, once they are put in place. The program aims to help improve the lives of schoolchildren and to aid in their education. According to Mejorada, roughly 6 out of 10 schools in Mexico don’t have access to water. These schools have no choice but to shut down periodically during drier seasons, which causes adverse impacts on the lives of both the students and their parents. Escuelas de Lluvia sees this as too big of a problem to ignore. “The idea is using the rain to empower communities. The educational program is a huge part of this, we are turning adolescent children into changemakers – some schools even have community gardens, turning entire communities agents of change.”

Mejorada estimates that Isla Urbana is averaging around 500-700 new school installations per year. According to the August 2018 edition of the Latin-American Journal of Educational Studies, the average attendance of a primary school in Mexico is 195 students and 246 students for secondary schools. From these statistics alone, one can begin to get an idea of the wide reach and transformational impact of the Escuelas de Lluvia program. Based on those statistics, Isla Urbana is currently expanding their reach to between roughly 97,500 and 172,200 new students per year. Escuela Primaria Cinco de Mayo became one of those schools in April of 2022.

“Prior to the installation of our rainwater harvesting system, we were not connected to the municipal water network” Ramírez Ríos recalled, “We got water every two weeks, provided via hoses from the surrounding mountains. The water was regulated by a local water committee, that existed as an entity independent from the local government.” Isla Urbana’s rainwater harvesting system was put into place 3 years ago and its impacts were felt almost immediately. Prior to its installation, the school had to find creative ways to obtain clean water for the children. With the help of some of the school’s parents, they were able to install a small, DIY rainwater harvesting system that could capture and store approximately 250 liters of water at a time, a quantity of water that Ramírez Ríos claims would last the school only 2-3 days. The pre-existing system has been repurposed and incorporated into the system installed by Isla Urbana, as an auxiliary storage tank for non-potable water, mostly used for cleaning.

At times, the school had to rely on costly delivery trucks to fill their underground water storage tank, a service which, at the time, cost approximately 650 pesos. That service has increased to 900 pesos in cost in recent years, owing to inflation. At the frequency at which a school like this one requires supplemental water deliveries, it’s easy to see how those costs can add up. Furthermore, the Mexican government is only capable of providing so much financial assistance to these schools, so the burden of subsidizing these schools’ water supply often falls on the parents of the schoolchildren, an additional financial burden many families are ill-suited to take on. In times of extreme water shortages, the school was left with no other choice but to close its doors. For the developing minds of young students, missed classroom time can have cascading impacts, impacts which can eventually permeate into Tolucan society at large.

Not unlike the issue in residential homes, public schools in cities and throughout the Mexican countryside also lack reliable and consistent access to clean water. In communities with access to their municipal water supply, water flows inconsistently. In one in three schools in Mexico, students consume contaminated water, exposing children to waterborne diseases such as diarrhea, typhoid, and cholera. These illnesses can cause malnutrition and hinder cognitive development, resulting in decreased academic performance and increased absenteeism (worldysnews). When water is especially scarce, schools often must resort to canceling classes. Moreover, when classes are in session, inconsistent water availability often leaves schools with unsanitary washrooms. Resulting waterborne illnesses lead to increased absenteeism. This, again, impacts young girls disproportionately, who are often forced to stay home during menstruation. Issues stemming from inconsistent access to clean water have led to a 4.2% decrease in students’ grade levels, with older children potentially losing an entire academic year (Dhongde, S., & Spyrou, I. M.).

In rural areas, numerous schools operate without running water, making it difficult to maintain hygiene standards. For instance, in the Soconusco region, over 200 schools have reported water shortages, forcing closures and disrupting the learning process (Blue Community). Natural disasters exacerbated by climate change, like Hurricane Otis in 2023, damaged over 1,000 schools and left approximately 185,000 children out of school in Guerrero (MirageNews). Vulnerable communities in rural areas are disproportionately impacted by water shortages; In 2014, 14.8% of multi-grade indigenous schools reported no daily water availability—a situation that remains largely unchanged (Sánchez, M.)

Ramírez Ríos wants his schoolchildren to develop an understanding and ownership over the water issue at the school and, as such, has given the children some level of responsibility over the water harvested from their rooftops. Walking through the courtyards that lie between the red and white brick walls of the classroom structures, one will quickly notice the series of small to medium-sized garden beds decorating the property, where everything from small decorative flowering plants to full-sized fruiting peach and plum trees, grow happily in the Tolucan sun. Ramírez Ríos has used these gardens as a vehicle for instilling a deeper understanding of the importance of sustainable water usage and the imparting of important life skills, like intentional plant cultivation, into the minds of his young students. The school is planting seeds in more places than their garden beds; Ramírez Ríos hopes that if this generation of children grow up with sustainability-adjacent ideas in mind, they will be better-suited to navigate the climate-related challenges the next century is likely to bring. He believes the Tolucan community has already begun to harvest the fruits of that labor.

Ramírez Ríos supervises as schoolchildren fill watering buckets from a Tlaloque.

The schoolchildren are actively taught to care for and maintain the rainwater system. Now, students who previously had to miss classes due to insufficient water supply are coming home from school with stories of using water flushed from the schools’ Tlaloques, for example, to help water the schools’ gardens. “Because of the school’s example, houses around the community have implemented their own rainwater harvesting systems.”

As he showed me around the school grounds, Ramírez Ríos would periodically poke his head into classrooms to announce it was time to water the gardens. He would then ask for volunteers to help out in the process, and every time, a mass of small hands would extend into the air to offer assistance to the collective cause. The lucky students who were selected to help would then enthusiastically grab plastic buckets stored in each of the classrooms to fill with water from the numerous Tlaloques located around the property. Seeing the young faces of students light up and beam with excitement at the opportunity to be a part of the day’s garden maintenance left me with a profound feeling of hope for this young generation. Watching the daily watering routine, I was left with the impression that these students were not helping out because it was expected or required; they were helping the process because they wanted to be a part of it. Young schoolchildren will typically resist such chores as being tedious and/or boring, but not here in Toluca. The pride these children felt for the gardens adorning their schoolyard was something palpable.

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In the heart of Mexico City—one of the largest and most densely populated urban areas in the world—millions wake each morning uncertain if water will flow from their taps. Despite seasonal deluges and torrential summer rains, the city and much of the country are facing an escalating water crisis. Decades of over-extraction, inadequate infrastructure, and a growing climate emergency have left reservoirs depleted and aquifers shrinking. In some neighborhoods, especially in the city’s sprawling outskirts, residents go days or even weeks without running water, relying instead on costly and unreliable truck deliveries. In Mexico at large, 12 million people lack access to potable water and only 14% of households receive water 24 hours a day. In rural areas, 8 out of 10 people live without access to basic water services. Nationwide, water scarcity impacts millions of people every day. According to the United Nations, access to clean water is a human right.

In many parts of the world, when water is scarce, it is women and young girls who carry the heaviest load—literally. In households lacking piped water, women and girls are responsible for collecting it in roughly 7 out of 10 cases, with girls almost twice as likely as boys to take on this role. Per UNICEF, this daily task consumes up to 200 million hours, collectively, around the world—time that could otherwise be spent in school, earning income, or participating more fully in community life. Collecting water becomes time-consuming work that takes away from school, jobs, and other opportunities, reinforcing long-standing gender inequalities.

But amid the scarcity, a quiet revolution is taking shape—on rooftops, in schools, and across rural and urban communities alike. Rainwater harvesting, a simple yet powerful solution, is transforming communities. According to UNICEF, 1 out of every 100 liters of rainwater is harvested for use globally – and according to Isla Urbana, therein lies the solution for the water issue in Mexico. The Mexico City based nonprofit organization has spent over a decade demonstrating how simple rainwater harvesting systems can make a big difference. Since 2009, the group has installed more than 40,000 systems across Mexico—mostly in areas where water service is unreliable or nonexistent. The systems collect, filter, and store rainwater from rooftops, giving families a steady, local source of clean water without depending on expensive and inconsistent truck deliveries. A well-designed rainwater harvesting system has the capacity to meet a household’s water needs—including drinking water—for anywhere from five to twelve months each year, depending on rainfall and system size. By capturing and storing rain during the wet season, these systems help reduce reliance on overexploited aquifers, allowing them time to naturally recharge. In addition to easing environmental stress, rainwater harvesting also lowers the financial and ecological costs associated with water transportation, offering both economic and sustainability benefits to communities. Isla Urbana estimates that their rainwater harvesting systems harvest 6.6 billion liters of rainwater annually.

Isla Urbana’s approach is unique in its recognition of the human dimension of the water crisis. By providing families with direct access to water, these systems alleviate daily burdens and create new opportunities—particularly for women and children. With less time spent on water collection and fewer physical demands, individuals can focus on education, employment, and other pursuits that strengthen the entire community. From families who now cook and bathe with confidence to schools where children no longer miss class due to water shortages, communities are reclaiming agency over a resource long taken for granted. What began as a grassroots response to government inaction is now a model of resilience and environmental justice. It’s a simple idea with far-reaching impact—and one that could work in other parts of the world facing similar challenges, if given the right support.

Isla Urbana’s rainwater harvesting systems are designed to be both effective and easy to maintain. Rainwater is collected from a clean, well-maintained roof and funneled into a system of gutters. From there, it passes through a first-flush diverter—known as a Tlaloque—which discards the initial flow of rain, removing roughly 75% of surface contaminants. Water then passes through a secondary filter, which captures larger debris like leaves and branches.

The filtered water then enters a storage tank through a calmed inlet, which helps slow the flow of water to allow for additional sedimentation to settle at the tank’s bottom. A pump with a floating intake draws water from just below the surface, where it is cleanest. Depending on the system’s configuration and the level of water quality required, additional filtration can be added to remove finer particles.

With proper design and regular maintenance, these systems can provide high-quality water for nearly all household uses. When equipped with a final purification stage—such as a gravity-fed filter—the water becomes safe for drinking and cooking as well.

Isla Urbana prioritizes initiatives that promote social and environmental justice. Their webpage outlines their community-centered programs and highlights how their work impacts specifically women, schools, and indigenous communities. In the following passages, I will seek to explore and share some of the real-world impacts this organization is having with respect to those groups, and to tell some of their stories.

In November, I had the opportunity to travel with a cohort of graduate students and faculty from Virginia Tech’s Executive Master of Natural Resources (XMNR) program to Paraje Quiltepec, an informal settlement in Mexico City. We were joined by Delfín Montañana, Director of Socio-Environmental Education at Isla Urbana, who guided us through the community and shared how the organization is working directly with families to address water insecurity. Seeing Isla Urbana’s impact firsthand inspired me to maintain a relationship with the organization and to do what I can to help them in accomplishing their mission.

According to the University of Pennsylvania, 22 percent of Mexico City and between 60 and 70 percent of the Mexican countryside consists of informal settlements (Gutierrez). These communities were not designed with zoning and building codes that ensure access to any municipal water supply. Accordingly, families in informal settlements are often left to find their own solutions to collect water and the responsibility falls overwhelmingly on women and girls. Prior to Isla Urbana’s involvement in the community, Paraje Quiltepec was one of those communities.

Elena Cruz. Photo by Sarah Tesla.

“Before there were public roads, the water truck could not arrive” explained Elena Cruz outside of her home in Paraje Quiltepec. Accessing water was a daily challenge for Elena long before Isla Urbana’s rainwater harvesting system was installed. For years, her only source came through a hose extended from the home of a generous neighbor, running through several adjoining properties.

If the hose became blocked—by debris or a kink in the line—she had to trace it back on foot. When the obstruction was located on someone else’s property and they weren’t home, there was little she could do but wait. “They would use hoses from the nearest road to deliver the water to us. If the neighbors were not home that day or the hose was obstructed for any reason, we would simply go without water.” Elena explained that water trucks, which only became an option after the community came together to build their own roads, were an expensive and inconsistent option that added their own complications. Her family had to request water at the municipal level or through private water providers each time their storage tanks need refilling. Private deliveries by truck can be costly, costing an average of $75 per household per month. Comparatively, a rainwater harvesting system like hers costs an average of $3 per month. Additionally, each truck delivery requires scheduling in advance. Residents are told their water delivery will arrive at their residence sometime between one and fifteen days. This requires someone to remain at home at all times during that window or risk missing the precious opportunity to resupply. Women are frequently the ones who are tasked with waiting for the trucks to arrive.

In communities like Elena’s, Isla Urbana works with residents to install rooftop rainwater harvesting systems that expand access to clean water while easing financial burdens. With a reliable water source, families are able to reallocate time and resources toward critical needs such as education and healthcare. Elena credits the stability provided by the system with helping her children pursue university degrees and build successful professional lives. Consistent water access also contributes to improved hygiene, reduces strain on sewage infrastructure, and lowers the risk of waterborne illnesses—strengthening both individual and public health outcomes.

Isla Urbana’s systems have, quite literally, changed Elena’s life. Water security has opened doors to new opportunities for herself and her children. Harvesting rainwater has allowed her to increase the yield of the fruit trees in her yard consistently, trees whose yields have helped feed her family, as well as offering an additional stream of income. Her children were able to stay in school and pursue lucrative and rewarding careers. Improved water security has totally changed what might be possible for her family’s future. Elena explained, “Not only do we have clean drinking water, but I also use the grey water to grow fruit trees. The fruits we gather produce jams that we sell, among other produce, which has financed my children’s education. They studied computer engineering.” The impact of Isla Urbana’s work extends beyond reducing the time women and girls spend collecting water. Many women in the community are trained as system installers and advocates, challenging traditional gender roles and becoming agents of change. Elena Cruz is one such example. She was the first in her community to invest in a rainwater harvesting system. Her example encouraged her neighbors to put faith in Isla Urbana, when trust in municipal systems was all but lost due to long delays in delivery and a persistent failure by authorities to follow through.

The story of Paraje Quiltepec and Isla Urbana highlights the powerful connection between water security and gender equity—reminding us that, in some cases, solutions really can fall from the sky. The organization’s work demonstrates that meaningful community engagement is essential; when residents are directly involved in the design and implementation of solutions, those efforts are more effective, more sustainable, and more widely embraced.

By improving access to water, Isla Urbana is not only helping women and girls reclaim their time and pursue opportunities—they’re also fostering leadership. When women are empowered to lead on issues of water access, the benefits extend far beyond the individual, creating ripple effects that strengthen entire communities.

In Mexico City, water represents more than survival. For many women, it means freedom, opportunity, and agency. Isla Urbana’s work is a testament to what becomes possible when water is seen not just as a basic need, but as a pathway to justice. Through innovation, community partnerships, and a commitment to gender equity, the organization is setting an example with global relevance—one rooftop at a time. For Elena Cruz and thousands like her, rainwater harvesting is more than a technical solution—it’s a symbol of dignity, resilience, and possibility. In a city where water too often equals struggle, Isla Urbana is proving that equity can fall from the sky—if we’re willing to catch it.

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“There is nothing more important than women. I say that because seriously, and I have nothing against the male sex, the truth is we are the ones who steer the ship… We organize the house, the children, the grandchildren, the school, the professional field.” 

Perpetuating Gender Inequalities 

In Mexico, water scarcity is both an environmental and social issue, disproportionately impacting marginalized communities, particularly, the women within them. Collecting water requires tremendous amounts of time and energy, limiting their ability to pursue education, paid employment, political participation, or social and recreational activities. 

This struggle reinforces cycles of poverty and gender inequality, stifling women’s personal development. Women have vast potential to contribute to their community’s socioeconomic growth, yet the relentless responsibility of water collection limits their ability to do so—sacrificing their well-being for the basic survival of their families. 

According to the Gender and Water Agenda in Iztapalapa, “It is not unreasonable to hypothesize that women, particularly the poorest and least educated, inadvertently prop up the water management system through a societal subsidy granted due to their gender status.” 

The Challenges of Water Collection  

Many women whose homes are not connected to the municipal water network or who cannot afford the high prices of water delivery trucks, spend hours finding water for their family. Some municipalities in Mexico City have women spending nearly an entire work week (4.4 days) on water-related tasks, all while juggling domestic responsibilities like washing clothes, scrubbing dishes, cleaning the home, and cooking. 

Beyond being overwhelmingly demanding of their time, water collection is physically exhausting. Many water sources are far from home, requiring women to walk long distances multiple times a day, navigating dangerously rocky terrain with steep drops—all while carrying heavy jugs on their backs or shoulders, careful not to spill a drop. Ana Lidia Aparicio Vaina, a mother of two young girls in Xochimilco, Mexico City, shares: 

“My mother in law, who was one of the first six to arrive at this place, carried around 6 5-gallon jugs on her back and all the neighbors did the same. Some might have hired a donkey to carry the water, but the truth is that most of us don’t have the means to pay for one.” 

Oftentimes, women have no choice but to hold their children at their side, compounding the strain of the heavy load. This grueling, physically demanding task can lead to serious health implications, especially over time. Day after day, year after year, carrying excessive weight wears these women down, leading to chronic pain, joint damage, and even organ damage. Ana further recounts:  

But the toll of water sourcing is not just physical, its emotional weight is just as significant. The pressure to ensure their families have enough water—especially during droughts or shortages—can create extreme stress, anxiety, and exhaustion. Water scarcity forces women to prioritize survival over their own well-being, often at the expense of their mental health and household relationships. Raquel Arias Montiel, director of the Mario Colin Sánchez Elementary School in Cuautitlán Izcalli, Mexico City, underscores this by recounting: 

“I have a responsibility as a public servant to guarantee the fulfillment of their [students] rights. It has been a very complicated challenge to have to attend to all these needs and above all, to know that many of my students’ homes don’t have access to water.” 

Honoring Women   

At Isla Urbana, 73.27% of the 3,359 registrations for our rainwater harvesting programs were completed by women, based on data collected between January 2023 and 2025. This isn’t just a statistic—it’s a testament to the role women play in securing water for their families and communities. Rainwater harvesting unshackles women from the daily burden of water collection, allowing them to pursue education, careers, and personal empowerment. It is a step towards a future where water is a source of strength, not struggle. 

On this International Women’s Day, we honor the incredible women who bear the weight of water scarcity with unwavering strength, resilience, and determination. These women—mothers, daughters, grandmothers, leaders—keep their families and communities afloat despite the weight of water scarcity. 

This year, Isla Urbana USA launched our “Women & Water” initiative to connect women across the world. We interviewed three women from water-scarce communities in Mexico City and shared their powerful stories with Isla Urbana USA funders, volunteers, and team members, fostering feminine solidarity across borders. These stories are a powerful reminder of the unbreakable spirit of women everywhere—the way they nurture, lead, and persevere through even the most difficult circumstances. These women take immense pride in their roles, their communities, and their ability to overcome adversity. As María Elena so beautifully told us: 

“Women anywhere in the world are important. I feel very proud to be a woman.” 

Addressing Mexico’s water crisis is not just about improving water access—it’s about restoring dignity, health, and freedom to the women who have carried this burden for far too long. It’s about creating a future where no woman has to choose between survival and self-determination. This International Women’s Day, celebrate their strength, honor their resilience, and help us create a world where water is no longer a burden women must bear alone. 

Photos and video documentation by Celsa Calderoni from Camaroni Producciones.

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