There once was a community of people who were very concerned about the environment, living in a peaceful area with big trees and broad rivers.
They taught their children to be nice to all living creatures, shared the benefits of the Earth, and showed respect for it.
Not only was water essential for drinking, but it also helped everything grow and survive, therefore they considered it to be one of the most important things in the world.
I was one of those children.
I loved to run along the edge of the river, feeling the cool breeze on my face.
I would watch the birds swoop down to drink, and I’d listen as the water flowed gently beside me.
To me, it was just a normal part of life—always there, always clean, always safe.
But one day, everything began to change.
The elders in our community started talking about something they called the black snake.
It wasn’t a real snake, not one with scales or eyes.
It was a long, dark pipeline that would carry oil through the land, under the ground, past our river.
If it leaked—and they said leaks often happened—it could poison the soil, the water, and everything that depended on it.
That night, my grandmother sat beside me.
She spoke softly but seriously: “Water is not something we can replace.
If it is harmed, so are we. That’s why we must protect it.”
I didn’t understand everything she said at the time, but I knew it was important.
Soon, people started to congregate from all directions.
They brought with them their hope, their stories, their drums, and their families.
They were determined rather than angry.
For kids like me, they wanted to preserve the river, the wildlife, the trees, and the future.
They called themselves Water Protectors.
I joined them.
We made signs with pictures of fish, water droplets, and hearts.
We cleaned the riverbanks, picked up trash, and talked about why clean water matters.
We marched together, side by side, young and old.
We chanted, we sang, and we shared food as we stood in peace.
Some people didn’t understand.
They thought we were just trying to stop progress.
But we weren’t against change—we were standing up for what should never change: clean water, healthy land, and respect for nature.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
One morning, after a long, quiet night, rain began to fall.
It was gentle at first, then steady and cool.
We lifted our faces and smiled.
To us, the rain felt like a promise—that our voices mattered, and the Earth was listening.
The black snake didn’t go away completely.
But something stronger remained: our care, our unity, and our promise to keep going.
Now, I tell my little sister the same thing Grandmother told me:
“Water remembers who speaks for it. And it needs our voices.”
We are the Water Protectors.
We don’t need swords or shields—just love, courage, and respect.
Because water is life.
And we will never stop protecting it.
If you enjoyed the story of The Water Protectors, we invite you to share our bedtime stories for kids with your children. They will learn valuable lessons and develop a love for reading
