When we arrived in Swaziland, we were given a book titled Where There Is No Doctor. This practical guide serves as a reference
for your basic bush ailments and is best left on the shelf to collect dust
because extensive studying of it can lead to unnecessary anxiety and inaccurate
self-diagnosis. In light of recent
conversations with my sister who has developed an academic interest in global defecation
practices and sanitation, as well as one too many personal emergency bush dumps,
I feel that a more useful guide should be developed: Where There Is No Toilet.
Since this has yet to be written, I have decided to take matters into my
own hands. A year ago I would have had
more class than to publish the intimate details of poop life in Swaziland on
the internet, but when my first task of the day is to haul a bucket of my own
urine to dump behind my hut while all the neighborhood school kids observe,
there’s not much pride to be maintained.
And let’s face it, poop is
hilarious no matter how old you are.
They say you’re not a real Peace Corp Volunteer until you’ve pooped
yourself. On that note, if you ever find
yourself in the bush, take into consideration these suggestions from a real PCV:
- BYOTP. Yes, long gone are the days of BYOB (not
that there’s any booze worth bringing in the country – last night I dreamt
that I got into a fist fight over the last bottle of Blue Moon…). Bring your own TP. TP is a luxury here. Most Swazis use newspaper clippings as
TP. One morning I found a photo of
my fellow PCVs on the newspapers hanging in the latrine. I promptly removed the clipping and
informed my family that it was disrespectful to wipe their butts with
photos of my friends.
- NEVER shine your headlamp
down the pit latrine. Trust me.
- Don’t be phased when
you’re greeted my a child mid-squat next to the road waving, “How are you,
Nosipho?”
- I know I’ve said it
before, but never trust a fart.
Seriously.
- When it rains, be prepared
to use force to fight goats seeking shelter in the latrine.
- Be wary of picking up
pant-less children, 9 times out of 10 it ends poorly and every time you
wear that shirt, your host mom will remind you that it is your “poof shirt.”
- Leftover tissue paper from
care packages serves as a fine substitute for TP when you run out. A bit rough on the bum, but it beats
newspaper.
- Before closing the door to
the latrine, check for snakes and rats.
- In case of emergency mid-run
bush poops, it is always preferable to sacrifice your underwear in order
to wipe and then abandon them in the bush.
It makes for a much more pleasant commando 5-mile walk back to your
hut.
Overall, it is best to embrace the latrine experience. I quite enjoy my morning trips to the
outhouse and often find myself spending long than necessary in there as I
chuckle over the ridiculous newspaper articles hanging inside. My personal favorite was an interview with a
movie star in which she notes, “My faith is very important to me. Every night I read my Bible. After that I like to relax by reading Fifty Shades of Grey.” Come on, girl…
I hope that I haven’t offended any of you and if you ever
find yourself where there is no toilet,
that you’ll take this advice to heart.
That being said, when you walk down the hall to your porcelain flush
toilet, be grateful for the absence of cockroaches, for the softness of the
toilet paper and the cute embroidered teddy bears on it, and for the fact that
once you flush, you’ll never see that poop again.
The world is your stage and the bush is your toilet
