Warning: this blog may be potentially hilarious, containing details not for the squeamish
Let me set the stage….its month 8 in Kenya and we are no strangers to the ‘Squatty’ and have used more outhouses than we care to acknowledge. This was our first month living with an outhouse.
The difference between a squatty and an outhouse lies mainly in the sewage management system. A Squatty is a porcelain, flushable toilet at ground level, so you….squat over it…. And flush when done. An outhouse is like…. port-a-potty meets squatty. Picture a cement floor, with a hole cut out leading down to an open cistern of poo.
The holes in the old wooden door of the outhouse lead us to establish a ‘warning’ system whereby we shout down the alley before venturing back to avoid uncomfortable encounters. We were serving with another team this month so 14 people share said bathroom…one of whom was Travis….
…..he and I have the same bathroom patterns. Every time I have to go….he is in my way, or I am in his. We pass as usual with a smile, snicker and occasional snide comment about having to pee again.
On this night, my team mate Laura had to brush her teeth. Having spent 8 months together, the holes in the door were no obstacle to efficiency…..we can pee and brush teeth at the same time….NBD for now…PTL later!
As we chatted I stepped in to the outhouse and began closing the door……
…..then….
……it happened…..
……… My flip flop, and all its useless grip, slipped across the concrete to the open hole. Like an out of body experience…in slow motion…I knew quickly what was happening…..
….I…..
….was…..
…..going…..
….IN….
In my mind’s eye, I felt as though my entire body would pass through this narrow opening landing in the bottom with a splash…
….. but by the mercy of God, the hole was only so big.
There I sat, on the dirty concrete floor, with my leg completely wedged in the hole…..thigh deep….
In my moment of need, I cried out to God…..over, and over, and over, and …..in the midst of my screams …. “Oh My God….Oh God…..I fell in….Oh God….Oh God….Im in”
…..I hear a voice of reason rise on the shore of my disbelief….
……Laura is standing at the door yelling “Get up! Stand Up! Get Up”. In my moment of terror and clear thinking….I reason….
“I cant, I will loose my flip flop!” …..
”Forget about the shoe” she begs…”Just stand up!”
Awkwardly, I pull myself to my feet to assess the damage.
The pile of sewage was regretfully tall and my foot was coated with a layer of …. Well….whatever Travis ate for dinner.
A full bottle of Antibacterial Soap, and 2 large Shower bags later (did I mention we have no running water), I finally stopped scrubbing…..
…it wasn’t enough.
Even today, 1 month later …. it somehow…. is still not enough.
We laughed and laughed for hours! I don't know how long I might have stayed in the hole had I been alone…..but I know that sharing the experience with Laura (otherwise known as 'the Hero' as she reminds me regularly)…..made it all the more fun! Now we have the greatest gift …..
……….Remember the time I fell in the poo hole!!!!!
