So HERE IS YOUR FAIR WARNING. This is about the messy side of travel: toilets, intestinal upset and the challenges of a fertile women traveling in other places.
Those with a weak stomach or sensitive gag reflex (RK in Canada you know who you are- stop reading now.)
I am not kidding.
... Really
Before we left, I knew that squatty potties were the norm in Africa and Asia. I was thus surprised to meet our first one in Italy, that introduction went off without a hitch. I wasn't so sure at first which way you were supposed to point yourself but got there in the end.
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| The one in Italy |
Most restrooms with plumbing in Tanzania offer you a choice of the "throne" or the "squatty." Of course, not all squatty are flush toilets, some are just pipes that go off in some direction that you pour a scoop of water down. The ones that are flush really seem to have a quite vigorous and powerful flush that creates a bit of overspray. The first time I felt the (not so very fine) mist of water over spraying on my ankles, I was quite disturbed. I eventually learned how to open the door partway, stand behind it, reach round to flush and make a rapid retreat thus avoiding the overspray. After that, I told myself that if the floor was wet, it was over spray.
In the first week or so in Moshi, I arranged the Tinga Tinga outing for me and the boys. L got to use a non-flush squatty available to the community of artists. Later that night, this is how part of the conversation went with him and Paul (or how I remember it going at this point):
L- I had the most disturbing toilet experience. I couldn't tell if the moisture all around the toilet was coming in or going out.
P- Squatty potties tend to be a moist affair.
L- If I stood all the way up I could see over the walls.
P- You had walls? That must have been a treat.
L- The door was a crooked plank of wood.
P- And a door? That must have been nice.
Me- Someone brought in a bucket of water for rinsing, I think.
P- You actually had water there?. The one we used had no water, you had to plan ahead.* This meant finding the bucket, which sometimes was in the kitchen, and filling it.
Me- Why would it be in the kitchen? (I was and am grossed out by that.)
P- Yeah, I just try not to think about it. Once we were in a rural village that had one squatty for the whole village that was open on the top and there was one pair of shoes in there - I think the whole village used them. Not everyone had the best aim and the splatter was baked on (wave hand in large circular motion).
The conversation went on from there. I think L also added something about how the smell was billowing out the hole.
*P is referencing a trip to Kenya and Somalia.
Early in our time in Tanzania, I found this particular picture intriguing, I posted it already in the Moshi photos, but it is really on topic here:
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At first, I found it funny then I realized it was perhaps to illustrate the type of toilet they had within. Or also how to use it since many people are used to squatting and many restrooms have signs asking you to NOT stand on the toilet.
The boys and I took two different overnight safari tours. The first place we camped had a choice of squatty or throne. The door on the toilets didn't stay shut. Actually, it seemed to stay shut, only to swing open ONCE you were sitting down and midstream. The other unpleasant deal in that situation was that it was a long distance to the door, several feet, so you couldn't just reach out and shut it.
On the last night of the first overnight safari, I developed an upset in the intestines. I seriously thought I was going to be in big trouble. We had a safari drive the next morning (our only real chance to see the rhino!) and a long drive home after, but I managed to just feel bad and hold it all in. After several days back, my stomach was still upset, I asked the advice of the expat who owned the B&B where we were staying. She told me to take a stool sample into a local clinic. She said to just take a match, scoop some up, then take it in, in the matchbox. I am an unfortunate veteran of the American medical system's stool sampling methods (various issues from returning from foreign travels, the worst was Campylobacter which is similar to E.coli). There are several logistical and contamination issues (if you feel the need to hold yourself to a Western sampling standard) with just using a match and a matchbox. First and foremost, you realize how very, very small a matchbox is for a target and how it really seems quite water soluble and flimsy. I ended up being very proud of my ingenuity and ability to keep my sample sterile. It involved trimming a piece of thin plastic from a pantyliner wrapper to make a barrier. I could go on but I'll exercise some restraint.
So- once I had my nice sample, I put in in a clear plastic bag, because really, who wants to risk any seepage? I called a taxi. As I was leaving ,Grace stopped me and said, "Putie* that (points to bag) in your purse. Because if the Africans see it, they know it has the toilet in it and they will laugh, even Kelivin (taxi driver) will laugh. They will be so surprise to see a Muzungu has that!"
*I say putie instead of put since that was the cute accent they had. I appreciated her telling me that so much. I totally visualized myself walking around with the bag no big deal, maybe I'd just gone shopping? Who knew? Well, really they would know and all too well.
Once I got to the clinic, it was another learning curve. Which building to go to? How long it would take? Oh, they do not call you with results, you must go back?
They handed back my results (a small white "intake" lab sheet was handed over with matchbox). It had a three letter stamp: NAD. You must wait to see a doctor (WITH the proper card. To get the proper card, you have proper paperwork, which involves two side-by-side windows with the same counter behind them but you have to go to both). After all that, you learn that NAD just means: No Abnormality Detected. In short, nothing was found. It did resolve itself in a matter of time. However, I just don't understand why they didn't tell me that was what it meant when the extent of the change to my paperwork was that tiny stamp of 3 letters. Of course the moment I told Paul that the paperwork was stamped NAD, he knew what it meant. So, if you are in the medical field, you wouldn't need to go to a different building, check in with two people, wait to be called back, then sit while the doctor looks over your file for a few minutes and asks you some questions before finally (when you point blank ask) tells you what NAD means anyway. Later, I told the story to a couple of his classmates who said they could have checked the sample for me. Apparently, they had all been doing that type of poo smear and would have been happy to take it.
On the bushman tour we, drove for an hour into the middle of who knows where. When we arrived in the village, the boys and I just thought we parked randomly in some trees and brush and then were surprised when people popped out! Before we left on our hunt, I had to urinate and asked the guide where to go and he just gestured to the brush. I said "Yes, but where exactly? How far?" He wasn't, in this instance, helpful. I didn't want to go and then be pissing in someone's house and not know it! There must be some sort of genetic pull we have as humans for approximate distance to go from a living quarter since I guessed a bush area and aimed for it and once I squatted and looked around it was CLEARLY the place they all used, and let's just say that there was no toilet paper to guide me to that conclusion. It was also clear that the seeds of the baobab tree (what they eat when hunting is thin) aren't really digested very much, or really at all, and puts the idea of undigested corn and peanuts to shame.
In Uganda, the boys and I went with two of Paul's classmates on a birding swamp tour and they had a sort of community pit/vault toilet set up that was just multiple doors (most had doors that actually closed some were sort of just set there). Inside each was a rectangular hole in a slab of thick concrete. Someone had put in a branch of leaves in most. At least the town had a place to go and no one was stepping in each others' business. I went and so did L. After we were both done he asked about my experience. I told him it was fine. He wrinkled his nose and said, "someone left behind a quarter size creamy behemoth on the edge of mine!" You have to admit, aim can be a challenge at times.
As a female traveler who feels that OB tampons are God's gift to the menstruating woman, I planned ahead with my preferred sizes and all. At some point, I foresaw a needed to replenish tampons and began to plan ahead and was told they don't really sell tampons in Tanzania. What? I mean- what? Really in the whole- what? This was an expat and she said "I forgot about that, I just use pads now." My heart sank. She was right, I couldn't find them. FINALLY when we were in Kampala in the biggest Nakumatt I'd seen (large chain from Kenya), I found 3 lonely small boxes, 10 count each, I bought them all. Also, they don't seem to be as easy to find in some parts of Asia either.
It's tricky when you are menstruating and on safari-- or say, a single engine boat snorkeling tour. You just have to be creative and congratulate yourself later on not having any major staining or getting caught or chumming for sharks and getting attacked by lions or what-have-you. If you really want to know how I managed those situations, then you can send me a message and I will tell you!
At one point in Uganda, I went to get a bikini wax- thinking that we'd be swimming in Thailand and Sri Lanka. The woman I saw was from India and spoke English. However.... She was really only bent on one thing, and that is if you wax then you should wax it ALL. She touched my arm and with the typical head bobble said 'Why you don't want it all? You think it will hurt? No. I am good, it will not hurt, you see. Everyone says I do not hurt.'. I told her what I wanted and we went back and forth. In the end, I gave in. I can, say her non-gloved hand placements were slightly different than I am used to. Also, following the very complete waxing, I was surprised when she did a thorough oil. Followed by an ice rub down, both front and back. No spots missed, again let me say- everywhere. I kept thinking okay she will just be finished soon. I think the awkward of it made it seem to last longer than it really did.
After the appointment, I texted Paul basically saying I had an unexpected oil then ice rub down. Everywhere and I meant everywhere, after the wax. I then sent a second one adding that it was awkward. Later that day, he told me how two of his female classmates had thought that my text was funny. Surprised and horrified, I said "yes, but you read them the other part about it being awkward, right?" No, of course he didn't! Totally embarrassing, but I can the humor in it.
That night, we went to a dinner with his entire class. One of his classmates, Sam, was behind me in line and he said, "So, I heard you got waxed today." I said, "Paul read that to you, too. He said it was only the two women!" Sam replied, "There weren't that many of us on the bus." I clarified that the first text wasn't meant to be read as it being pleasurable with a happy ending (apparently it did sound that way) but that it was awkward, so I had sent a second text saying so. I think at that point he was ready to not talk about it anymore.
Later that story came up again and one of the other women classmates told me about a real fiasco in China involving someone not really knowing (add in language barrier and cultural differences) what they were doing and the spending the next hour trying to trim out a giant glob of hardened wax from her crotch, as well as getting wax off her skin.
It could always be more awkward I suppose.
