I Dread Pit Latrines!
Looking back, I have no fond memories of having to use the pit latrine. The last time I had occasion to use one was in the 80s at a funeral deep in the village.
By Timothy Bukumunhe
Looking back, I have no fond memories of having to use the pit latrine. The last time I had occasion to use one was in the 80s at a funeral deep in the village. The experience was traumatic enough. All I wanted to do was to go in, do my business as fast as possible (and without breathing to avoid inhaling the stench) and get out.
A pit latrine, especially one you find in the village is not one that is designed to linger about in. You cannot really squat in there and have a cigarette, read a magazine or talk on the phone. Therefore I am astounded when I hear stories that in the village it is common to find people have sex in the pit latrine!
In February while I was in Kyankwanzi on a cadre course, I had to relive the ordeal of having to use a pit latrine. While the pit latrines in Kyankwanzi were far better than the ones in the villages, they nevertheless presented their own problems.
Once the sun rises, the corrugated iron sheets heat up and turn the latrine into a burning inferno. That inferno, so I discovered, drives the flies - not the domestic ones you find in most households, but the other kind - the large blue and green ones that want to make you vomit the moment they land on anything associated with you. Once out of the pit they fly about with no flight plan that as soon as you walk in, you are greeted by over zealous flies buzzing all over the place and waiting for you to present them with a ‘new meal’.
I managed, for the first four days that I was in Kyankwanzi, to avoid using the latrine. Sheepishly, I would often seek out a bush where I would go for a pee. As regards going for a long call, I managed to hold on, (and it was a feat, which involved me sucking in my bottom) until the evening of the fourth day when I could no longer hold it.
And then came the trick. The hole to the pit latrine is a small one, probably no bigger than the size of a brick or an A4 sheet of paper, which makes things difficult. As one colleague advised me, “when you go for a long call and you hear a ‘thud’, rest assured that your waste was right on target.†When I asked him to elaborate, he said: “Just know you squatted directly over the pit. The thud you hear is your waste hitting the bottom of the pit below you.â€
However, when I went, everything was not as straightforward as he made it sound. As I prepared to squat, scores of the dreaded green and blue flies emerged from the pit and started hovering near my exposed bottom and it put me off. One indeed stuck to my bottom for ten seconds before flying off.
It took me a while to get comfortable, in that I spent a good two minutes trying to make sure I had positioned my bottom squarely above the entrance to the pit. But when events started, things went tragically wrong. I never heard the ‘thud’. Secondly, my toilet mentor had not explained that on most occasions, going for a long call involves having a pee as well. As a result, the first squirt of my pee hit my army uniform. I took emergency measures by lifting up my trousers. That, so I discovered, was not a wise move for the rest of the pee then went shooting straight towards the door and trickling through the space between the door and the floor and eventually outside for the next waiting person to see.
Once I was done and stood up to tidy myself, it was then that I realised why I had not heard the thud. When I looked down, I was mortified to see that by the side of the pit lay the steaming mound of my waste. Obviously I had not aimed properly. I stood there for a while pondering my next move to which I could only conjure up two solutions. I could leave the mound as it is and make a fast exit (in the process leaving it for the next person to use the latrine to sort out), or I could push it into the pit. I opted for the latter. But the problem was how do I do it? Using my army issue gumboots I gently coaxed the waste into the pit before heading for the nearest water point to clean them up.
Later that day during my afternoon class, I heard an all too familiar sound. The buzz of the dreaded blue and green fly! It flew round the class for a good three minutes without any flight plan and as it passed me, it switched direction and horned in for my gumboots. Content, it nestled there. I looked round to see if anybody had seen where the fly had landed and thankfully nobody had noticed. Puzzled as to why it choose my gumboots, it took me a while to figure out that perhaps I had not properly cleaned my gumboots. There was still some ‘lunch’ lingering about on them so I thought to myself.
Ends
Looking back, I have no fond memories of having to use the pit latrine. The last time I had occasion to use one was in the 80s at a funeral deep in the village. The experience was traumatic enough. All I wanted to do was to go in, do my business as fast as possible (and without breathing to avoid inhaling the stench) and get out.
A pit latrine, especially one you find in the village is not one that is designed to linger about in. You cannot really squat in there and have a cigarette, read a magazine or talk on the phone. Therefore I am astounded when I hear stories that in the village it is common to find people have sex in the pit latrine!
In February while I was in Kyankwanzi on a cadre course, I had to relive the ordeal of having to use a pit latrine. While the pit latrines in Kyankwanzi were far better than the ones in the villages, they nevertheless presented their own problems.
Once the sun rises, the corrugated iron sheets heat up and turn the latrine into a burning inferno. That inferno, so I discovered, drives the flies - not the domestic ones you find in most households, but the other kind - the large blue and green ones that want to make you vomit the moment they land on anything associated with you. Once out of the pit they fly about with no flight plan that as soon as you walk in, you are greeted by over zealous flies buzzing all over the place and waiting for you to present them with a ‘new meal’.
I managed, for the first four days that I was in Kyankwanzi, to avoid using the latrine. Sheepishly, I would often seek out a bush where I would go for a pee. As regards going for a long call, I managed to hold on, (and it was a feat, which involved me sucking in my bottom) until the evening of the fourth day when I could no longer hold it.
And then came the trick. The hole to the pit latrine is a small one, probably no bigger than the size of a brick or an A4 sheet of paper, which makes things difficult. As one colleague advised me, “when you go for a long call and you hear a ‘thud’, rest assured that your waste was right on target.†When I asked him to elaborate, he said: “Just know you squatted directly over the pit. The thud you hear is your waste hitting the bottom of the pit below you.â€
However, when I went, everything was not as straightforward as he made it sound. As I prepared to squat, scores of the dreaded green and blue flies emerged from the pit and started hovering near my exposed bottom and it put me off. One indeed stuck to my bottom for ten seconds before flying off.
It took me a while to get comfortable, in that I spent a good two minutes trying to make sure I had positioned my bottom squarely above the entrance to the pit. But when events started, things went tragically wrong. I never heard the ‘thud’. Secondly, my toilet mentor had not explained that on most occasions, going for a long call involves having a pee as well. As a result, the first squirt of my pee hit my army uniform. I took emergency measures by lifting up my trousers. That, so I discovered, was not a wise move for the rest of the pee then went shooting straight towards the door and trickling through the space between the door and the floor and eventually outside for the next waiting person to see.
Once I was done and stood up to tidy myself, it was then that I realised why I had not heard the thud. When I looked down, I was mortified to see that by the side of the pit lay the steaming mound of my waste. Obviously I had not aimed properly. I stood there for a while pondering my next move to which I could only conjure up two solutions. I could leave the mound as it is and make a fast exit (in the process leaving it for the next person to use the latrine to sort out), or I could push it into the pit. I opted for the latter. But the problem was how do I do it? Using my army issue gumboots I gently coaxed the waste into the pit before heading for the nearest water point to clean them up.
Later that day during my afternoon class, I heard an all too familiar sound. The buzz of the dreaded blue and green fly! It flew round the class for a good three minutes without any flight plan and as it passed me, it switched direction and horned in for my gumboots. Content, it nestled there. I looked round to see if anybody had seen where the fly had landed and thankfully nobody had noticed. Puzzled as to why it choose my gumboots, it took me a while to figure out that perhaps I had not properly cleaned my gumboots. There was still some ‘lunch’ lingering about on them so I thought to myself.
Ends