Down To Business

While I normally do my best to reserve these blog posts for clean, wholesome, fanily oriented topics, appropriate brain food for the masses of school-aged fans to whom I serve as a pristine role model, there are certain less than refined topics which must be broached in order to provide an accurate picture of life here in Kenya. Today's topic just happens to be of just such a nature. Everyone in Kenya does it at some point, so we might as well talk about it. Even those with the will power of a saint (New Orleans based sporting teams excluded) and the stubbornness of a pickle jar lid find themselves unable to resist the urge to engage in this practice at some point. Some of my colleagues have been able to hold out for weeks after arriving in country while others have lasted mere minutes before succombing to their primal desires. In the end, everyone falls victim to the sick and inescapable laws laid out by mother nature, everyone has engaged shamelessly in this dirty practice. I'm referring, of course, to using the pit latrine, A.K.A. the choo.

A study in minimalism, the choo's simplistic layout most closely resembles that of a dark, vacant closet, bordered from below by a cement (though sometimes plastic, trampoline fabric, or other material) foundation that that separates the patron from a mine shaft-like earthen chute so deep, sightings of fiery hot magma swirling about the lowest recesses are not unheard of. The floor of the choo, arguably the most intricate part of it's design, is customarily graced by an opening ranging anywhere in size from a few millimeters to that of a large shoe (clown sizes excluded) for one to deliver their least precious of cargo. Immediately surrounding this portal to the underworld on either side are a set of elevated foot rests that leave the user unsure whether they should be focusing on the task at hand or preparing to run the 100 meter dash. These place markers may or may not have been placed with any consideration given to the human anatomy when deciding their position relative to the drop zone as near misses, slightly askew delivery, and flat out poor aim seem to be all too common problems associated with choo use.

Bats, rats, spiders, trolls, and countless other species of wildlife have been known to take up residence in both the upper and lower stories of this unexpectedly enticing plot of real estate, and the legitimate fear of an uninvited visitor rising up out of the foul depths of chooness midway through the main event prevent the user from becoming too relaxed, ensuring that proper position is maintained on the starting blocks at all times. A true test of knee strength, the standard choo comes unequipped with support bars, handgrips, or any other device that might assist one to rise out of the choo position. Rather, patrons are forced to rely on the sheer determination not to be stranded inside this fragrant vertical coffin to provide them with the strength to rise on cold, sensationless, blood deprived legs back to the standing position after completing the homework assigned by mother nature herself.

As unappealing as this joint straining, olfactory testing ordeal may sound to many readers, the most strongly voiced desire I've heard to date in my community has been for the immediate implementation of a widespread development scheme that would bring a choo to every homestead, school, and bowling alley. To imagine that many of the people I live and work with would like nothing more than to have the privilege of doing their business in one of these cold, heartless shanties suspended precariously over chasms that make the grand canyon look like a crack in the pavement. It's not difficult to imagine why someone would want to avoid entering into this forboding monolithic structrue at all costs, but to understand why someone would pine just for the opportunity to do so, perhaps that is the path toward a truly mutual understanding between myself and the people I came to serve.