No water in the water fountain
No side on the sidewalk
If you say Old Molly Hare, whatcha doin’ there?
Nothin much to do when you’re going nowhere
Woo-ha!
Woo-ha!
Gotcha,
We’re gonna get the water from your house, your house
“Water Fountain” - TuneYards
Your Tools:
20 Liter Bucket (1)
16oz Cup (1)
Bar of Soap (1)
Shampoo Bottle * (1)
Flip-Flops (1 Pair)
Handheld Lamp (1)
Your Mission:
Should you choose to accept it**: Clean your body by way of bucket bathing.
It’s been a long day. Your alarm goes off every morning at 6:30, and here you are, approximately 12 hours later, making the long walk home from the Peace Corps training site. Tired though you are, at this juncture you can always manage to enjoy the sunset over the hills in the distance. Even though this semi-urban town of Rwamagana isn’t as easy on the eyes as you thought it may have been, the stubborn beauty of the country at times simply refuses to be denied. The ethereal soft pinks and oranges offer a temporary glimpse of the splendor of the hills of Rwanda as the sun sets quickly behind them. But the colors offer a false promise, because when they are gone, darkness falls - and when darkness falls in Africa, it falls hard. Even with electricity coursing through the town leading home, it becomes difficult to see as far forward as your footfall, and the singular lights of the occasional car or motorcycle coming down the street require you to raise your hand up in order to block their blinding glare. But when you get onto more solid ground and manage to raise your head towards the skies, the heavy sprinkling of stars is a beautiful reminder that there is a lot going on in the universe, outside from the very little you would be able to see in the cities at home.
The day has been long but it has been a good one; you’ve been making solid progress learning Kinyarwanda and got to know your group better, spending the better part of the day joking and laughing. The workout you just completed with them was a solidly productive one. But like most things, your tough workout has presented itself as a double edged sword, because even though you are awash with the lovely endorphins and pride that always accompanies it, it also guarantees another thing; you will be taking your second bucket bath of the day.
Even though you’ve been slowly but surely pushing the boundaries of your personal tolerance of compromised hygiene, there is quite literally sweat and dust covering your entire body. To eventually get into your bed like this, without at least an attempt to remove it, would just be gross, for lack of a better word. It’s already hot enough as it is at night, and we won’t even get into the Sissyphean task that is doing your laundry and washing sheets.
Preparation
So your fate has been determined. Let’s just say, for the sake of a realistic hypothetical situation, that tonight you will be taking a cold shower. When you get home, whatever hot water is available will be used to boil food and make tea so unless you want to smell like potatoes or the local beverage of choice there is no way around the fact that the temperature of your shower will be whatever it happens to be in the jerry cans in the water storage room. That is to say, not at all warm, and by typical American standards, almost intolerably cold. Also you know that to further add, in any conceivable way, to the interminable slog that is domestic Rwandan housework for your host mother and housekeeper would be at best bad-form and at worst unconscionable.
So you decide to stay out of their way as they cook tonight’s meal - well played. Besides, unless you want to talk and hang out, your host mom prefers that you stay out of her hair while she’s cooking dinner. You get your aforementioned tools and bring them out to the courtyard. You make sure to put your flip flops on when you’re outside and take them off when you're inside, lest you forget that the illustrious “courtyard” behind your new home is a unquenchable grassless patch of cracked red dust and dirt.
In the water storage room there are a maze of both completely full and completely empty jerry cans, and you find yours and start hauling it - all 30 pounds of it - back to your own bucket and begin to fill it up.
Determining how much water to put in your bucket is the first mental task you have to go through; back at home in America, the length of your showers was dictated solely by the vacillation of your personal whims, but here you are resource restrained - your bucket bath will last only as long as you have cold water in your bucket, and not one second longer. Remember your form, lift from your legs - not rounded at the back, for safety reasons - pick that thing up and start dumping until your bucket is about halfway full. This, as you have found, is the exact amount needed for a functional but not luxurious bucket bath. If you stick to your plan, there will be exactly enough for you to clean yourself thoroughly.
But before your shower commences you’ll have to complete your inspection of the shower room to try to preempt any surprises from “visitors”. With handheld lamp in hand to cut through the darkness, you shine your light into the unknown. And what do you find? Ah! It’s your lucky day indeed - there’s only one giant cockroach and one small lizard present, and as a demonstration for their respect for your decency, your buddies scurry through their respective holes and out of sight. Previous experience has taught you that not all of your friends are so demure. With this harbinger of good fortune, it’s time to get started.
It’s Business. It’s Business Time!
Now you find yourself standing in your birthday suit, with your clothes - remember that in Rwanda you’re not allowed to walk to the shower room in just a towel as you would back home - hung up on a long nail that has been crudely nailed into the cement-esque wall of the shower room. Your fluorescent hand held lamp stands in the back corner, providing a barely acceptable amount of light to work with. You may be struck by the silence of standing here, as you are usually accustomed to the hissing of a shower head and the gentle patter onto the porcelain at home; but here, unless water is hitting the ground by way of your cup dumps, you lather and stand in total silence.
Take heed: The task ahead of you will draw upon your dexterity, flexibility, and perseverance - along with a elementary understanding of basic geometry and physics.
Remember your training. Here we go.
Take your cup and dip it in the bucket to fill it up for the first time. Where to put it first, you may ask? Well, with hot water, you would just immediately dump it all over yourself, basking in the now magical luxury of water that has been heated. But with cold water, it is imperative to distribute it in stages, containing the horror of it’s fallout at every step.
First, bend over at the waist until at your hips you have achieved a perfect 90 degree angle. Dump the water square in the center of the back of your head and feel the embrace of the cold water quickly wrap itself around your head and face. Your sharp bodily angle will stop its downward creep at your neck, as it is unable to overcome the force of gravity. With one cup still on your face and head, if you have to shave your face*** now is the time to do it, using your cup as a mini basin to rinse your razor. Again, you note the silence as you complete the task. You’ve washed your hair and head, and you’ve shaved. So now it’s time to face the music.
Bend down and take another big dip of water, filling it as high as the cup can contain. Stare at the full cup of cold water. Stare at the ground and contemplate what must be done. Stare up to the sky - through the open light socket and through the spider webs and through the thin tin roof - to whatever God you pray to for strength. Deep breath in, really deep - overcome your instincts and turn the cup onto yourself right in the center of your body, where your neck meets your chest so you can cover as much surface area as possible in one dump. Don’t worry, the crashing of water against the cement floor will cover your deep, guttural groans as every ounce of water finds a new part of your flesh to shock. Luckily for you, like jumping into a pool, the worst part is the initial impact, and things will get exponentially easier from here. But, contrary to popular belief, the first cup will never get easier. The groan will manage to escape you every time. Every single time.
With another couple half cups, you’ll be ready to soap up your torso the same way you always would. Then, with one big cup, try to rinse off as thoroughly as you can. This is largely impossible with just one cup, but the soap residue that still finds itself on your arms will be addressed later. At this juncture, the resource investment it would take to reach these faraway places is not worth the payoff.
With your torso cleaned, things start to get interesting. It’s time to address things down there, or what I will refer to as The Undercarriage. Since the water from previous dumps has reached its final terminus in precisely this exact spot, no more water resources are needed before you soap up. And after your long day of walking back and forth in the African sun, plus your workout, it’s going to need thorough attention.
With everything all soaped, you obviously have to rinse. But for the gentlemen out there, this task is made significantly more difficult as a large portion of the aforementioned soaped area is blockaded by your, shall we say, unmentionables. To address this problem, there is one answer, and that is velocity. Unknowingly engaging in the rich tradition of Newtonian Physics, you must raise the cup to head height, or higher, and begin to dump the cup with the water coming down with speed and force. Creating a sloping runway by slightly leaning backwards, the long and fast stream of water will cascade down quickly, reaching the areas that without the speed, it simply would not.
To clear out the last remaining residual soap, a new technique is needed. I call this move the “Down Undah”, and speaking it aloud in a crude Australian accent, by yourself, is necessary for it’s proper execution . Fill the cup with a quarter of water. Squat down into a quarter squat, to further expose the region. A snapping of the arm upwards, accompanied by a clearing of the hips, will create the torque necessary to launch the water upwards with force, further clearing out whatever is left. Repeat as much as necessary. 1-2-3-torque! 1-2-3 torque! 1-2-3 torque!
Ladies…I can’t help you. Moving on!
Cleaning the Caboose is the final crucial area. But those techniques, and their graphic descriptions, are well below the dignity of this fine publication. Let’s just say you have to lurch forward at a 45 degree angle and pull off a highly technical reverse pour to rinse. It’s difficult, but you’ll always be happy you did so.
Now to address the remaining soap residue on your arms and pits. Using a technique I have dubbed “The Monkey Pour”, fill your cup and place the cup in your right hand. Grabbing the handle to increase control, pour your right handed cup over your right armpit, using your left hand to clear out the residue. Repeat for your left arm, and for both arms as needed.
Don’t worry, you’re almost done. If you have managed your water resource properly, there should still be a little less than a couple gallons left in the bucket. Too little for many more real scoops, but too much to simple dump down the drain. So it’s time for the Big Finale. You’ll have to shimmy around, rubbing your armpits on your inner arm, and your legs together to make sure no soap residue has bitterly clung to your body - because again, once the water is gone, its gone for good.
With the all clear, its time to build some character. Place your hands on either side of the bucket and raise it high over your head. Tilt the bucket downward, minding the shifting weight, and unleash the water all down your head and body. If the water is warm, you can close your eyes and pretend in this 2.5 second waterfall that you are in a 5 star hotel - ah yes, a regular Ritz-Carlton, just as you know you deserve. And if the water is cold, it will feel like being submersed in a pool, and considering that you spend the majority of your day in long pants fighting the heat, it will also feel wonderful.
As the last drops of water fall, the situation is now out of your hands. Your bucket bath is done. You can pat yourself on the back. You did a great job, and another Rwandan day has come to a close. The cold water has lowered your body temperature a bit which will make for a good night of sleep, and you can bask in the wonderful feeling of being entirely clean. Bucket bathing isn’t all that bad, you tell yourself as you walk back into your room.
Then your alarm goes off in the morning. And it’s time to do it again.
* I wouldn’t know
** You have to accept it, you have no other choice
*** Or your entire head?