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A biro drawing done by myself based on a real pit latrine (and one of the best I saw) in Sembabule District, Uganda.
Have just discovered ‘Traveller’s Constipation’ is a real thing. New place, unfamiliar washroom, fear of no privacy, fear of no toilet paper….and worse, that sinking feeling when the toilet doesn’t flush.
When contemplating a trip into the furthest corners of Uganda, washroom facilities are high on the anxiety scale. Rural Uganda has basic toilets. By this I mean pit latrines. Or ‘long drops’. A bottomless (excuse the pun) hole in the ground that may or may not have walls for privacy, and certainly won’t have toilet paper or even water. At least flushing isn’t an issue.
Doing fieldwork in villages becomes a test of endurance as one wonders whether to hold out from 8am to 6pm, ask to use a private pit latrine belonging to one of the households you are interviewing, or wander off into the banana plantations and get up close and personal with the vegetation.
All three options have their pros and cons.
- ‘Hold Out’ is initially the safest, yet could end risky. It can only be achieved through total dehydration, and those potholes on the route home could spell disaster.
- ‘Pit Latrine’ works only if you have your own tissues, and if there are walls, and a door, or something to maintain your dignity. The bottomless pit is not actually infinite, and as one disturbs the quiet darkness below, there is a good chance a blowfly or three will rocket out in shock, in a buzzier version of ‘Neptune’s kiss’.
- ‘Banana Plantation’ is probably the cleanest and most dignified option. But do not make the mistake of heading for the densest vegetation, for there’s a reason that area is not cultivated. As you squat down whilst mentally applauding yourself for getting to this point, you realise that above you is a hive, suspended in all its banana leaf and twine glory, and bristling with African Bees. It then becomes a battle of wills, as you fight the urge to run bare-bottomed back to safety, or finish the task at hand and walk (very) slowly away without a backward glance.
And so, the night before departure – my last chance to enjoy ceramic fittings and a lockable door – the curse of traveller’s constipation rears its ugly head, yet again.