When I joined Peace Corps, I expected all of those changes. I mean, what else could I have expected? One relationship that I didn’t expect to change: my relationship with water. I know that sounds silly, but we all have certain feelings about water, only we aren’t forced to face it in America. Here, I’ve developed some bizarre feelings towards water, particularly rain. If I had running water in my house here, I’m sure my relationship with water would have stayed relatively the same- unnoticed and uncomplicated.
I know I have talked about fetching water before, but let me explain further. I keep two jerry cans in my house for cooking and drinking water. When they are both full, it’s 30 liters. A normal person consumes about two liters of drinking water (one liter is a full Nalgene bottle or four cups). As you all know, I’m not exactly normal. I usually drink about five liters, although yesterday I managed to consume seven. It’s a strange habit I picked up late in high school. I started drinking water when I was bored, and before I knew it, I was simply guzzling water. Now, if I don’t get at least three liters, I start getting headaches and my skin drys out. So, if I only use those 30 liters for drinking water, it should last me about five days. But, if I use it for cooking too, the water only lasts about three days.
I don’t want to complain, but fetching water anywhere is not an easy chore. 30 liters of water is 66.6 pounds, and physically pumping water can be pretty strenuous too. At my site though, it’s a little more annoying. My borehole could be considered high traffic because of how many people live in the area. On a normal day, the borehole is surrounded by 40-70 jerry cans waiting to be filled. There is usually a long line of women and children hanging around, pumping water, carrying jerry cans, dictating who gets water in what order, etc. So, when I roll up, I have to maneuver this very political atmosphere of jerry cans, pray that someone feels bad enough for me to push me to the front, then I am for how energetically I pump water, and finally I get to lug those precious cans home. Needless to say, fetching water is not my favorite chore.
The answers to my borehole melodrama: rainwater. I can use rainwater for everything except drinking: bathing, washing clothes, washing dishes, cooking pasta, mopping, etc. Before coming to Uganda, I enjoyed rain as long as I could stay inside. Rain is the perfect nap weather. Beyond that, I felt pretty neutral about rain, unless I was trying to play tennis or something. Now, I have very powerful feelings about rainfall. Not only powerful, but they are somehow complicated. Obviously, I want to collect rainwater, but you have to set out basins and buckets in the right places to “harvest” the water. If I’m not at home, chances are no one else set them out for me. Also, in Uganda, no one goes outside in the rain. This may seem like a moot point, but it’s important. If it’s raining, no one goes to school, to work, anywhere! So, it’s like a snow day, which can be a nice break sometimes. The tin roofs in Uganda can act as a rain alert. The tin magnifies the sound of rain, therefore even a slight drizzle will be detected.
Let me explain how I feel when it rains. It all depends where I am. If I am at:
1. Home. I am so happy! I can’t tell you how much I love rain when I’m in the comfort of my own home. I place all my basins out, which I check on frequently to see how much rainwater I’ll enjoy in the coming days. Sometimes I will adjusts the basins because they need to be in different places depending on wind and how much rain is falling. I can relax and watch a movie or take a nap. For a few moments, all the guilt of not being productive enough begins to melt away because I know that no one else is doing anything either.
2. Home, in the middle of the night. Even if it is a light drizzle, I wake up instantly to any rain on my roof. I am happy, but anxious. I usually wait a few minutes as I try to decide if I should get up, unlock my door and put out my basins. Honestly, most often I become so anxious that even if I decide it’s not worth it, I can’t go back to sleep unless I’ve put out my basins.
3. Not at home. Angry and anxious. I’m angry that I’m out when I don’t have to be! I could be home doing nothing, but instead, I’m stuck wherever I am until the rain stops. I’m missing out on all this wonderful rain that I could use! I start wondering if there will be a quick break in the rain so I can dash home to harvest the rain.
4. At school and teaching. Angry, anxious and frustrated. I still feel angry about being out, anxious about not getting rain water, and now frustrated because if it’s raining hard enough, you can’t teach! The sound of the rain can be so loud that it’s impossible to hear yourself think. I just have to stand at the front of the room and stare at the students wondering how long it will last.
This makes me sound very dramatic, but you’d be surprised. I think Ugandans feel the same way, although for more legitimate reasons. Crops all rely on rainfall, so if there’s too much or not enough, their crops will die. Once the crops have been harvested, they are usually dried. When they dry anything, it is laid in the sun all day, but rain could damage these crops. If Ugandans see rain coming, most people immediately start going home. At least they don’t think I’m so crazy!
Finally, my relationship with water extends past pumping, fetching, harvesting rainwater, getting “rain days” or being held hostage. This water situation seriously affects my bathing habits. I’m not one of those Peace Corps Volunteers that only bathes once a week… although they exist. I usually bathe everyday, but I would be lying if I said that I religiously bathed every single day. Some days, I’m just too tired, too lazy, feel clean enough or come home too late so it’s nearly dark. No, I’m not afraid of the dark. But I live in a mosquito-infested area. I would prefer not to offer my naked body up to the swarms of mosquitoes that descend upon Butaleja at nightfall.
When I bathe, I try to conserve as much water as possible. You never know when it will rain next, and it feels like such a waste to use borehole water for bathing, although I have done it. So, how does one “bucket bathe”? Well, Ugandans use their hands like cups to splash the water on themselves. Being an America that grew up under a shower, my hands just don’t scoop water very well. I use a cup- basically a measuring cup. Now what? I usually use about 16 cups of water. 10 cups of cold water and 6 cups of hot water, which I heat in my kitchen. After a hard run or a bad day, one of my treats will be a bath with 18-20 cups. So, how do you use these cups?
A Step-by-Step Tutorial in Chelsea’s Bucket Bathing
(This will differ for people with shorter hair. Lucky ducks, you don’t need as much water!)
1. 2 cups of water to initially wet your hair.
2. Apply shampoo and lather.
3. 3-4 cups of water to get the shampoo out of your hair.
4. Apply conditioner.
5. Soap your body.
6. 2-3 cups of water for your private region. Let’s face it, if you run out of water, you can basically towel off the soap, but you really don’t want dried soap here. That would just be a nightmare and probably give you some kind of nasty rash!
7. 2 cups to get the conditioner out of your hair.
8. 1 cup per arm (so 2 cups). Half of this cup should be used for your armpits, and then the other half should be for your forearms. Usually the 2 cups used for your hair has already rinsed your forearms.
9. Wash your face.
10. 2 cups for your face. If you run out of water for whatever reason by this step, you can always wash your face over the basin in your kitchen.
11. By now, you should have about 1-2 cups remaining. Check yourself out and see where there are still suds.
Feel free to try this at home!
I don’t mind bucket bathing anymore. Actually if I had a choice in Uganda, I would not want a shower in my house! At least if I bucket bathe, I always know it’s hot. But, I still don’t always feel squeaky clean. When I do run across a hot hotel shower, I will admit that I shampoo twice and soap up about three times because you never know when you’ll get another.
At the end of my service, my relationships will transform again. I’ll fall back into those relationships from home fairly easily, I’ll have to adjust my Peace Corps friendships to phone calls or Facebook, and I may never see my Ugandan friends again. But, I wonder: will I be able to fall back into my indifferent relationship with water?
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