poop

As a Peace Corps volunteer, I talk a lot about my bodily functions. To an inordinate degree. To the point where, I'm not exactly sure what is and what isn't culturally acceptable... in any culture. I think I may need some help readjusting. Someone please write out a list of topics I can talk about with strangers, with acquaintances, and with friends, so that I don't alienate everybody I know. For everything else, I may just need to have a fellow health RPCV on speed dial for. When you've lived in Africa for two years, nothing is spared detailing in a casual "what's the weather like today" tone.

Anyway, all this just means you're in for a treat this blog post!

So I spent the weekend pooping my brains out. As I was sitting on my xixi bucket, I had some time to reflect. First of all, on what a saving grace that xixi bucket has been. While some of you may be horrified that in the evenings I pee in a bucket, I would cordially remind you that my latrine is located outside, in the dark, and I still have an unwieldy fear of big cockroaches. And in case of emergency, such as this past weekend, the xixi bucket is conveniently located next to my bed. The only downfall, is that a xixi bucket cannot dump itself. It must be emptied consistently. (And, in life, if you are blessed enough to find someone who loves you enough to do it for you, you hold on to that person forever and ever because that is the ultimate test of true love. I love you, Kev!)

Secondly, I was told, when I first arrived in Mozambique, "Don't worry. You WILL be sh*tting your pants sometime within your service." Well. Knock on wood, but that has yet to happen. And in that sense, I am incredibly luckily. I am aware of many a peer that has fallen victim to stated prophecy. We all know of PCV's who have had untimely emergencies on the side of the road, on the beach, you name it. I even heard of a PCV in another African country who, before departing for service held an "underwear party" in which guests were asked to bring gifts of underwear, as she had heard she would be going through many pairs.

In 22 months, I have only had to go on the antibiotic Ciprofloxacin twice, while I know of at least one volunteer that has graduated to the next class of antibiotics, because eventually Cipro stopped working for her.

On this note, I am also supremely lucky that I have meds like Cipro on hand. I can even give myself a malaria test, which I did when I developed a fever and stomach cramps on Friday night. Even if I did have malaria, I could immediately start treatment because I have Coartem on stock. As a PCV, I was sent to site with a black briefcase full of meds. I have endless pharmaceutical drugs and packets of Oral Rehydration Salts at home, just waiting for the possibility of diarrhea. All my bases are covered, for whatever health calamity may befall me during my service. The Peace Corps medical office has a 24-hour emergency line so I can always get a hold of someone. Needless to say, all of this is an immense luxury in a country with an existing shortage of doctors.

I will never have to go to a Mozambican hospital and wait for hours, just to see a nurse. In fact, even if I were to need medical attention in Chicumbane, I would likely be given priority just for being white. (And this is not considering the fact that I actually work at the hospital and incidentally, know all of the staff, giving me yet another advantage.) I will never have to worry about my child suffering from malnutrition, dirty water, or dying from malaria or diarrhea. These are, bluntly, third world problems.

I spent a weekend hanging out with my xixi bucket, and that's what it took to make me stop and realize how infinitely blessed I am. You see, the shadow proves the sunshine.

Who knew pooping could be so profound?