Fête Fecale

As a companion to all the new latrines in our village, we had an educational causerie. I wanted to explain that we don't just have them to look more patrone (adj: wealthy, rich, ritzy, balla). In the US, the word "diarrhea" sends kids into peals of laughter. Here, kids die from it. So my poo party, or fete fecale, if you will, intended to explain how we get it, how kids are more susceptible, why latrines cut down on it (beforehand, everyone just went in the bush), and what to do if you/ your kids have it.

I certainly understand better than ever how important it is to relay all this information. But the American in me still felt ridiculous presenting this in front of all the important and respected village elders who come to all my meetings (bless them). I insisted some women and kids come since some of the lesson was specific to them. It became further awkward, however, when I realized none of the women or children could enter the meeting space. It was a holy spot just for devout men. When men need to pray but can't make it all the way to the mosque, they enter this fenced in rectangle of gravel. They take a huge liberty in allowing me to enter, but seeing all the women outside, I did not exactly feel flattered. So I stood awkwardly on some stumps of the fence, literally and metaphorically straddling the barrier.

We played some games with sequence pictures, that amused me because I painted them in watercolor. They depicted things like people pooing in the woods, so it was pretty funny when people asked if they could keep them and hang them in their huts. In the end I quizzed everyone and gave out prizes to the people who knew the answers. These prizes consisted of all the knick-knacks you all have generously sent throughout my time here, that I didn't want to give away as random cadeaux. So the very end became a lesson about yo-yo's, paint-by-numbers, pot-holder making, and best of all, BUBBLES. Most of you should already know how I feel about bubbles, but here, they hover at the very peak of excitement. Blowing bubbles for a group of kids who have never seen them before is in all honesty the Very Best Thing in the world.

So fete fecale seemed a success.... Then again, the very next day I helped build a mud hut. To do this, you need water, dirt, and... POO! (Animal manure; fret not.) It was quite gross. We mix it all up with our hands and then slather it all over the walls (previously made the same way) with our hands. I tried not to think about how people are committed in my country for this sort of thing. The smell was quite bad, but I especially disliked all the maggots, worms, and other bugs in the poo now crawling on my hand until I spread them on the wall. I had a sour expression on my face for the first ten minutes that made everyone laugh. Three hours later, I was a pro. One lady accidentally smeared her entire full hand of poo mixture all over my butt, but I just calmly let someone else rinse it off like I was a baby and continued working.

A real baby came in a pooed herself (no pampers here!) quite appropriately in the giant mound of animal excrement. They sort of cleaned it and soon after brought in a bowl of food which they set just on the edge of this mound. Some people squatted in it. "See, this is what I was talking about! Fecal matter getting in your food makes you sick!" I said, exasperated. I'd spent a chunk of my lesson plan illustrating how it could get into food from things like flies and chickens without us knowing. But I forgot to take into account that people don't even mind eating literally in a pile of feces....

"Haha, yeah, yeah, you're right! Come eat!" At least it was the porridge eaten with ladles since everything else is eaten with hands. Remember, ours are covered in poo. I still said I wasn't hungry, thanks.

Just pooped out.