This Spot is Meant for My Banana Tree!

This morning when I came back from my morning run, I was feeling lethargic yet refreshed and ready to start my office work-laden day. Upon rounding the corner of my house to view my backyard, I realized that the hole I had dug for my soon-to-be-planted banana tree – measuring about two feet in width, length and depth as of Saturday – was now big enough to be used as a grave. The first thought that came to mind was, “I don’t want them to put in a big tree here! This spot is meant for my banana tree” because my neighbor Muindi and I had crafted a sand-lined drain to funnel my bathing water to the tree to water it.

Let me back up for a moment. This last week I moved into a new house, only about 50 feet from my old place, but not sharing any walls with (inconsiderately noisy) neighbors and a little further off the main road to provide for some more privacy. One of the most exciting things about my new house is the backyard I now have, where I have already planned a waste-water garden and makuti thatched-grass roofed sitting area. My Saturday morning was spent doing some good old KYM: “kazi ya mikono” (“work of the hands”…basically manual labor, as explained by a Kenyan), and preparing for my planting. Since water is such a precious and limited resource, especially these days in my town, I have vowed to only grow fruits and vegetables using my kitchen and bathing waste water. So far I have opted for a banana tree and some passion fruit vines, but after speaking with my friendly local agricultural officer today, I will add spinach and sukumawiki (kales) to my list. The banana and passion fruit can be planted in the ground and watered with the runoff from my house drain; the spinach and sukuma will be planted in large sacks (which usually hold commodity agriculture products) and can be covered so the goats won’t eat them. Ok, enough about my gardening plan for now; back to the story.

So I’m standing, almost dumbfounded, staring at this huge hole in my backyard. The second thought that came to mind was, “Wow- this hole is really well dug. The sides are even and they were able to break through the hard top soil Muindi and I got stuck at when we tried to dig.” Yes, it’s true, these thoughts really did go through my head and reflecting on them, I surprise even myself. [Those of you reading this who knew me pre-Kenya can probably appreciate the complete absence of interest I had in yard work or gardening before Peace Corps.] So the next logical step is to find out what is going on. The first person I find is Manywele, the caretaker of the compound on which I live. Manywele is one of the nicest Kenyan men I’ve met, and that’s probably an understatement considering he has selflessly taken care of me and done me a hundred and one good deeds in the short time I’ve been here. One of those good deeds includes having unending patience with my attempts to speak Swahili, since he does not speak English. So, although strained at first, our conversations always make me smile because we work through repetitions and rephrasing (over and over and over…) until we eventually come to a workable understanding. So in our five minute conversation, I think I have gotten an idea of what is going on with the hole. I thank Manywele and set off to find someone who may be able to explain in English.

Within seconds I turn a corner and see my landlord – another one of my all-time favorite Kenyans. We exchange morning greetings, mine including an apology for my sweatiness thanks to my recent return from a run, and I state my issue, “There’s a hole in my backyard.” We saunter over to my house to look at it together. After vaguely referencing the plan, and confirming my previous thoughts from the conversation with Manywele, we step inside my house to examine the infrastructure of the bathing room adjacent to the hole. Upon inspection of the plumbing layout, he states, “We will have to put the toilet here,” referencing to the right of the water pipe. Toilet!?

So I go into the same plea I had attempted with Manywele (except this time in English): “I don’t NEED an indoor toilet. In fact, I don’t WANT an indoor toilet. I feel guilty enough having electricity and running water. Please please please DO NOT put a toilet in my house.” But my attempts to convince him otherwise fell on deaf ears. I had just spent ten minutes trying to convince people NOT to put an indoor toilet in my house. And the best part is, I genuinely and honestly DO NOT WANT an indoor toilet. I explained my complete and total satisfaction with my outdoor pit latrine, and combated comments about the questionable safety of nighttime bathroom runs with, “I have a bucket.” But my attempts failed miserably, even provoking these two extremely polite men to stop me mid-sentence and basically tell me that I have no say in the matter.

People often assume that the biggest challenge one will face being a Peace Corps Volunteer in Africa is living without the amenities of the developed world. And yet, contributing even further to the uniqueness of my experience, I am struggling to cope with actually having so many amenities I had mentally prepared myself to go without for two years. Undoubtedly, my struggle is also compounded by the socio-economic disparity in which I am immersed. As one of my fellow volunteers (and my sanity and sounding board for so many of these cultural challenges) put it, this is a prime opportunity to recognize the huge gap between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots,’ first hand, through living on the ground so closely to the reality. In reflecting on the situation, over which I have no control at this point, I realize that she is right. Yet I cannot help but get a little smile on my face thinking about how the highlight of my day was trying to argue my way out of having an indoor toilet. Until this morning, never could I have imagined that I would ever so fervently advocate against such a proposition.