Midnight Short Calls

The other night I was cozy in my bed, under my mosquito netting, half nodding off and half reading a book. I would have fallen asleep if it weren’t for a very strong need to “make a short call” (this is Rwandese speak), that I was trying to ignore. I looked at the clock. It was 11:30pm and I was exhausted. Oh how I wished that I had a flushing toilet in the next room. Or even just a toilet in the next room. Or even just a toilet. Thinking about going out into the crisp dark night to my cement stall of a bathroom was making it difficult to do the deed. Finally Nature’s call became too strong and I donned a jacket, shoes, and a headlamp and located my keys (there is a padlock on my latrine so that only I can use it.)

Halfway through the 50foot walk to the bathroom building I looked up. It was late enough that the lights from the neighboring housing up the hill were off and there was no noise coming from the school. The night was silent except for a gentle hum of insects and an occasional rustle of foliage from a carefree lizard. It was a clear night, but the smell of the afternoon’s rain still lingered. The dark sky was littered with stars. I immediately spotted my old friend O’Ryan, but could not find the dippers. There are many more stars visible here and picking out recognizable constellations is much more difficult.

I keep my stall pretty clean and smell free and every week or so I’ll go through with a broom and knock down all the daddy-long-leg webs from the corners, but regardless, at night there are always three or four of them crawling around in there. There are also some giant, but harmless wasps that hang out by the latrines during the day. That morning there was a dead one lying on the ground of the latrine, but I hadn’t gotten around to sweeping it out. That night it was still there, but a spider was hoisting it up into a web a few inches off the ground. I realized that a few weeks ago I would absolutely have had a problem with going to the bathroom with a daddy-long-leg preparing a dinner of giant wasp. Now however I just watched with mild interest and a parting bon appétit. Aside from the occasional large ugly spider, I have come to live in a peaceful, mutual disregard with my neighborhood insects. They stay on the walls and I let them live their insect lives. Locking up my latrine I was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of contentment. Yes, if I have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I have to walk outside and use a hole in the ground. But I also get to walk outside under a ceiling of stars with the clean, sweet accompaniment of nature going about her business as I go about my business.

In America, we tend to remove as many discomforts as possible and are not okay with sharing a living space with harmless bugs. While I don’t think there is anything essentially wrong with that, I have learned that it is very easy to adjust to life with spiders and lizards and pit toilets. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there is something very good about being forced to live with these things. If the exchange rate for flushing indoor toilets is star-filled nights and a more content spirit, I am exchanging happily.