Can't use these Latrines: Stories from a Persian Peace Corps Volunteer in ...

Here is a vignette of my Peace Corps Volunteer time in Liberia West Africa. I arrived there to save a world from famine and disease. With all the schooling and knowledge I had brought with me to the land of darkness, I only used the power of observation to guide me...

September 1983-A month has passed since I arrived in Gbarma town, lower Lofa County. Days are getting shorter and my nights usually draw in about 7:30 with candles and and occasionally a kerosene lamp lighting up my two-room bush house. Every evening, I feign head ache to avoid the crowd that gathers outside my bedroom window.

I 've been locking myself up in this confinement I call home in order to stay out of sight. I am homesick and nothing immediately distracts me from boredom.I get nauseous hearing the repetitive lyrics of Michael Jackson's screeching Thriller album jump out of the scratchy boom box, on display, outside of my window.

This sense of nauseau accelerates in my guts as I think about the row of gray latrines built across the road a quarter mile away from my house some years back before I arrived here.

The town's superindendent, Karpay Barclay, the most prominent figure in this township, with his impeccable English, has given me enough reason to stick around and find out the reason 'why the people of Gbarma have not been using the latrines since they were first introduced and constructed by an UNDP project team in 1982?'"I personally like to use the white porcelain toilets in my compound, you know! I cannot imagine why the people in my village don't want to use the facilities down the road! Better do it there than the river! See how many children go to the creek and drink the water! My people are stupid oh! You, Peace Corp (stressing the P), lady, now can find out why this business of latrine is no good for our people!", Mr. Barclay exclaims profusely with beads of sweat forming on his upper lip and forehead, as he gulps down a big cup of ice cold water!"That's your first assignment, my friend!", he smiles at me with his gold bicusps sparkling through!

I sigh! What now? How the bloody hell, am I going to find out this enigma?The thought keeps bobbing up and down in my head! My first thought after thinking about my daily puzzle is how to find an excuse to leave this town! What would be the greatest excuse of the century to get the hell out of here?Seeing Barclay every day in town is a challenge for me! The man is unavoidable! He is a fixture at the local store where I buy my bread, butter or the Sudanese made,’ President’ brand cigarrettes! It's like a nagging final exam awaiting my attention!

"Ok, let's do this the way I was taught in training camp! Hell I spent 3 months in Colorado mountains learning how to solve development problems! How come it doesn't feel like I had learned anthing relevent to this situation? Suprisingly, now I think it was all piffle and talk! I had learned nothing!

After much agonizing over the idea about where to start my fact finding, I decide to ask the local carpenter to make me a chair!James Siake is only happy to provide his services for the 'bright' girl. I am bright! Not that bright! Just not white nor black; in Liberia, I'm bright!Within 4 days, I have a nice comfy chair. I decide to commence my work by doing it the Malcolm way--process history! Oh! how very exciting. I feel like a mechanical toy!

...Ok! Let's see. I put my newly crafted chair in front of the latrine structure, somewhere shady! Next to a wall perhaps. Out of the way, where I don't have to smell it!I bring my notebook with me. I notice its legal size and touch its stiff blue vinyl cover. My pen works nicely. It is brand new from my stash of goods brought forth from the States!

Now that I have started the process, looking at the latrines closely and upfront, I have no idea where it will take me.I situate my chair next to the low end of Gbarma town's living quarters, where the less fortunate Gola tribe lives. That's where they built the latrines! At the far end of the town.

Some 6 or seven miles away there is a Moslem village, Tahn, whose town chief once invited me to meet and discuss the possibility of a hand-dug well. However, the idea never moved forward. There were not enough resources to get there. The Ministry of Rural Development was not too interested in that part of Gola land. After all, that's where Belle Yalla prison camp was located quietly in the dense bush!

...The numbness of this daily puzzle begins to grow on me as I make my quarter of a mile journey every day to the chair next to the mud wall across from the cement latrines!Each day, I sit there quietly watching people pass by. They make their comments at me, smile at me, offer food to me, children rush up to pull my notebook or ask me to give them my nice BIC pen!

Each day, I grow more tired of being in Gbarma than the day before."I am like a Marriot Hotel doorman", I write in my notebook. But the letters to my friends back home have made up stories of adventure and thrill in Africa. My friends do not know it. I receive many replies wishing they were in my shoes or wanting to come visit me at some point. None of which would ever materialize.My notebook pages remain untouched.

The grid I have drawn on my first page remains empty! No count of people going in or out of the latrines! Not a soul ever bothers using the facilities!

Then, one day, I suddenly notice Mummado, a little pekin (small boy), about 5 or 6 years old, comes out to the opposite corner where I have been sitting. He squats, relieves himself, pulls up his pants and runs back to his house. His mother Zahara is busy making palava sauce on a small fire. She cooks her food on a small metal stove in the open courtyard. A couple of small basenjis (african dogs) scamper around the yard. Zahara's family keep a few chickens, a goat and a monkey in their household. I have been watching them for a while now since I have assumed my position as the latrine keeper three weeks ago.

They seem to be curious about my business here yet they have politely avoided any questions.Mummado goes to Zahara and tugs on her bright kinte cloth. He pulls her away from her work. She follows him to the corner where he has defecated on the ground. Flies are swarming around the heap. Zahara picks up a stick from the pile, lowers herself to take a closer look at the specimen her son has left behind. She stirs the pile, taps on it a few a times. She picks up something long and wiggly, then drops it to the ground.

She goes back to her fire, sweeps up some ashes from it.She carries it over to the pile and empties on it. She returns to her open kitchen, reaches an old broken cabinet on the corner and takes out a white glass bottle. Then she picks up Mummado and administers him a gulpful of the red medicine! She then carries out her work and Mummado is off to chasing the emaciated basenjis in his merry way!...and suddenly… I see! An epiphany!

I get up my courage and I walk up to Zahara to start the conversation. She is a smart girl. She knows I am going to admonish her for letting her child defecate in the street. She knows better."...Sorry ya, missy, we can't use tha' latrine business...but wha' I wan see tha hook worm in the poo, I can't see in latrine!"I'll be darn! And it took us two, three freaking years to figure this much!...I am astounded to see the taboo surrounding defecation and private business.

I want to find Barclay and tell him what I had discovered! But he is no where to be found.Later in the evening, I meet his youngest daughter on my walk about Gbarma town. She tells me her Pa is in Ivory Coast visiting his fourth wife!!

In November, Mr. Barclay returns to Gbarma! There is much celebration on his arrival.I get an invitation to dine with him and his family on Friday night.He is most generous. There are over 18 people invited to his house, including me and a Japanese volunteer who is almost through with his service in Gbarma. There are a number of dignitaries at this party.

Superintendent Barclay is a popular man. We eat our big meal from individual plates and sit around to talk after dinner."...Maryama, did you find out anything about the latrines? why my people can't use these latrines? that's the big question!", he laughs outloud and the chorus accompanies him.I feel my face get hot. I am blushing and they can clearly see it. Even with all the palm wine, I can tell they are looking at me wide eyed!

"Intestinal Worm! I think is the main problem! They can't see their stool once it's released in the hole of the latrine; they need to inspect it and take medicine. Otherwise how they would know?", I say, looking down.I hear him say: ehennnnnn! And they all give out a hearty laugh at my expense!

...Two days later, on a muggy gray afternoon, I hear footsteps getting closer to my front door. It is Peter Jallah, the RN at the infirmary. He knocks at the door. I get up from my armchair and I put down my book, turn down Voice of America on my radio. When I open the door, Peter delivers his beaming smile and flashes his shiny teeth. Beads of sweat cover his face. He comes right up announcing that Mr. Barclay has brought a roll of medium grade chicken wire to cover the latrine holes!