Longing for a loo

Looking back, I can't help but laugh at the things that stressed me during Kenya Safari, our three-month orientation to living and working in Africa. 

I can laugh now, but I wasn't laughing back then. In recent blog posts, I’ve been recalling my bellyaching about having to use a pit latrine. I’d never heard of pit latrines and never dreamed (nightmared) I’d use them. (Click on I could envision how men could aim for that hole in the ground, but, but—what about women?)

The day came, however, when I would’ve given almost anything for a pit latrine. In Chapter 2 of Grandma’s Letters from Africa, I wrote the following about day thirteen of Kenya Safari, our orientation course:

We left the shade and lush vegetation of Lake Naivasha and set out across the desert for our next phase of Kenya Safari, our orientation course.

Much of our route took us through The Great Rift Valley where, for three thousand miles, the surface of the earth is pulling apart, leaving a gaping scar across the earth’s face. The valley runs all the way from Mozambique to Syria, from southern Africa to southwestern Asia.

Eventually we stopped alongside the road to empty our bladders. Squatting down in a skirt was not the hardest part. The hardest part was the knowledge that wild creatures lived out there in the bush.

A woman on our orientation staff had told me about sitting in her outhouse in Zaire when she felt a sharp pain on her behind. She found two wounds, side by side, and nearly passed out wondering what kind of snake had made those fang marks.

In her panic, she radioed to request evacuation, only to discover later that those were not fang marks. No, she had found a chicken down inside that outhouse.

So there I stood in the dust of Africa with a full bladder. “Well,” I said to myself, wandering deeper into the bush to find a private place, “just because her bite turned out to be harmless, that doesn’t guarantee I’ll be as lucky.” Many a time I’d warned my kids, “It doesn’t always happen to the other guy, you know.”

Right then, I’d have given just about anything for one of those ghastly pit latrines.

Sigh. . . . All I ever wanted was to live in a little white house with a picket fence and a rose garden—and a toilet!

When I get to heaven, I plan to ask God why He created women . . . uh, how shall I say this? I plan to ask why He made bladder-emptying so inconvenient for women, compared to men.

Looking back all these years later, I realize that both pit latrines and wandering through the bush and longing for a loo were part of my African adventures, those happenings that bring a smile only when they’re all over. (from Grandma’s Letters from Africa, Chapter 2)

Grab your canteen—filled with filtered water, not tap water—and a roll of TP!

“Our group of fifty trainees and staff drove out of Nairobi,

the capital city, in a northerly direction,

into the Great Rift Valley,

and eventually arrived at Fisherman’s Camp

on the shores of Lake Naivasha.”

(from Chapter 1, Grandma’s Letters from Africa)

Are you ready to start this journey around Kenya with me? I’m excited to show you scenery along the way. 

Don’t forget your canteen—filled with filtered water, not tap water! Remember to bring your own roll of TP! Toss your sunglasses, hat, camera, hand sanitizer, and insect repellant into your backpack, too.

Before we set out, first I must make two confessions.

First confession: I goofed in my book. I wrote that for the first phase of our orientation course, we camped at Fish Eagle Camp. Not true. We camped at Fisherman’s Camp. A wooden sign posted at the entrance says both “Fisherman’s Camp” and “Fish Eagle Camp.” Apparently, they sit beside each other. I suspect that’s why I got confused.

Second confession: My husband and I lost all our pictures from this two-week period, but I will show you a couple of my own of the region as well as exquisite photos, taken by someone else, along the route we took.

I’m ready—are you?

Climb up here beside me in the back of this dark green 1974 Toyota Land Cruiser and remember, in Kenya, a former British colony, people drive on the left side of the road.

You’ll see scenes thoroughly familiar to me—typical roads, road signs, and vehicles.

You’ll also see red clay paths, rural villages, shambas (little farms), and roadside shops.

Watch for African trees and shrubs, the Great Rift Valley overlook at 8,000 feet (it’s always cold up there), and scenes from down in the Rift Valley (it’s always hot down there). (Click here to read about the Great Rift Valley. It’s fascinating.)

You’ll also see several pictures of an unnamed mountain peak, and one labeled generically “volcanic peak.” That’s spectacular Mt. Longonot, an enormous dormant volcano with a vast crater.

In these photos, you won’t see a picture of the market town of Naivasha [niy-VAH-shah], which we drove through to get to Fisherman’s Camp, but I heard from my friend Shel Arensen, author of the novel The Dust of Africa, that Jim’s Corner Dishes in Naivasha has the best cabbage and chapati in town and still gives customers torn-in-half paper napkins!

It’s time to set out. Brace yourself—many of the roads ahead of us will be pocked with major potholes. Click here to view photos of the journey from Nairobi to Lake Naivasha. 

I’m eager for you to see 

the beautiful Kenyan countryside, 

a place I love. 

Is this what you’d envisioned?