My Story

The Bathroom

Growing up at my grandparents' house, toilet paper wasn't really a thing. We used bamboo strips, sometimes newspaper, sometimes a rough straw paper made from crop leftovers. Real white toilet paper didn't show up in our house until I was around fourteen.

The toilets themselves were the squat kind. No privacy, no doors, just two big rocks on either side of a deep pit, built right next to the pig pen so everything ended up in the same place. Some outhouses were better built than others, and you learned fast which ones to trust and which ones to approach carefully.

There was usually just one bathroom, shared by the whole family, and often with neighbors too. Since there were no doors, if you sensed someone walking close, you'd make an obvious sound, like coughing, clearing your throat, or just saying, "I'm in here."

The pits were usually big and uncovered, and more than one kid in the village fell in over the years. Winter was the worst part. There was no door, just an open hallway, and the wind came at you from every direction while you tried to hurry.

That same spot doubled as our shower. We bathed about once a week, sometimes longer between baths, carrying water in a basin to rinse off. When it rained, there was no bathing at all. According to my mom, rainy days meant we couldn't work in the field, so there was no sweating and no need to shower.