#flyingtoilets

A few months ago, NTV ran a story on several homes in Luuka district that have no toilets. One man readily admitted that he was a culprit, another refused to climb onto the back of the Ministry of Health pickup truck that would transport him to the Police station. Another protested that he is too busy in the fields to dig a latrine, while someone else heroically leapt off the vehicle as he attempted to race to safety.

I’ll also never forget the visit to the cushy home of a ‘corporate’ colleague’, a home that had all the gadgets in the world to make him comfortable. But guess what? When I asked to use the toilet, he hung his head. He had no toilet and coyly admitted that he did his bidness at work because the landlady had never thought of installing this facility in the house!!! Unbelievable really!

I cannot recall the number of times my mother literally chased after villagers who did their thing in the bush. Number One - normal. Number Two- littering their own gardens- and other people’s as well- mbu manure. My mother was a member of the village Local Council Two and among her key responsibilities was the matter of sanitation and hygiene.

One morning reports reached her ears that there was a family of eight- father, mother and six offspring, ranging from the ages of 8 to zero- who did not have a pit latrine in their home. As was the practice, she paid them a visit. The man of the house was out. Mama Gafas was suckling her last-born, an infant about two weeks old. The compound was littered with pieces of broken basin, dry banana leaves, blackened sufurias - Mama Gafas was clearly not with it.

Mum: (after the “osibye otya nno and gyebale ko” niceties) Kakati, ensonga endese kye kigambo kya kabuyonjo. (Mama never beats about the bush) The purpose of my visit is to address the matter of a toilet.
Mama Gafas: Ye nnyabo.
Mum: Eri wa? Where is it?
Mama Gafas: Toyi?
Mum: I mean, where do you do your stuff? (Can’t say it in Luganda, it sounds too "shitty”)
Mama Gafas: (Hoping to brush her off, pointed behind her) Eri wali emmanju.
Mum: (With emphasis) Wa? Ntwala yo. Show me.
Mama Gafas: Nyabo, abaana bakulagirire.
Mum: No, you take me there. Lead the way.
Mama Gafas reluctantly got up, shooing away the children who were tagging along. Mum walked behind her cautiously, scared of stepping in any steaming mess.
They entered the thick brush.
Mum wondered how they came here in the night.
Mama Gafas, barefooted, was not following a trodden path. As they walked deeper, a branch stuck to Mum’s skirt and she stopped to pull it off.
Suddenly, there was the sound of running. Heavy footsteps. Mama Gafas had bolted with baby on her breast.
Mum’s fears were confirmed.
There was no toilet.