The beauty of a flushing toilet

Let us take, for example, World Toilet Day.

I know, the idea alone conjures up all kinds of hilarious images, and one can only imagine the myriad of jokes, all most likely involving the word “flush”.

Without being flippant, to my surprise I learned that 2.5-billion people across the world are without access to a safe, adequate, clean and private toilet.

In this country of ours, where we give the e-toll gantries the evil eye, and our hard-earned tax money — excuse the temptation at a sad joke — is flushed away without thought or concern, we tend to forget that things aren’t all that terrible.

Have we not taken it for granted that many of us can walk into a bathroom instead of having to dig a hole to flush away our problems?

This may seem bizarre, but this is a right that many people do not enjoy!

I think back to the days of my grandmother’s dusty plot in Vaalkrans, close to Lutzville, in the Western Cape.

Naturally, there was no electricity (Eskom was, therefore, not the instigator of our woes), and there was no private or clean toilet.

By all accounts, it was a huge problem when, in the middle of the night, you experienced an unsuspected bowel movement — you know, one of those that might warrant America to classify it as a weapon of mass destruction or label it as biological warfare.

So when the unexpected arrived, like Father Christmas falling down the chimney, you first had to find you way through the darkness of the house, because it was way too much effort to light the paraffin lamp.

And when you eventually made it outside without stirring awake the household (these days it is advised to light a lamp, otherwise you might be shot for being an intruder), you faced the daunting task of navigating your way through thorns and the creatures of darkness to the infamous long drop.

And this was no ordinary walk. On this personal long walk to bowel freedom, you stepped where angels feared to tread along the narrow, sandy path, lined with giant cacti that you fearfully convinced yourself would, at any second, swallow you alive.

And lo and behold, as you completed your journey,like a reluctant Frodo in Lord of the Rings, you were confronted by the “shack” built on top of the gaping hole.

So there you stood, young in heroism and age, cold chills running up your spine, as you gripped the green, creaky door handle, to embrace the nightmare within.

But you had no choice — inside was freedom, but also eight-legged freaks or poisonous snakes.

Quickly, Frodo disappeared into the mist and you were left feeling like Indiana Jones fighting for his life in the Temple of Doom.

As you opened the door, teeth on edge, you braced yourself for the tidal wave of odours as your last bit of courage melted into the dust.

And then, there it was – the black hole, but not the one that Stephen Hawking has been rambling on about. No, this was the abyss of misery.

And once you had found the strength to actually sit down, praying that somehow you wouldn’t fall in (weird things do run through your mind) and that you would not be assaulted or bitten, you slowly closed the door for some privacy.

In that rather serene moment that made the Twilight Zone look like the bunny park, you wondered who — if something terrible did happen, such as sliding into this rabbit hole that would make Alice in Wonderland run away screaming — would ever find you?

Of course, there was no light inside, and no air freshener. Just you and the realisation that, for thousands of years, people have been using a hole in the ground, or whatever other means necessary, in times of war, famine and plague.

These rather morbid memories do give you a fresh appreciation for World Toilet Day.

And it makes me understand that a simple toilet can be a stepping stone to a healthy life, greater human dignity and freedom.

After all, my dignity was left hanging on one of the flesh-eating cacti.

As we think of the 1.4-million people living in shacks in informal settlements, or backyards across Gauteng, let us count our blessings.

Despite all the misery we endure in life, maybe, just maybe, next time we get up in the middle of the night to address an unwelcome bowel movement, and we are able to switch on a light and walk a few paces to a comfy toilet, let us be thankful for the good things in life.

And let us keep in mind those who are still faced with the haunting of a long drop, or the bucket system, or whatever black hole is needed to flush away mankind’s dwindling dignity.