When it was brought to my attention that November 19, my birthday, has been designated by the UN as World Toilet Day, I was mildly offended and thought that they had a bloody cheek choosing that particular date. Out of curiosity, I decided to investigate further and was appalled to learn that, of the 8 billion humans on this planet, 3.5 billion of them live without safely managed sanitation, and 419 million people practice open defecation, open defecation being the polite term for shitting on the ground. According to the United Nations, the world faces a sanitation crisis involving the spread of disease and increasing degradation of the natural environment. If the seriousness of this situation is not recognised the world will fail to meet Sustainable Development Goal 6, which aims to provide toilets and safe water to all by 2030. I thought about this for a bit and wondered what I could do to make a difference, even if only in a small way. It was then that I had a brainwave and I sprang to my feet.
From the newspaper box I took an old copy of the Cape Times and went outside, closing the door behind me. I didn’t want the dog following and making a nuisance of herself. It was going to be a warm day, the sun was already high, and I was glad to be wearing a hat.
The indigenous bush has grown up on the adjoining plot to form an unkempt fynbos garden. A path snakes through the low but dense vegetation to a clearing near the centre of the property. I passed a tortoise coming my way, and then disturbed a family of francolin trying to take a dust bath.
In the clearing I set the business supplement to one side, then opened the main section in the middle and spread it on the ground. Stepping out of my Crocs, I removed shorts and underpants and draped them over a bastard olive. Then I moved onto the newspaper and squatted down.
I didn’t have more than a few moments to wait. A single fart heralded the imminent arrival, my sphincter relaxed, and the faecal serpent slithered from my colon, where it had been waiting with growing impatience. Beyond my dangling genitals I could see it settling itself on the newspaper in a rich brown coil of potter’s clay. The familiar odour of my excrement filled my nostrils in a way that I found extravagantly offensive.
Well, I thought, as I tore a strip of paper off the Business Report, that was easy enough. But, directing a stream of yellow urine away from the Cape Times and enjoying the feeling of relief as my bladder emptied, I accepted that it was time to deal with the consequences.
Wiping a hairy arse can at times prove to be a messy affair, even when using good quality two-ply. Newsprint is nowhere near as absorbent as toilet paper and tends to smear rather than clean. I would hate having to contend with this mess every time I had a bowel movement.
Fully clothed once more, I was obliged to deal with the next essential stage of the ritual, which was to dispose of the repugnant product lying there on the ground. I lifted the nearest edge of the Cape Times, which was a little soggy, and folded it over in order to cover the heap. Then the back edge forward and the two sides in. I picked up the parcel, weighing it and feeling its warmth, and realised with annoyance that I should have first spread the Business Report, ready to receive the wrapped waste matter. Now I had to set it to one side, spread the supplement, and fold the Times in on itself once more before bundling it in the additional sheets.
Back at the house I dropped the bundle into the black bag lining the dustbin and replaced the lid. Washing my hands in the bathroom, I congratulated myself on having accomplished exactly what I had set out to do. I had experienced firsthand what 419 million people are faced with every day.
Now, having recorded my performance in writing, I would like to encourage all my readers, men and women, young and old, to follow my example and set aside half an hour on 19 November in order to squat in solidarity with all of the unfortunate people who do not have access to decent sanitation.
I urge you to humble yourself and go out into the garden, defecate on a sheet of newspaper and dispose of it in the dustbin as I have indicated. By doing so, you can help to make this become a worldwide movement that will raise awareness and bring about meaningful change.
(If no garden space is available, I suggest the garage as an alternative. Failing that, it will have to be in the house, preferably on a tiled floor.)
To view my longer work as an author, you can find me on Smashwords here.
