Claire Vs. Plumbing

Hello Adoring Fan Base!

It has been an interesting past few days and I thought it was high time to update you on all things Tlotlo! Firstly, I’m pretty sure I have quite the lobbyist working the Big G upstairs for me because even when things go wrong in my life, they tend to go pretty right, example: I came back to my house two days ago after a frustrating time in my clinic and had a little “adventure.”

It is my second day at work and I spent the whole time in the caravan waiting to either a.) go to Sefare to meet the hospital staff there or b.) be of any use to anyone at all…ever. I ended up brain storming projects and did actually have a brief but insightful chat with the lay counselor about issues within the community. That aside, I was still pretty frustrated, so when I got home I had ZERO patience left to deal with the fact that my sink was making a high pitched squealing noise.

Let me fill you in on my bathroom/ dishwashing/ laundry room. It is the only room in the house that has water, and so it tends to get the most action in my everyday goings on. The toilet leaks out of either the handle or the bottom part of the tank, or possibly both. The faucet is lose so if it is turned even a little off center it starts to whistle. The pipe leading to the sink is funky, so it also leaks and occasionally whistles. There is a cricket living somewhere within all those drippy pipes and right around 7:30pm at night it starts to make its little cricket noise and doesn’t stop until around 5am. Normally, none of this would be an issue, but since the wall between my bathroom and my bedroom doesn’t reach the ceiling this cacophony of sound gently rocks me like a hurricane to bed every night. I had come to deal with all of these things though since I realize, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, I have it very plush and lovely compared to some. I had even begun to figure out what I affectionately called “the dance of the toilet” meaning the back and forth of me putting a used yogurt container below the tank to catch the dripping water, and then putting it back into the tank so there was enough suction to flush.

But today I was just not having it.

Me being me, I got out my leatherman and faced the singing sink head on. Let me preface this by saying my plumbing skills consist of identifying a leak and then calling a plumber. I attempt to tighten the bolt that connects the main pipe to the flexible cord that leads to the tap, and after one twist the sound had quieted a bit. I thought to myself “Go me! I rock, I could totally be a plumber, this is not that hard at all.” So I twisted it again, and again the sound lessened. After another lengthy pat on the back I went for one more twist…oh lordy pants, why didn’t I stop at two? The pipe freaked the heck out and began spewing water all over my bath/dish/laundry room at a rate I had not previously thought possible in Africa. I freaked the hell out and attempted to “untwist” the bolt (people, you cannot untwist what has been twisted) and the thing began exploding.

I run outside my house just in time to find my kindly old landlady walking back from her job teaching pre-schoolers. I explain to her what is happening with wild hand gestures, in a pitch that is a few octaves higher than a preteen at a Backstreet Boys concert, with some crock story about how I was “just washing my hands.” She smiles at me… and asks how my day at the clinic was. My reply was something like:

“Itwasgreatbutcanyoupleasecomeandseethebathroomitisexploding”

She takes her sweet time coming into the house and then laughs and ambles out to turn the water off, at which point the leak has devoured my bathroom and started flowing into the kitchen. Then, and get this, she begins to mention how worried she is that I won’t be able to bath tonight (it’s “bath” here, not “bathe”) and tells me to go about what I was doing so that she can mop up the mess. If I knew how to say “angel” in Setswana I would have called her that. After repeated wave offs of me asking if I could help in what I like to call “Setswinglish” she cleans the floor, calls a plumber, runs out to get the part that is needed and wishes me goodnight. 

NOT ONLY, does my faucet pipe not squeak anymore but the plumber saw my yogurt cup and the rust lines and said he would come back to fix that this weekend, which Mma Monyatsi said was great, since it was overdue that this bathroom have a checkup. I’m also pretty sure that the tidal wave may have taken out the nasty little Pavaratti that sang me to sleep every night. Claire 1; Plumbing/Cricket 0.   

As an aside, I will be taking pictures of my house and the village and adding them to the blog super soon, so watch out!

More to come, much love to all,
Claire