The Drain
I thought Haiti had the only guest house that forbids flushing toilet paper. Not true. Put Bogota, Colombia on that list.
Maybe it’s the 8 million residents bustling about in the smog filled city at 8,600 ft. Bogota lies trapped between a ragged circle of mountain ridges. “Scummy drains, overflowing toilets, and trickles of water plague the rich and the poor whether living in a mansion or a second story walk-up,” states my Spanish teacher matter of factly. I inquire where I can buy some Drano.
I have athletes foot paranoia and toe fungus hysteria. Amazingly, I’ve not had either. Ever since a missionary friend told me that she had the above mentioned malady for 14 years from an encounter with a shower in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia; my feet recoil instinctively in tubs and showers.
I once put a large glass Pyrex bowl upside down in a tub in Ethiopia to take a shower which was a tantalizing feat of balancing bravado. My feet never touched the puddling, germ infested refuse collecting in the tub, I’m proud to report. Addis Ababa is also high at 7,500 ft. I wonder if altitude is pertinent?
After a week In Bogota, I finally scour, poke, and plunge the agonizingly slow-draining shower only to drag up suspicious black particles of a mystery substance. My battle with the drain tumbles further downhill as the water quits draining completely and is precariously close to overflowing the 6 inch tile rim. I envision a flood gushing down the concrete stairway to the hallway and kitchen below eliminating any mission construction work invitations in the future. If there is Drano in Bogota, I couldn’t find it.
Later when desperation forces me to confess, our host feeds me some important info, like a scrap of meat to a hungry lioness. He ladles standing water into a bucket with a green melmac coffee cup. “A little vinegar, soda and a coat hanger will open it right up,” he admonishes. Amazingly, he is right.
After a week of balancing on the rim and bending backward to wet my hair in the trickle of water, I can now stand on clean tile with water swishing merrily down the drain.
Interesting side note, if the electricity goes out, the little device hooked to the shower spout to heat the water, goes out too. The electricity goes out at random hours. I won’t go into the ugly details.
Patricia, the beautiful Spanish teacher with her jeans, boots and swingy black hair asked why we would come to Bogota with all its problems when we could stay in the United States where things are wonderful. I told her that we love God and the people in Bogota and we want to please God. I’m thankful that a question about Drano led to an opportunity to share about the hope that is within me.
Love, Karen
