My biggest accomplishment to date, the one I’m most proud of and that gives me the greatest joy, is this: I have finally figured out the laundry. I know, this seems like an insignificant detail in the grand scheme of my life here, but believe me, it’s a big deal. Anyone who has ever lived or worked in a developing country can attest to this—clean clothes make all the difference. And I in my ignorance had been living the past five and a half months or so in complacent acceptance of my dingy attire.
Hindsight is 20/20, but looking back I feel sort of foolish about it all and I think my rational reveals some bias I unconsciously still held about life in the developing world. It also explains why I didn’t see any reasons to bring “nice” clothes or jewelry here. I had this idea that my life would be filthy and void of any dignity or reason to present myself as clean and put together. Even typing that makes me feel ashamed, but it was true nonetheless. And I think most Americans, having never lived amongst people in a developing country, would join me in that bias. But what I have learned shows that the exact opposite is true. The people here recognize that they live in a less than clean environment, and they fight actively to combat that. They may not have much, but they live with great dignity.
My family takes great care to regularly scrub the orange dirt from their flip flops. Everyone wipes their feet before entering a home. No child goes to school or church without their hair being combed. At the end of each day the men and boys gather around and wash that day’s dust and grime off of the family cars. The floor in the house is perpetually being swept, scrubbed, and washed. And laundry is being done constantly. This last fact is what finally clued me in that I was missing something.
I had been doing laundry every two weeks or so (whenever my underwear ran out), and in that span of time, I would probably wear and re-wear clothes twice or more. At the time that didn’t seem like much of an issue, as I felt like I pretty much reeked anyway, with the permanent layer of sweat on every surface of my body. And sure, I had enough clothes that I could have worn something new each day, but that would just mean more clothes to wash (and as you’ve learned, washing clothes is actually a great deal of work), and it all just didn’t seem worth it.
But then one day, as I was pulling on a shirt that smelled a little less than pleasant, I thought to myself I would never have worn dirty clothes in America. And I sort of stopped dead in my tracks. How utterly pompous of me to put the life I have here in Pohnpei below the life I left in America. To allow myself to settle into an unacceptable level of cleanliness, and just tack it up to well, I am living in a developing country. Yes, the two worlds are completely different, but neither is better or worse than the other. How can I sit here as a representative of my country and as an agent of peace and friendship (it’s part of our mission, look it up), and yet still regard my current setting as below me and not worthy of my care and attention? I have to admit, I was pretty embarrassed.
Since then I’ve humbled myself even further, and asked for help with my laundry. (Even when I had washed my clothes before they still sort of smelled and I figured I wasn’t doing it right.) So my Nohno Carly (my aunt) happily squatted with me on the cement and showed me how much soap to use, which clothes need to be soaked first, the best scrubbing techniques, how to use the paddle to beat my clothes (which clothes need to be beaten vs. washed in the machine), the right number of clothing items that should be washed in the machine at one time, how to properly rinse the soap suds out of the clothing, and most importantly, how to clean up my workspace before and after I have used it.
The whole exchange was sort of wonderful, because the language barrier prevented her from being able to simply dictate instructions. Instead, she had to demonstrate and wash the clothes with me, and we got to spend some quality time laughing and getting wet and soapy. The process, when done correctly, takes about twice as long as my previous attempts, but it is completely worth it. I am so grateful to Carly for taking the time, because as it turns out, having clean clothes makes everything in my life better. Wearing smelly, dirty clothes was something I had wrongly convinced myself was a necessity, but now each day I get to pull on a clean, fresh outfit. And it seems like such a little thing, but it really improves the quality of my daily life, and in turn, my happiness as a whole.
The other part of the equation that I was missing, was the frequency in which one must wash their clothes. If you wait until you need to wash clothes, it’s already too late. Because inevitably, that day it will rain, and you’ll be faced with a morning without clean underwear (not that this has happened to me…). Instead you have to stay on top of things, washing clothes in regular intervals. I wash my clothes once a week (usually on Wednesdays, if you’re curious), and I wash my towel and any other linens on Saturdays. In addition, any time I’m just sitting around on a sunny day and no one is currently washing their clothes I take the opportunity to wash whatever I have in my laundry basket at the time, no matter how few the items are. What this boils down to is I am doing laundry every two or three days, just like a Pohnpeian.
I rather enjoy the process. It gives me something to do, and a chance to focus my attention on some physical labor. I think it’s good for me. It’s sort of like in the States, when I would spend my showers contemplating life and sorting out my problems, now that’s what I do while I’m beating soap into my T-shirts. It’s oddly relaxing. And obviously, the best benefit is that I always have clean clothes. Praise the Lord.
And the cherry on top of my ice cream sundae of happiness (I wish I hadn’t said that, now I want ice cream) is that I made my first substantial purchase here in Pohnpei. I bought a folding clothes-drying rack. (The kind that lies flat until you pull it open, then it reveals sections of bars from which to hang wet items.) This is the kind of thing I had in my apartment or dorm since I was 18, but I had avoiding succumbing to my Western ways. Instead, I dealt with the frustrations of rain-soaked laundry, and mildew stench. But no more! And because it is an imported item (no duh), it was very expensive. A rack that might have cost $10 or $15 in America cost me $53 here. Luckily, I caught it during the Christmas sale, so it was only $40, but still an ungodly price. I had to really want it. And I did, really want it. (I get paid a living stipend, but I spend exactly $0 when I stay in my village, which is basically all the time, so I have a large chunk of change saved up). And as pathetic as it sounds, the clothes rack has made me happier than I ever thought possible.
Not only can I now hang my underwear inside (avoiding the embarrassment of watching my brothers duck underneath them hanging on the line), but I can save my clothes from a moldy fate when the rain comes. And get this, I hang my towel on it daily, which means it actually dries in between my morning and evening showers, and it no longer smells of filth. It is a miracle.
Basically, the point of all of these ramblings is this: in this crazy life that I’ve chosen, with the unbearable heat, monotonous food, bugs and lizards in my bed, and perpetual diarrhea, sometimes it just takes something small to make everything okay. That something small is clean clothes. This simple availability that I had taken for granted in America, but now is a direct precursor to my overall wellbeing and happiness. Who would have thought?
Stay clean.
--Christy
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