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Sunday, April 19th. 7 AM. Coffee on the stove, oats boiled and spiced, book in hand, and the freedom of an empty to-do list beyond that. Empty except for the 15-pound bag of laundry that I've pushed - both literally and figuratively - to the side. Not being able to open the door to my bedroom was as good an indication as any that I should lighten the load. I had a day filled with one activity - laundry. An all day affair, no doubt. But, as you'll soon see, this day was different. This load was not like any other. Today I would join the elites.
Hand-washing laundry is an art. Masters of the craft soak, squeeze, rinse, and drain with such fluency and efficiency as to cause borderline hypnosis in all on-lookers. The three Memes who live on my plot are shining examples. From one bucket to the next, rinsing, washing, and hanging. It's a rhythmic, full body activity. Like watching a master chef chop, or a professional golfer rip into a tee. It's vigorous but gentle. So subtle the skill involved, you can miss it if you don't know what you're looking for. The pro's make it look so easy. It's easy enjoy until you get your hands in that bucket. All rules are out the window. Baptism by
The yard is where all of the washing on my erf is done. It's as if the washing table was positioned as a shrine to the washing gods. With the houses lining the outer edges of the property, the washing table and buckets are placed, in full view, front-and-center, in the middle of the yard. It's like being on stage. Through observation, I knew the protocol - bring your clothes out, two buckets (one with suds and one for rinse), and get down to it. But I was nervous. Not ablutophobia (yeah, I Googled that). Most likely stage fright. Which explains why I spent the first 7 months in Swakopmund lugging buckets of water into the house to do my wash behind closed doors. I'd sit in my living room slopping the water around like a newborn in a bath tub. It beats looking like a fool in public, I thought. But, how crazy I must have looked to the people I live with as I walked by the table purposed explicitly for washing, only to drag my bubbly buckets into my house? How ridiculous must I have appeared, retreating from traditional techniques? I thought I was mitigating my foolishness, but, in fact, I was only magnifying it. But more on that to come soon.
There is a best way to wash, yet alternative strategies are abundant. Here are a few I've learned from observation and from some of my fellow PCVs - some more effective than others.
THE SOAK
By far the easiest, and least effective washing technique. It entails pouring water and detergent into a bucket filled with dirty clothes and soaking it for a period of time longer than 2 hours. Anything less than 2 hours is just considered wetting you clothes and does not qualify as doing laundry. After that time, you drain the bucket, rinse the clothes, and hang them on the line. This is a popular technique for the time-sensitive washers and beginners. Definitely don't want to do more than 3 loads this way though or those soiled clothes aren't getting any cleaner. I said it.
THE SOAK N' POKE
The ideal next step after The Soak. Safe to say that this is the most widely used technique among PC Namibia Volunteers. A long 'Soak' with some confused fumbling of your clothing underwater. There is no real strategy here - just mindless activity that makes you feel a bit better about yourself before hanging up to dry. Clothes get about 25% cleaner.
THE STIR
A version of 'The Soak' the entails circulating the clothing with your hand to mimic a spin cycle. Hilarious in theory. Never actually having seen it done so I can't speak to its practicality. This is one of those behind-closed-doors, deny-you-ever-did-it kind of things.
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| The aftermath of a Submerged Squeeze session |
THE SUBMERGED SQUEEZE
My go-to move. Dunk the clothes. Squeeze them and stretch them under water. Resurface the article. Twist and rinse out the foam. Do this a few times - until you're either pretty sure the stank is gone or you forget what you were doing. Transfer to the rinse bucket. Rinse until suds are gone. Job well done, amateur.
THE SCRUB AND SQUIRT
This is the big leagues. A product of years in the bucket. A specific motion of hands that causes one part of the shirt/pant/towel to wash the other. It's effective (I'm told). There is a signature sound that is generated. Like the sizzle on a Fajita plate at Chili's or the swoosh on a Nike product, you know the squirt when you hear it. It's a sign of supremacy.
The story takes a turn here, not as you might suspect. I don't all of sudden master the Scrub and Squirt and impress the bubbles out of my neighbors. In fact, I think I'm forever stuck as a member of the Submerged Squeeze camp. And proud of it!
No. Today was difference because of something Oscar - the 4th grader that lives on my plot - said to me. One day after I washed and began hanging he asked, "You washed inside?".
"Yes, I did", I replied.
"Is your floor not wet?"
Blushing, I realized a fourth grader just questioned my ability to keep water in a bucket. He was right."But then I just mop it", I say.
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| Me and my roommate Job on a busy laundry Sunday |
It may have been embarrassment or it may have been a bout of shyness, but for some reason I retreated. But on April 19th I said no more. I kicked open my door, dropped my bins on the table, and shoved my hands in the bucket. It's time. Everyone outside looked up, saw me washing, then just went back to living their lives. I never assumed anyone would care. But it was a big deal for me. Since then I've washed each and every load outside, had some really great conversation, and picked up a few tips and tricks. Thanks to the pressure of a fourth grader I felt compelled to jump out of my comfort zone and into the lives of my neighbors.
