Putting my back into it

In this particular part of Kenya there are some fairly traditional ideas about men’s work and women’s work. Among the basics are the rules about cooking and washing clothes. Both of these are, you guessed it, ‘women’s work’. Being the well brought up 21^st century western male that I am I have a different view. This quite often freaks out visitors when we have them and they stay for lunch. Especially visitors from ‘official’ bodies. I really enjoy cooking. I find it quite recreational so it’s not difficult to knock up a meal at short notice. Once the visitors have accepted that nothing is going to happen to change my determination to cook for them they quickly get used to the idea that a man has done the cooking, (though I’m sure one or two of them have worried about being poisoned).

The same general taboo applies to doing the washing. Men washing clothes is definitely off limits. It’s OK for male students to do it (it would create huge problems if they didn't)  but once you cross the threshold of adulthood that’s it. This visit I have decided to me more self-sufficient in the clothes washing department. This rush of enthusiasm is motivated by a number of factors. The lady who normally does the washing is unwell at the moment. She’s been off for a while, worn out by having children I think. I also want to avoid any particular privileges and set a good example. Retrospectively (as I have discovered) its also good exercise.

At different times in my life doing the washing has been a drag (when I was at boarding school), a laugh (when I was a student and my wife Judi and I used to go to the launderette  and a pain (when it’s too wet to hang the washing out and it has to be put to dry on radiators). Today I thought it might be fun.

Conscious of the need not to make too much of a fool of myself I have been covertly observing how the kids do it. Washing in Kenya basically involves two big washing bowls, a small plastic bucket for carrying water and a cupful of Omo. I duly assembled all of the equipment on the grass by our showers and went back to the house to pick up my pile of washing. I had only taken one step out of the door when Mary (our manager) and Janet (stores manager) said that I shouldn't be doing the washing and that they would sort it out. Sticking to my guns I assured them that it was OK – I would be fine.

Those of you who remember basic washing powders like Omo won’t be surprised at its dirt removing properties. It will, I think, shift just about anything (especially the colour in clothes). I’m sure I’ll get the hang of how much you need after a bit of practise. I chucked the first T-shirt in the bowl and started mangling it round. It seemed to be going pretty well. My boarding school skills had obviously not deserted me. Once washed it was chucked into the rinsing bowl and I started on T-shirt number two. At this point I became aware of the way that age makes your back less supple than it probably was a few years ago. (Well, OK, quite a long time ago). The one thing I was sure I wouldn't manage from my observations of the kids doing their washing was the ‘African stance’. Once you've noticed it you see it everywhere – working in the fields, cooking and doing the washing. It’s a very simple action but one that is, I think, anatomically impossible for Europeans. It basically involves setting your body in an upside down V shape by bending at the waste with a straight back. I soon discovered that my back wasn't really up to this kind of contortion (or any others).

I was, to be honest, relieved when at this point a couple of the lads came over and asked if they could help me. Resisting my first instinct to say I would be OK doing it on my own I swallowed my pride and said that it was nice of them to offer and yes please, thank you very much. I did manage to wash the shirts, socks and two pairs of jeans that had accumulated in my washing pile since arriving myself but by the end of the exercise was more than grateful for the boys’ assistance in the rinsing, wringing and hanging out to dry department. Once I had finished my back was, I am ashamed to say, in agony (though I think I managed not to make it too obvious to the casual observer).

I plan to continue my role breaking agenda during my visit but think I might try to do my washing more often to avoid prolonging the agony. I’m hoping my back will respond positively to this new form of exercise. In the meantime I will continue to be in awe of the millions of African ladies who spend a significant part of their day maintaining the ‘African stance’ without complaining, flagging or keeling over.