raniy day blues

It’s raining today. It didn’t start until about 1pm, right after I finished hand washing my clothes. I had thought it might, as the sky had a big dark cloud heading our way, yet often it just rains for 30 minutes or so. And it did. I was so proud of myself. I rang and rinsed out my clothes, and then hung them up to dry in the hot sun. I sat outside with my banana stew that Irene had made for me, and felt appreciation for all the times she has washed my clothes, without me saying a word. I would just come back home, and there would be my clothes clean, and folded, along with my shoes scrubbed and clean.

Then it started to rain again. I thought, eh..my clothes are wet anyway, and I didn’t think I did such a hot job washing them anyway, so now they are just getting an extra rinse.

That was four hours ago.

I think I just made more work for Irene, as they must think I am totally inept. I had wanted to wash my clothes to use less detergent, so I put a bit in and let my clothes soak, as the directions indicated. Within 5 minutes of the soak, a family friend, Eleeza, began washing them and went to get more detergent, as “There is NOT enough soap in here.”

Wait. Wait! It’s okay, I think it will be fine, I tried to dissuade her.

Oh no, these won’t get clean.

Yet the package says to soak them for an hour, I try.

Now, you must realize that I am speaking English, she is speaking broken English, and then Swahili with my host family’s 8 year old daughter interpreting as best as possible. Clearly, the package is not reason enough. She kind heartedly goes to put more detergent in the bucket…

Wait! Please….I am thinking about the slightly soapy feeling my clothes have had recently, and realize I am in a corner that should not be explained away.

Yet I do anyway, saying ASANTE over and over, and pantomime scratching….mumbling that too much soap makes me itch.

She backs away, and feel relived that I will be able to wash my clothes with just enough soap, and show them that I am not a lazy bum, who is too good to wash her own clothes or only knows how to use a machine.

Yet now the rain continues, and I just saw one of the kids wringing out my pants.

Later that night, as I am returning home, Evita (host mother, although I am 3 years her senior) is laughing at me as I walk up while pointing to my wet hanging clothes. She comes and hugs me while laughing saying, “Poli Poli” (sorry). She just makes me laugh. She, her husband and I are laughing at what a dork I am for washing my clothes on a rainy day. Her husband is explaining to her how back in the states I use a machine and only press buttons.

Oh well, I should not be ashamed of my, PoorAmericancan’tdoanythingwithoutallherfancymachines status.