Volunteers, big Wood and Chamber Pots

The Volunteers just keep on coming. This time, a mixed group from U of AZ, Pace and 4 Yalies. (I took it upon myself to deliver the news about the Ivy basketball play-off results - They wished Princeton well in the NCAA tournament). They got to experience mixing concrete by hand, mortaring concrete blocks and setting them, sawing rebar and pacay (a very tough wood). Once again, impressed by

their good hearts to use Spring Break for service to others and their work with a smile. Rather than party on a beach somewhere lapping up beer.

Benildo’s 84 year-old father is getting one of the new GB Bano units. He felt the drainage pit was too small, so he jumped in and doubled its size. He is one tough cookie !!
I'll be happy if I'm this strong at 74.

Here’s a load of wood headed to the mill, that is king size. Note that all logs are marked by inspectors as to point of origin and permit #, to insure that it is not wood pirated from the Guna or Embera reservations. Pirating wood has greatly diminished, but still goes on. Just ask my neighbor. When a single tree can be worth $10,000, the temptation is high.

The chamber pot in its simplest form

The Chamber Pot

In Piriati yesterday, I saw a woman carry a bucket out to her latrine and dump the contents inside. Not wanting to embarrass her, I asked my friend Jonathon if this was common practice. I was surprised to learn that it is VERY common practice – I’ve just never noticed it before. He says NOBODY goes to the latrine after dark. EVER. He seemed amazed that I didn’t know this after living in the 3^rd world for 6 years. Truth is – I’ve never had to use a latrine the whole time outside the US. I’ve always lived in a house with flush toilets – In San Luis, Lima and here in Torti. And none of the Volunteers who used a latrine ever mentioned it.

An elegant seat for the humble chamber pot - 1800's

My powers of perception duly chastised , being a Water & Sanitation guy, I decided to investigate the chamber pot and here’s what I found:

As a prelude to the toilet, the chamber pot has a long and noble history. We know that they have been used since 600 BC by the Greeks. They remain in common use in many parts of rural China and the Philippines (and other 3^rd World countries) today and are frequently given as wedding presents to assure the couple’s good luck. The device has gone by many names in English, to wit – jordan,  jerry,  guzunder, potty, or thunder pot. It was also known as a chamber utensil or bedroom ware. In Spanish, the simple “cubo” (bucket suffices.

Whatever the name, the concept and purpose is simple. It provides a convenient, indoor receptacle for human bodily waste, which can then be removed to a more suitable disposal site. In a wealthier home, it would be removed on demand by a “chamber maid”, who discretely covered it with a cloth or its own lid and carried it away. In the upscale parts of cities, the pots were stacked in the alley, awaiting the morning arrival of the Chamber wagon or Sweet wagon (possibly the origin of the modern “Honey Wagon”). In less opulent parts of town, the pots were simply emptied into the street gutter, where they joined horse manure and other waste. In rural settings they were carried to the cesspool or deposited in the outhouse.

The Chamber Pot came in all sorts. For the wealthy, they were elaborate porcelain affairs with matching tops, often set below an ornate chair with a large hole in the seat. For the less fortunate, they were a simple ceramic bowl, often with a convenient handle. The poor often used whatever cooking or mixing pot was available from the kitchen. Thus the expression “He doesn’t have a proper pot to piss in”.

There were even songs about the infamous pot, such as this British ditty:

Well, I took the crayfish home, and I thought he'd like a swim
So I filled up the chamber pot, and I threw the bugger in
In the middle of the night, I thought I'd have a fit
When my old lady got up to a-have a shit
Husband, husband, she cried out to me
The devil's in the chamber pot, and he's got hold of me

Children, children, bring the looking glass
Come and see the crayfish that bit your mother's arse
Children, children, did you hear the grunt
Come and see the crayfish that bit your mother's cunt
It's the ending of my story; I don't have any more
I've an apple in my pocket, and you can have the core

Although, now that I think of it, I did use a cup or bottle on occasion to avoid the long hike to the basement bathroom in Witherspoon Hall late at night.