During an evening with an anthropologist friend, we somehow got around to the subject of diapers, or rather no diapers, among the Baulé villagers with whom she had lived in Mali. “Ever notice how African babies don’t wear anything on their bottoms? Just open pants with no seat?” Well, come to think of it. But isn’t that because there is always some patch of grass or a space behind a bush that you can just sort of hold them over? “Be serious. How would you know when baby was about to go? Can you spend your day going around holding your infant over one patch of grass and the next? No, mother puts a cloth pad under the baby before she slings it on her back. That takes care of number one. And number two? Simple enough. Enemas. Twice a day.Every day.”
No, not really? Yes, really. She went on to explain that the mothers simply have to regulate pooping. If there’s an accident while they’re out and about, this means walking around with a stinker tied to her back because there’s nowhere to wash it out. We are talking about villages and farm plots with no running water, remember. Not only that, it’s customary infant hygiene all over Africa for untold generations. Wait, wait, that’s improbable. Don’t you need those red rubber thingies? “Gourds,” she said, “half full of warm water and a few pounded herbs for health. One end of the gourd is fitted with a smoothed off hollow reed. Or, these days, a ballpoint pen with the cartridge removed. And you blow into the other end of the gourd. I never did it but it seems to work pretty well.”
I was still getting my mind around this when she went on, “It’s just part of normal life. Kids and adults routinely use daily enemas as well, for basically the same reason. They regard it as civilized to be in control, rather than letting Nature have its way. Who wants to get go dodging around desperately looking for a private spot, in a land with no bathrooms or back alleys? In fact, most people think it’s not nice to go anywhere but in their designated neighborhood sanitary areas.”
I have a problem, I said. You have to blow into these gourds? “Yes.” So – there you are, with your gourd in place. Ready to take control. Then what? You do what? You call for your wife to come in and give it a toot, is that it?” “Shut up,” says wife. “You’re not in the least bit funny.” Oh yes I am, I am falling out of my chair! The ladies strive to ignore me, and change the subject somewhat to the African art of it, and how museums have whole collections of these ornately decorated enema gourds from the Baulé peoples
Spelled how? No. You can’t be serious.