Melinda+Laundry(:
Laundry is a sensitive subject with me. At home in America, whether it be in my dorm, or with our “high-efficiency” washers at my house, I have a strong tendency to avoid washing my clothes at all costs. I also have a tendency to forget my clothes in the washer, (there’s so many more important things to do) and one of three things usually comes from that; I get yelled at by Mom, the clothes develop a distinctly moldy smell, or my favorite jeans get stolen, (as was the case at college.) As the clothes pile up, I find myself looking at them with dread of the inevitable day to come.
But let me tell you, here in Zambia, the problem has been significantly multiplied. My “fear” of laundry has increased, because in southern Africa there is no such thing as a washing machine. We have to watch as our tiny white bucket fills with murky water from the tap, and try to ignore the fact that our clothes most likely won’t be getting clean if we can literally see grains of sand (and who knows what else) floating in the water.
Then comes the scrubbing. We scrub the armpits and collars of the many t-shirts we have sweat through. We scrub the dirty handprints and footprints (of countless children climbing up our bodies) out of every single thread; we scrub so hard our knuckles start to throb.
My trepidation of laundry happens to be much more noticeable, however, as I (barely managed to) fit my 3 months worth of clothes into a carry on. I run out of things to wear pretty quick, meaning laundry day comes more than once a month here. The plastic bag I substituted for a laundry basket basically reeks before I decide to touch it. Ask Mel, my roommate- she probably has some stories.
After our backs can’t take the aching (that comes from bending over a sink, filled with what looks like soapy dirt,) anymore, we head outside to hang up the dripping pieces of clothing. Because there is an occasional breeze, and because there are no clothespins to keep the clothes on the line, we had to learn the hard way that grass in your underwear is just a part of life.
The experience of Laundry Day down here below the equator is an altogether unforgettable one. My bright red knuckles might even be a little tougher when I get home! It is still so crazy and admirable to me that these Zambian women consider tasks like these a part of their everyday life. I know I won’t be close to the procrastinator I was before, since some lovely person decided to bring a laundry machine to America!
Who knows? I might even go the extra mile and start to fold my clean clothes now.
Our seven personalities through Laundry Day:
Kelly: *looks at Penn State tank top*
“Hmm…”
*smells Penn State tank top*
“…yeah it can go another day or two…”
Melinda: “You haven’t done your laundry yet?? I’ll just do it for you.”
Juliette: “ Uhh, Laundry Day? Let’s just say I ain’t wearing underwear right now.”
Mikaela: “I brought enough clothes to never have to do laundry! And if I run out, I will just borrow yours!”
Emily: “Ew, that bag of clothes over there smells prettyy bad, I probably shouldn’t go near it.”
Lea: “I strive every day to become the Zambian Housewife I am destined to be. If this means getting up at 6 am every day to scrub t-shirt armpits, then so be it.”
Me: …Well you know me. (:
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