Laundry

Laundry has involved many things during my life.  When I was little, dirty laundry went into the hamper at the bottom of the hall closet, and periodically, Mom-omagically, the hamper would move out of the closet with clean, dry, ironed, folded clothes which I would (grudgingly) put away. As I grew older, various steps of the process became de-mystified.  I came to be asked to carry the laundry down-stairs, and then, a while later, I would be asked to carry the Mom-omagically clean, ironed and folded laundry back upstairs, where I would (sometimes) put it away (grudgingly).At some point, I began “do” my laundry myself.  Of course, doing laundry really just meant adjusting settings on the washing machine (Cold-Cold, Normal Agitation), waiting a while, then moving things over to the dryer, setting the timer, and again, waiting. Then I would (sometimes) fold it, carry it upstairs, and (maybe), put it away (grudgingly).

After I moved across town for college, the steps were basically the same, except there were more or fewer stairs (generally more), and the machines often cost money—either from my Cavalier Advantage Card (kept topped up by my parents), or, later, stacks upon stacks of quarters (one of the advantages of working as a waiter was constant access to change).  Sometimes (often) I wouldn’t feel like paying the fee for the machine, so I would drive across town (a MAJOR advantage of going to college in the same town one grew up in is access to free laundry…another is access to free food, often in the same trip) and go back to the same machine, where, mindful of the Mom-omagic presence, I might actually sort the laundry into whites, lights and darks, and put them into the machine with appropriate temperature settings. Then I’d help myself to food/diet coke/TV while waiting.  I think I might have used the time to study once.

Living in Northern Ireland was the first time when I was at all confronted with the privilege I’d enjoyed.  While my flat in Northern Ireland had no steps (convenient), and I didn’t have to pay for the machine (wonderful), there was no dryer, which I considered a major inconvenience.  As much as we complain about energy costs in the US, they are fantastically low compared with many other places—in Northern Ireland, this makes a dryer a luxury that most chose to forego.  Fortunately, we were able to string up a drying line inside—strung across our living room (it rained so often there was just no point to putting things outside), and left to dry.  Sometimes, in order to speed the drying process, my flat-mate and I would make creative use of space-heaters, seal off the living room, and turn it into a sauna in order to dry things faster.  We were also exceedingly fortunate in that my flat-mate knew a very accommodating person who WAS in possession of a dryer, and, being a mother, was kind enough to periodically collect our sheets, wash them, dry them, and, Mom-omagically return them to us the same day.

In Kenya, I do laundry myself, by hand.  In buckets.  In the bathtub.  It’s a time and labor intensive process which begins with a one hour soak recommended by the directions on the packet of Sunshine (yes, really).  Then I begin the process of actually washing the clothes—a combination of just reaching in there and working everything around, and then pulling things out and going over them with a scrub brush to get some of the more persistent stains out.  Once this is done, I dump the buckets, try to squeeze out as much of the soapy water as I can, and fill the buckets again to rinse.  I usually have to repeat this at least twice, and even then I’m pretty sure there is still a lot of soap left.

Now, I have to get the clothes to dry.  I squeeze as much of the water out as I can, and take most things out to the lines behind the building (I can fit a few things on a line on my porch, and a few things in the closet with the water heater).  My experience in drying clothes washed by hand so far is pretty much the same as line-drying anything, but I have been AMAZED at how much water the spin cycle on a washing machine gets out.  As it is, even after squeezing out as much as I can, I still usually have to leave clothes out overnight, and often into the afternoon of the next day.  That is, of course, assuming that it doesn’t rain—we are currently in the middle of the ‘short rains’ where it rains somewhat unpredictably for short bursts (a few minutes to a few hours).  I try not to be too upset about the rain—after all, it’s probably getting more of the soap out (I am convinced I will NEVER get it all).  Once the clothes are dry, or at least mostly so, I bring them in, and proceed to iron everything to kill of anything that may have taken residence in the clothes while they were drying.  I think Nairobi is not a particularly high risk area for the insect I’m concerned about, but I’m not taking chances.

In all honesty though, doing laundry is still not that difficult for me. I am vastly more involved in the process than I’ve ever been before, true, but it’s much less involved for me than for many others.  I am not going to pretend that this means I understand poverty, or have even experienced hardship.  I’m not competing for space by a river. I’m not walking miles for water. I don’t have to go to the bottom of a deep well.  I’m not worrying that using this water for laundry means I won’t have enough to drink or cook with.  I have clear, running water in my flat—water that, with a very little bit of extra effort I can even drink.  Doing laundry takes time, yes, but I’m able to use that time for prayer and reflection, to listen to music or an NPR podcast (Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me, With Good Reason or Backstory). And, in the end, I know, that even as miniscule a hardship this is, it’s temporary.  Next fall I’ll be back in the U.S., back to using a washing machine and yes, almost certainly even dryer.  And, in all likelihood, when I remember my time here, laundry won’t be something I’ll often think about. 

Hopefully though, I will remember that no matter how difficult something seems to me, I have it easy.