WHEN YA GOTTA GO

(14DEC2008)

I have a whole diatribe about port-a-johns that I’m sure my grandmothers can’t wait to read.

For now, suffice it to say I use portable toilets 95% of the time I need to get something out of my body. There are two sets of port-a-johns near my hooch. The closest is a pair of them in the corner of the housing area, and it is toward these I set out just moments ago.

Going to the bathroom nowadays requires bundling up, as it has become bitterly cold, especially at night. The johns are not far, but the walk is long enough for some critical body parts to get angry at you if they’re left exposed to the environment.

As I approach the pair of toilets, I see someone step into one of them, and as I’m almost there another man darts out of his room and into the other latrine, slamming the door behind him. I’m left to either wait them out or proceed to my second option, as my body pleads with me for action.

I turn around, and walk over to the next closest johns – 3 set up adjacent to the Kiwi (New Zealand) housing area. They’re all uninhabited, so I proceed to do in the cold plastic latrine what you get to do in the warmth and comfort of a proper bathroom.

I open the door to leave and am confronted by an ANA soldier standing directly in front of me. The other two johns are unoccupied, but he’s waiting for mine.

We switch places and I walk off, not at all sure why he was doing that. Perhaps he wanted me to warm it up for him.

I will strive to get a picture of these ANA guys, because to me they all look like little Fidel Castros – their uniforms are plain Army green and they have the same little green caps and almost always have the beard to complete the picture.

ANA = Afghan National Army