It’s amazing how much you can forget about life in Africa.
And then you open the door to your little guesthouse apartment bathroom and it all comes back to you. The brightly colored plastic trashcans and buckets (fill ‘er up!) for when the water is cut. The tile floors slanting towards the drain. The wiggly toilet seat hanging on for dear life. The persistent smell of incense, wood smoke and frying fish wafting in the window is overpowered by the single square block of cocoa butter scented soap.
Time to wash my dirty feet. How did I ever forget how dirty my feet get in Africa??