Several yards towards the national highway or so, is where the toilet in our Mapalad house would be. Situated adjacent to a brook where a Carabao is regularly seen swamped, it stood there like a telephone booth in a one of New York's busy streets. So small, while squatting inside it, you could touch all of the walls from all over sides. It was neatly roofed and walled with woven coconut palm stalks. The flooring is of concrete slightly slanted so water could naturally wash down outside. The toilet bowl was an immersed type so one has to make a careful squat to do the stuff. You would be sorry if you are careless, you slip one foot in the drain.
While squatting, near you would be a cut red engine lubricant gallon container. Attached with it is a rope long enough to reach the stream of water nearby flowing from the brook uphill. That is where you fill in the bucket of water. Full of water to use in replacement to an expensive toilet paper which was not yet known nor commonly used in that place during those times.
People had no convenience of using expensive rolls of toilet paper so a sun-dried coconut husk, corn cob or a used news paper cut into half length would be found handy and convenient. It is commonly hanged on the wall for your reach. You have to fetch your bucket of water first before the squat or you're screwed. Unless you find wiping your ass with the corn cub enjoyable of course.
That toilet is yards away from the main house such that you have to run or panic your way there when nature calls for stomach or bladder relief. You would have dirt on your pants while you're halfway running away from the house to that damn toilet bowl. Imagine during the night, the ladies would be accompanied by few others carrying either kerosene lamp or flaming stack of coconut palm stalks. Security is served with the accompanying individual carrying a jungle bolo while waiting outside with a watchful eyes. Scared, "Ok, are you done? Take the jungle bolo. I'll take over." The feeling would be squatting in a place cloaked in darkness with the silence nor eerie orchestra of the forest gnats.
One visitor I remember was upset because he had to make a hike before he can make a release of himself. People would know you were aiming for the toilet bowl because everybody would see you hike towards it. It was a comfort room far from being comfort because it has to torture you first of your discomfort (running towards the toilet house). And, embarrass the 'would be' occupant before real comfort is achieved. Imagine stupid kids would tease you from a distance or a nice chick you've tried to impress yourself on, sees you enter the booth (of unusual relief).
The smell was, of course, terrible but what can you expect from a poor provincial life such as this one. Even so, it was placed there for the convenience of the water and the it had to be that far for sanitary purpose - provincial style.
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