Quite literally 'in at the deep end' - building pit latrines in Yelwoko.

Today when I came home and glanced in the mirror, I almost didn't recognise myself. Covered in a sticky layer of dust, and bright pink from a day under the unforgiving African sunshine, I am slowly turning a strange shade of orangey-pinky-brown. A shade that no longer seems to wash off with a bucket bath...and that is slowly developing some very funky tan-line patterns on my arms and legs: stripes, waves, and even a few zigzags (similar to the patterns on African fabrics actually)...a good look indeed!

As part of the induction and orientation to my placement, the last couple of days I have been 'out in the field' (otherwise known as seriously-in-at-the-deep-end). I was shadowing a colleague who kindly offered to introduce me to the work he does out in the communities in the areas of water and sanitation. I was thrilled the first time I was invited out, and was buzzing with excitement in the back of the truck as we trundled down dusty roads, round fallen trees and through dried up riverbeds out into the yellow savannah that is home to some very rural communities here in this part of northern Ghana. I tried to keep up with the names of some of the communities we were going to visit in an attempt to understand where we were, but after being bombarded with "This is Googo, next Galaka, over those fields to Boyo, past the Baobab tree to Yelwoko, and Timonde is the one with the goats by the bridge..." I kind of gave up; these are strange names in a place where there are no such things as maps, and my hot fuzzy brain simply cannot register or understand any of this yet! (Oh how I miss my I-phone map app!!).

So, armed with the few phrases of Kusaal I've managed to 'master' so far, and a bucket full of enthusiasm, I accompanied my colleague into the first dusty, dry, and very rural community. Driving along through the swathes of yellow grass, every now and again I could make out a few small mud huts in little clusters in the distance, each with one or two shady tree's beside them, and a few goats, pigs, and chickens scattered about. We were the only thing on the 'road' except for the occasional donkey and cart being steered by a small child with a very large stick and a few women wrapped up in brightly coloured dresses and shawls with large shiny silver bowls on their heads (full of water) or huuuuge bundles of branches that were soon to become firewood. It was clear how heavy these bowls and bundles must be, simply by the slow steady walk off the women, each step full of determination and commitment to the next.

As we approached the first settlement, an older man emerged from a small dark hole, that I later realised was the doorway to his tiny hut, and stretched out his dry weathered hand to greet us. He welcomed us with a huge warm smile, and I noticed he had lots of large 'happy' wrinkles, and even more 'blood-sweat-and-tears' ones etched deeply in his face. He also had some tribal markings on his cheeks, but they were hard to make out (and I was trying not to stare at this point). He seemed relatively pleased to hear my Kusaal, but was most excited (so much so that he was almost hopping up and down in anticipation) about the reason we were here to see him. Believe it or not...we were coming to take a look at his toilet.

Now, I never thought I would say this, but going out into the field and learning all about the local types of toilets, pit latrines and urinals, has been a truly interesting experience (!).

To give you an idea of what on earth I am talking about, water and sanitation is absolutely key to the survival of these communities; disease and illness can spread so easily and quickly throughout the community with disastrous consequences.

The homes here are made up of a number of traditional round African huts with grass roofs (the type few of my friends were expecting me to live in, and I think were pretty disappointed to discover that I don't!) joined together to make one large circular compound with an open space in the middle. Within each compound, you can find anything up to 20 family members or more, all living, cooking, eating, sleeping and, inevitably, doing their 'business', in the same place. This therefore has some pretty problematic consequences in terms of hygiene!

Thus projects are targeted to first help improve access to clean drinking water by digging boreholes, and secondly improve hygiene, for example by supporting them to dig appropriate pit-latrines, and sensitizing community members on hygiene issues.

As a result, we're here to take a look at this lovely man's nice new pit-latrine, and so he proudly shows it off to us - brand new and very recently 'dug-out-of-the-ground' in what was identified to be an appropriate space near the house 'but-not-too-close', and I have to say it's looking very nice indeed (well, as far as pit-latrines go I thought so anyway!). My colleague inspects it with a very serious 'pit-latrine-inspector' look on his face, takes out a handy yellow tape measure, does a few calculations, and then, with a flourish of the sweat-rag he has been wearing on his head, congratulates Adongo on a very fine piece of work indeed. Hurrah!

This is then followed by a few quick exchanges that take place in a waffle of language that simply confuses me, and a few small boys are sent off with a few demanding shouts and shakes of the hand, each one running in a different direction until they turn into tiny little dots on the horizon and disappear out of sight. As my colleague and Adongo stand there discussing what sounds like some important issues about depth, shape and size of the toilet, and I slowly melt under the sun, I start to notice people appearing from all directions. They pop over the horizon and head towards us, men, women, teenage boys, each carrying some kind of tool or piece of wood, and all followed by the usual procession of little excitable toddlers dressed in colourful raggedy clothes.

As everyone gathers around, it becomes clear that this is to be a demonstration for the other compounds in the community to be able to also dig their own wonderfully organic pit-latrines. Thus within an hour I've seen my first demonstration, and by the end of the day, after visiting six more communities, I am pretty much an expert. A handy skill to have I suppose; if I'm ever stranded somewhere and need to set up camp, at least I know how to dig myself a decent and hygienic toilet...how bizarre!

xx