I grew up in Africa, rarely wearing shoes, and feet stained by mulberries and the red dust of the Sub-Saharan plains. When travelling, we peed behind trees and tall grasses. We avoided the few outhouses, for the buzz of flies and insects, along with the stench, made the cleanliness of the bush far more enjoyable. We would tease about, should we get bit by a deadly snake, which one of us would such out the venom.
I ate anything handed to me in the African villages, for why would I decline their hospitality? Just as I desired to ride every living creature big enough to hold my weight, so was I ready to try the flavor of anything that did not kill the locals.
So, when I gave birth to my children, cleanliness was never an issue. When it rained, they played in mud puddles deep enough to bury their little bodies. They peed outside and ran barefoot through the yard. They brought me gifts of bugs, worms, centipedes, praying mantises and, yes, even a tarantula. Together we ate anything sold on the side of the street. For part of living overseas is the experience of tasting new and different foods.
For, feet will wash, nails can be scrubbed clean, and little tummies, when sick, can be dewormed along with the dogs and cats. That is the way I grew up, and I think I turned out alright. For, I have never been sick nor rarely were my children ill. And we never thought of using hand sanitizer!
So when I did try to practice some degree of hygiene, it only left me chuckling at the imagination of little minds. For one day, when I told my three year old son not to put his dirty fingers in his mouth, he asked, “Why?”
I answered, “Because you don’t want to get worms in your bum.”
To which he replied, “And the worms will say, ‘This is not a good place to live.’”