Here in Dhaka, like most of Southeast Asia, the most of toilets are of the squat variety. This takes some getting used to as most travelers from the Western world use the seating/bowl style. Now, normally such matters of preference and comfort levels, and well taking care of personal relief, is best not to be talked about aloud. Why then for such openness?
The other night I was preparing my kitchen to have dinner with some friends of mine that arrived as well to start their life with VSO in Bangladesh. The kitchen ready, plates out, cutting boards, and knife ready, I thought I would take a moment to have a bit of well- relief.
At this point in the story I should mention that I have been keeping the habit of leaving my local, brand new, mobile phone in my shirt pocket. As I stood over my squat toilet something quite serendipitous happened-- my mobile phone slipped out my shirt pocket and fell straight into the drain of the toilet. And no, before you ask, I didn't take care of my private matter after the phone went plunk. Now, unlike a western bowl toilet there was no final safety net of a pool of water to catch my phone, no, no, no, there was nothing to stop my slick plastic phone from making a dive bomb straight down the drain. Swoosh! Gone. It took about 1/2 of a 1/2 of a second for my brain to realize what just happened. I then ran into my room, grabbed my flashlight, and walked back into the bathroom to see just how far the "rabbit hole" went. Yes, before you ask, there was the idea of sticking my hand down there too. Then as suddenly as that not so smart idea entered my brain it left.
I took the most responsible approach and walked downstairs (just one flight) to talk with my buildings security guard. Most apartments have them here in Dhaka. In my broken Bangla and English I explained to him, using hand gestures as well, that my phone fell down the toilet. He then followed me back to my apartment, walked into the bathroom with me, and in his most fluent Bangla and also using hand gestures, told me "mobile shesh" or finished. He then guided me back out of the apartment, around the back of the building and showed me just where the pipes lead to-- the sewer system. Again, "mobile shesh" he said. He then went into asking me if I wanted the mechanics to come tomorrow and take apart the pipes. I said no thank you (in broken Bangla) and proceeded to meet my friends at the head of the road to pick them up for dinner. Very kind of him though.
10 minutes later, and my ego still bruised, I then explained to my friends why they were unable to reach me for the past 1/2 hour. They all seemed quite shocked and a general mood of consoling went over them. Dinner prep went off without a hitch despite my head bobbing down a few times in utter shame and laughter. Being the great friends they are each one told a story equally if not even more embarrassing. Only good friends would do such a thing.
Of all the events to have happened during ones first week in a new country this one wins the prize for me. Fortunately I put aside some extra money for such an "oh, didn't see that happening" event, and better yet, my friend Oliver, who was also at dinner that night, just happened to have new phone he was trying to get rid of as he needed a different one to use to connect to the internet with.
All in all everything worked itself out just fine.
Post-note: From time to time it's fun to play the game with my friends "just where in Dhaka is my phone".
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