“You have slept vell last night, ja?” He asked.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Good, good! Now follow me,” he ordered. Drawing in a deep breath, he added. “I must show you vhere you must shit, ja.”

It was not long before a coalition of brambles and other wild vegetation blocked the way. What had once been a path was no more. I couldn’t help but wonder when it had last been used.

“Ve are close, ja.” Yelped Hans as spots of crimson anger simultaneously rose to the surface of my exposed skin.

It took at least half an hour of kicking and stamping before we beat a dogged path to the loo. And what a hollow victory it turned out to be. The primitive structure made of four poles and green netting for a roof made a cave look sophisticated. Pointing out a rusty trowel and some white powder sitting in an old bucket beside it, Hans explained:

“After you hang your ass over ze dip in ze ground and shit, you must get ze lime from ze bucket, and cover ze shit zoze flies do not come, ja.”

Outrageous. What the hell was this place? I had at least expected a toilet with flushing water without running an assault course to get to it. This was not a toilet. It was nothing more than an open grave for forgotten turds basking in an ocean of ineffective lime. Squadrons of flies were already battling for air supremacy. What a fuck up! I had come all the way from England to experience the pre-sanitary age.

It was only after a bluebottle had lazily circled, landed on his nose, crapped and had taken off again, that Hans registered the incredulous look etched upon my face. Moving up a gear he added:

“There is also ze shower that I have made, but in order to use it, I must first show you ze valves.”

He led me quickly away from the pit. This time the foliage put up minimal resistance as he located a black pipe dividing into four others running along the inclining ground. The ancient valves were distressingly many. They had to be activated in such a way that even an experienced thief would have found the combination difficult to break. Only once the correct sequence had been memorised, was the successful candidate able to wash.

         The shower’s structure was more sophisticated than the toilets. It had the added luxury of an old wooden pallet for a floor. However, desirability stopped there as the activated flow of water trickled out in filthy droplets from its plastic head. 

“What a fuck-up!” I thought again as Hans scooted over to the African-styled kitchen.

Its semi-circular wall was sturdy. Made of bricks and a properly thatched roof, it harboured a fully functioning gas oven. I guess old habits were hard to break. It was no good. The entire place was cursed. Hans could keep it all. I shut myself away for the rest of the day unable to decide on anything.