Being a southern lady, reared with grave respect for etiquette, bathroom ventures have always been of the utmost privacy. All of that changed in Africa. My first clue should've been when I asked the tro-tro driver about a bathroom at our stop. After a laugh he said, “Bathroom? You go bush!”
Decency aside, I’ve never been one to fear a jaunt into the wild to take care of personal business, but there wasn’t a bush in sight. Let me rephrase that. There wasn’t a blade of grass in sight. As I dropped my pants and watered the dry red Ghanaian dirt, I hoped none of my fellow travelers had cameras.