Diary of a Ducha ("Doo sha" Spanish for shower)

Day One: Moved into the apartment today. Don Stephan has fixed the water so I now have water in the bathroom sink, the toilet, the shower (not much water pressure though) and in one of two faucets in the kitchen sink. Much better than my last morning here when I had two hours to close up the apartment, wash dishes, shower and get to the airport by 7:30 am. After shrieking down the stairs (found out that he does understand some English!) he delivered 4, 5 gallon buckets of water to the apartment and I did everything with buckets and a kettle.

Day Three: I’m just so grateful that the suicide shower is working, now that I thought to flip the breaker for it. Finally have hot water after two days of cold showers during the rainy season.

Day Forty Three: I realize that I’ve gotten used to the lack of water pressure in the shower. I’ve also learned that when I wash my waist length hair, it takes almost half an hour and I’m wondering just how much water the roof top cistern holds. Mind you, I don’t think I’m actually using much, the water just dribbles and spits while I scrub and rinse but it sure takes a fair amount of time!

Day Forty Four: I’ve become somewhat eccentric about living alone. Every time I turn on the shower water, I’m pleasantly surprised and when I reach up to turn it off, I always say “thank you, thank you” in both languages. Hmm, at least it’s some form of practising Spanish….

Day Forty Five: I think the shower is getting tired. There appears to be even less water pressure and therefore less water coming out of the suicide shower head.

Day Forty Six: The shower head is definitely getting somewhat useless. The holes that used to deliver water (only half of them ever delivered !) are now sort of dribbling out across the showerhead and joining together to make a “splatting” kind of trickle. Hmm, I do hope it manages to fix itself.

Day Forty Seven: It got cold again today so I turned on the water and then the suicide shower heater only to wind up scalding myself when I stuck my hand under the dribbling splat. It appears that the heater is working fine but with the lack of water being delivered, the heat is not dispersed. Put ice cubes on my hand and washed at the sink.

Day Forty Eight: The shower is definitely sick. Damn. The dribbling splats have now decreased to mere occasional drops. It took almost 5 minutes to collect a handful of water (I was hoping it would increase if I just left it running!). Washed in the sink again; good news is that the bathroom floor is clean once I mopped up all the water.

Day Forty Nine: I spoke with Dona Lucy this afternoon and told her that I had no water in the shower though the rest of the apartment was still working fine. She’s very sympathetic and said she would tell Don Stephan.

Day Fifty: Filled both my buckets in the kitchen sink, added boiling water from the kettle to make it tepid and “bucket washed” in the shower stall. Worked out okay and didn’t have to clean the bathroom floor again.

Day Fifty One: Finally saw Don Stephan today. I told him I had a problem with the apartment because there was no water in the shower. He responded immediately with enthusiastic sympathy and says he’ll have a look at it tomorrow. Bucket washed in the shower stall.

Day Fifty Two: It’s Sunday. Maybe that’s why Don Stephan didn’t come to look at the shower; but I didn’t think he was a member of Dona Lucy’s church group. Oh well, I suppose it’s still a day of rest for him. Bucket washed. The bedroom floor is now clean since I spilled one bucket en route to shower stall.

Day Fifty Three: (Politely!) accosted Don Stephan when he came upstairs this morning. I repeated the issue with the shower and no water. More sympathetic promises of assistance; he ignored my raised eye brows. Bucket washed.

Day Fifty Four: Bucket washed. Had an early appointment in town but just as I was leaving Don Stephan arrived to look at the shower. Turned on the tap, nothing dribbled or splatted or leaked out of the shower head. Oh, he now understands I have a problem with the water, hooray! I’m losing my sense of humour, was late for my appointment.

Day Fifty Five: Glondy, my Honduran girlfriend came over while I was filling the buckets in the sink. She thought I was going to wash floors. HA! I explained about the shower problem and got more sympathy. I’m starting to dislike sympathy and my sense of humour is sorely lacking. Spoke briefly with Dona Lucy; by my translation it appears to be a problem with the pump. Great, but why is there still water every where else in the house? Don Stephan saw me filling water buckets in the kitchen sink and went back down the stairs muttering “agua, agua” to himself. My morning greetings to him are becoming somewhat surly.

Day Fifty Six: Glondy came over early, at 7am so I asked if I could go to her house to wash my stinking, greasy, filthy hair. No problem, come over whenever you want! Perfect! Rounded up all my shower stuff, got tidied and headed for the door. ENEE had a planned power outage for 8am that morning. Bucket washed. I’m now considering getting a crew cut again; note to self – stay away from the scissors.

Day Fifty Seven: When I came home from town yesterday there was a length of plastic water pipe lying on the patio floor. Ah, progress! Today, the pipe made it up onto the roof by 8am. It’s now 3pm and there has been no further action. Glondy hasn’t been home all day and her house is locked. Bucket washed. French braided the obscenely filthy hair. It now feels like a horse’s tail. I have absolutely no sense of humour.

Day Fifty Eight: Refused to answer Dona Lucy when she saw me leaving for Glondy’s with my towel over my shoulder. I’m no longer a cheerful tenant. I think she is aware of my lack of humour now. Don Stephan no longer comes upstairs to exchange morning greetings. The pipe is still on the roof. Glondy’s shower head does not work so used the faucet and bucket routine. Finally have clean hair.

Day Sixty Two: I haven’t seen Don Stephan in three days. Still no shower water.

Day Sixty Three: Came home with two bags of clean laundry. Don Stephan has forgotten that I hate him and because he is such a gentleman, carried the bags upstairs for me. I promptly informed him that I had no water in the shower, before he escaped. Surprised shock and abject sympathy when I turned on the tap and absolutely nothing came out. Some amusing physical contortions while he made it clear that the pipe appeared to be choked i.e. plugged with sediment. Sincere promises to fix it tomorrow. I’ll believe that when I see it!

Day Sixty Four: Terrible noises from the roof while video conferencing with Hubbie; refused to investigate said noises. Shortly thereafter Don Stephan arrived asking if I had any water at all. Slight moment of complete horror on my part – what did he do up there?! I now have not only water in the shower head but increased water pressure throughout the whole apartment!

Just shy of two full weeks without water in the shower is not really that big a deal; if you’re going to live in Honduras you must, absolutely must, be able to roll with the punches and find ways to compensate. This includes anything to do with household mechanics, shopping for basic supplies, dealing with taxis or transit and those times when you require supposedly “special” services. Remember the time the post office ran out of stamps? A sense of humour is the only appropriate survival technique!