Jutting out from the green-painted walls, three shower heads loom dark and shadowy under the single lightbulb that lights the bathroom. I’m scared to take my first dormitory shower in this open room with a dozen other first-grade girls….

I’ve rewritten this story using the present tense, and I would value your honest feedback. Does this tense flow well and bring you more deeply into the story? Or does it sound awkward? What other thoughts do you have?

Shower Troubles

“We hope you like it here at K.A. and soon feel at home.” The dorm auntie welcomes me with a smile the day I arrive for first grade at the boarding school for missionary kids in Nigeria.

I glance around the dorm room. “Thank you. I hope so too.” But I’m not sure how soon I’ll get used to such a big change from home.

Today I had a long day of car and plane rides, and I want to settle into my new home at Kent Academy. “Where is the bathroom?”

The auntie leads me down the hall, one room to our left, and we step inside the wide doorway. In front of us, across the room, stands a row of three sinks below a clouded-glass window.

She waves toward the left of the large room. “There are three toilet stalls for the first-grade girls.” Then she turns to the right. “Over here are your showers.”

Jutting out from the green-painted walls, three shower heads loom dark and shadowy under the single lightbulb that lights the bathroom. A low cement barrier runs along the front edge of the shower area, marking it off from wall to wall. A drain sits in the center of the unpainted shower floor.

This huge, open room feels cold compared to our small, cozy space back home. At Egbe, we have a shower above the bath, but only Mom and Dad use it. I always sit in the oval, plastic washtub that Mom puts inside our full-sized, cement bathtub, so I don’t have to touch the rough sides.

I point to the ledge. “That’s not big enough for a bath. That short wall comes only as high as my ankles, and water will splash over.” Where am I supposed to sit and wash?

“This isn’t a bathtub,” the auntie explains. “The ledge is to keep the shower spray from flowing onto the bathroom floor.”

How Will this Work?

And there’s no shower curtain. A little shiver shakes my body, and I wrap my arms tight across my stomach. Do I have to shower in front of everyone?

After dinner and devotions that evening, my roommates and I return to our bedroom to prepare for our nightly shower routine. Soon everyone will see me without clothes. What if they make fun of me?

There isn’t a single private nook in our room, so I stand against the wall at the back end of my bunk bed and try to hide while I take off my clothes. I quickly put on my housecoat, tie it in the front, and tuck my short, brown hair into my new, yellow shower cap.

My tall roommate points at my toes. “Your feet are bare. You have to wear your flip-flops.”

“But at home, I wear those outside. Why do I have to put them on now?”

“Here at KA, you wear them in the shower, ’cause if you go barefoot, you’ll get ringworm.”

I’ve heard of ringworm and don’t want that disease, so I find my new, rubber sandals. It will be hard to wash my feet.

The four of us grab our towels and washcloths and march to the bathroom. Now warm and steamy, the room smells of Sunlight® soap, the same sweet, lemony scent from home.

I hang my robe on a hook and realize I can’t keep my towel around me. Laying it atop the pile on the bench, I traipse across the room to the showers in my flip-flops, carefully holding my open washcloth so that it covers me below my waist.

Into the Shower

Twelve squealing girls take turns under the spray, and we hand around four bars of soap, while the dorm auntie monitors from her perch on the bench that holds our towels and robes. The unfamiliar sound of water drops ping-ponging off my new shower cap, along with the noise and laughter of eleven other children, remind me I’m no longer at home.

When I’m nearly done, I hear my name. The auntie waves me over. “Debbie, you’re not washing properly.”

My flip-flops squish as I step toward her, and I feel every eye in the room follow me.

“Here, let me show you how.” Scooting forward, she takes the washcloth and scrubs between my legs.

Stinging soap burns my most tender places. “Ouch! That hurts!”

“No, it doesn’t. This is how you have to wash.”

Yes, it hurts! I want to yell at her. My entire body tenses from the fiery pain, but I don’t dare talk back.

She puts the washcloth in my hand. “Go back and finish your shower. “

Confused and hurt, I stand under the steady stream but can’t clear the burning soap. Ashamed of having been called out, I turn my back on the other first graders while hot, angry tears mix with the spray and run off my chin.

When everyone else finishes, I follow them to the bench. Lickety-split, I dry off, put on my housecoat, and hurry to my room in my soggy sandals.

The cheerful chatter of my roommates tells me they had a good day. But alone in my top bunk after the lights are off and the night grows silent, I squeeze my eyelids tight to keep the tears in. I made it through my first dorm shower. I don’t ever want to do that again. 

But I know I will have to.

What I Know Now

Many kids lived happily at KA without feeling this depth of hurt, and I don’t wish to tarnish their image of their childhood home. Yet there are other MKs whose pain cut much deeper into their physical body and mental psyche. Some suffered trauma, abuse, and harm, and have struggled long into their adult years to make it through life, battling alcoholism, depression, anxiety, and suicide ideation.

People say kids are resilient. I can attest that many of us simply shut down our emotions. I learned to either comply with the rules or stay out of sight to avoid unwanted attention.

I’ve often wondered where God was during that humiliating event in the shower. Although I didn’t see or feel God at the time, I believe he protected me and kept me sane. Based on what I now know of God, he didn’t approve of what happened.

Maybe there are some questions that we’ll never find answers to. But I have seen that God helps us endure hardships even when we can’t see him.

This story first appeared on my blog on November 26, 2018 debbiejoneswarren.com/shower-troubles