Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. Psalm 91:1,4 (NIV)

“We hope you like it here at Kent Academy and soon feel at home,” the dorm auntie said with a welcoming smile the day I arrived for first grade at the boarding school for missionary kids in Nigeria.

“I do too,” I said, but I wasn’t sure how soon I’d get used to such a big change from home. I had had a long day of travel and wanted to settle into my new “home” of K.A., as everybody called it. “Thank you for helping me unpack. Can you please show me the bathroom?”

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

She waved towards the left of the large room. “There are three toilet stalls for the first-grade girls.” Then turning to the right-hand side, she said, “Over here are your showers.”

From the green-painted walls, three shower heads jutted out, looking dark and shadowy under the single light bulb that lit the room. A drain sat in the center of the unpainted floor, and a low cement barrier ran along the front edge from wall to wall, marking off the shower area.

This huge, open room felt cold compared to our small, cozy space back home. At Egbe, we had a shower above the bath, but only Mom and Dad used it. I always sat in the oblong, plastic washbasin that Mom placed inside our full-sized, cement bathtub, so I didn’t have to touch the rough sides.

How Does this Work?

Pointing to the ledge, I said, “That’s not big enough for a bath.” I didn’t understand where I was supposed to sit and wash. “That short wall comes only as high as my ankles, and the water will splash over.”

“This isn’t a bathtub,” the auntie explained. “The ledge is to keep the shower spray from flowing into the middle of the bathroom floor.”

And there’s no shower curtain,” I thought. A little shiver shook my body, and I wrapped my arms tight across my stomach. Do I have to shower in front of all the other girls?

After dinner and devotions that evening, we returned to our bedroom to prepare for the nightly routine. Everyone will see me without clothes. What if they make fun of me?

There wasn’t a single private nook in our bedroom, so I leaned against the wall at the back end of my bunk bed and tried to disappear while I undressed. I quickly put on my housecoat, tied it tight, and tucked my short, brown hair into my new, yellow shower cap.

“Your feet are bare.” The tallest of my roommates said. “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 K.A., you wear them in the shower, ’cause if you go barefoot you might get ringworm.”

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

Into the Shower

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

I hung my robe on a hook and realized I couldn’t keep my towel around me. After laying it atop the pile on the bench, I traipsed across the room to the showers in my flip-flops. On the way, I spread open my washcloth to cover myself below my waist.

Twelve squealing girls took turns under the spray and handed around several bars of soap, while the dorm auntie monitored from her perch on the bench that held our towels and robes. The unfamiliar sound of water pelting my new shower cap, combined with the laughing and teasing of the children, underscored that I no longer lived at home.

Called Out

When nearly done, I heard my name. The auntie beckoned me over. “Debbie, you’re not washing properly.” My flip-flops squished as I stepped toward her, and I felt every eye in the room follow. “Here, let me show you how.” Scooting forward, she took the washcloth and scrubbed me the way she thought was best.

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

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

Yes, it does! I wanted to yell at her, but I didn’t even dare squeak.

She sat up straight and handed my washcloth back. “Go rinse off.”

Confused and hurt, I stood under the steady stream but couldn’t clear the burning soap. Mortified at having been called out, I turned my back to the other first graders while hot, angry tears mixed with the spray and ran off my chin. Mommy never made me do that in the bath!

 When we finally finished, I retreated to the bench, grabbed my towel and dried off lightning quick. After slipping on my housecoat, I blew my nose on T.P. from the toilet stall and plodded out the door in my soggy sandals.

The cheerful chatter in my bedroom told me the others had had a good day. But alone in bed after the lights were turned off and the night grew silent, I squeezed my eyelids tight to keep the tears in. I made it through my first dorm shower. I’m not ever taking another one again, I thought. But I knew I would have to.

The next night, I crept behind two taller kids in the shower and kept out of sight of our supervisor. I figured that if she couldn’t see me, I wouldn’t get called out.

Looking Back

Because I was extremely sensitive to any change in my environment, I suffered deeply from the loss of my home, family, and sense of security. Additionally, my parents had taught me to do some things one way, and now I was told our way was wrong.

It was humiliating to be scrutinized while naked and told I was washing myself incorrectly.  Even worse, I couldn’t understand why the auntie told me she wasn’t hurting me, when she was.

My trust in authority washed down that drain in the floor. Because I no longer felt safe, I protected myself by hiding in the crowd.

My trust in authority washed down that drain in the floor. Because I no longer felt safe, I protected myself by hiding in the crowd.

What I Know Now

Many kids lived contentedly throughout their time at KA without feeling this depth of hurt. I don’t wish to tarnish the image of their childhood home. Yet there are other MKs whose pain cut much deeper into their physical body and mental psyche. Some 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.

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

Link it to Your Life

Think back to a time when you felt hurt, humiliated, or exposed, but you had to suppress or deny your feelings. Did someone come to your rescue? If not, how did you take care of yourself? When have you seen or felt God’s love rise above human judgment or violation?

Father, thank you that you cover me with your unfailing love. I’m glad I can take refuge under the safety of your wings and find protection and healing when I need it. Amen

Cleaning the bathroom. Photo courtesy of Jeanette Wall.

 

To learn how I came to be living at a boarding school in Nigeria, click on the About Page on my website.

Although I didn’t see or feel God at the time, I believe he protected me and kept me sane. Click To Tweet