A dead cows head and a toilet - you may want to skip this one

This may be the most disgusting post ever. I'm just warning you now. And you should know, I've had some really gross ones. But with the story AND the photo, you may puke. I'm just sayin'.

So while my parents were here we went to a town couple hours south of here. We had an amazing day with a man that Peter knows. (more on this whole day later - really great) But this story I am going to tell deserves it's own post. Again; it's totally disgusting.

It starts like this - I have to use the bathroom. (you KNEW it had a toilet in the story, didn't you?!) Don't worry, no toilet. Just a squatter. Anyway, I had to go. And I thought it best that the kids go while we were stopped for a while at a market. It was a huge outdoor market, the kind I love, full of everything you can imagine. And, some things you can't.

Peter took the boys and Roo, and my mom and I followed a few minutes later when we realized we didn't know when we'd see a bathroom again. Our friend had pointed us in the direction of the Meat portion of the market - the Meat Market, literally. We didn't see Pete,r but a man in a stall full of dead beef could tell we needed a hamam (toilet). "Down hall, then right"

I think it was the dead cows head sitting in the middle of the hallway that was the final nail in my moms bladder. She did NOT have to go anymore. But I did. I saw the kids and Peter coming out, coughing, gagging, etc. "Do NOT go in there. It's disgusting." Say my kids. And Peter said, "I think this is the men's" I said, "I don't think they have a women's and I have to go."

Now let me tell you. This place was filthy. Lot's of places I write about are just gross. This was outrightly vomit worthy. There was no one in there to give a clue about mens or womens, and there is no other bathroom, and this was "down hall, then right" - so I went in the first stall. Oh, the stench was out of control. The squatters totally stink, I was just glad it wasn't summer. (You know the concept of the toilet, right? See, the water actually acts as a barrier to the sewer. So not only do you get to sit, the water flushes it down AND the smell is greatly minimized. Great invention.) So I wrapped my scarf around my face, lift up the twenty feet of extra fabric off my abaya, take down my jeans and unders, balance myself while trying to keep my mouth and nose totally covered; and go.

Oh yes. It get's worse.

"Teresa! Don't come out!" I hear Peter say from the entryway of the bathroom.

What? I listen for another minute. I hear men. And lots of them.

I am in the men's restroom (if you could call this dump a 'restroom'). Yep. A woman in the Middle East, in a men's bathroom. A stinky, gross, squatty, filthy restroom.

"Don't come out til I tell you you can. Just stay in there until they all leave."

At this point I am going to thow up due to the smell. It's putred. There was no toilet paper, of course, I am dying to wash my hands, it's getting hotter by the second, and now I'm trapped?! All I can hear is a bunch of Arab men laughing, 'going', washing, etc. And more just keep coming in. It's like someone left the gate open, and now all these dress wearing men have to go! Now I am facing the door of the stall, my head wrapped up and pushed up against the corner of the tile wall and the door.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

No talking from me. Just waiting. Peter every few minutes would say, "Not yet. Hang on." Or, "Here come some more, just wait." It felt like a million years, it must have only been near to 10 minutes. But let me tell you, being trapped in a stinky squatter, a MENS stinky squatter, for more than a couple of seconds is too long for me.

I'm happy to say, I made it. I survived. Finally there was a lull in the crowd of squatters and I was able to hurry out and find my hand sanitizer. Ah. Freedom! We gathered the kids and my mom, who had been venturing out among the throngs of raw meat and fish, and headed back down the hallway out to the rest of the market. But not without walking past the cows head again. We all oogled, gawed, gagged and then I said, "Looking for the toilet? Yes. Just go down the hall, take a right at the dead cows head, and you'll be there."

Maybe next time they could tell me where the WOMEN'S bathroom was. Just an idea.

"Oh. You are looking for the womens? Oh, that's not the cows head, that's the GOATS head. Sorry about the misdirections," They'll say. The man who told me where to go is still probably laughing with his friends about telling an American lady to use the men's room..."And she did!" Haha, he is saying while laughing. "Stupid American woman!"

WARNING! Picture below. Not only is so puke-a-rific, but you can see how filthy the place is too. Sorry. I just tell it ( and show it) like it is.