I heard her. Splashing water into toilet seats. Kicking and knocking washroom doors to be sure no one was in there. Rolling mop buckets.
I could smell the scent of detergents, and her grumbling.
“So a human being really did this!” she blurted.
I’ve always complained about the poor maintenance of the washrooms. Here was the cleaner too, blaming users for the abuse of her working environment.
There is knock on my door.
” Yes! “ I answer to signal her someone was in there.
I’ve had tummy upset all night and can’t seem to pinpoint the cause. Couldn’t have been the food I ate. Eaten the same thing many times without any problem.
I guess it was the sudden switch in activity or environment.
Each time I go to a new place or start some physically challenging new activity, my body reacts.
Last night, I ignited again my old passion of going to the 24-hour reading room to study all night.
It was a physically demanding activity because I had to walk a long distance to campus. Taxis are hard to come by on Sunday evenings.
The 24-hour reading room is a three-storey building on campus. Can you believe as late as 2am when the tummy upsets began I rushed to the washrooms only to find them locked? I mean how!
As I hurry down to the business school nearby to use their washroom, I marvel at how our university is deteriorating in many sense. Bushy environments, peeling paints on buildings, many closed washrooms, greatly inconveniencing students and the difficulty of finding accommodation on campus.
The builders of the university laid a foundation of selflessness and love, only for their predecessors to come and continue the construction with bricks of greediness and unconcern for student problems.
I long for judgment day.
My thoughts were interrupted by the cleaner, a tough female, who looks like a man. She must be tough to be able to combat the mighty gems and shitty little spaces within which she must make a living to feed a decent family.
She is grumbling. About the complaints of lecturers who make unnecessary trouble for her. They don’t seem to appreciate the efforts she makes in ensuring clean washrooms for students.
“Every job is important! ” Now her grumbling was loud.
As she bypass by door, I catch a glimpse of her shirt, a white T-shirt. I think I saw “International Cleaning Week” at the back of the shirt. Not too sure though.
She says something to someone outside. I think it is a security personnel at the business school.
I was so focused on the pain and discomfort in my belly to pay attention to what was being said. Tout le monde a son problème, the french would say. And indeed, I wasn’t in the mood to leave mine to be preoccupied with that of the cleaner.
My aim for coming to campus had been a disaster, thanks to the diarrhea that night. But I was determined to never give up. I would stay back and try to learn something before going back home.
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