I don’t remember where in the world I was when I experienced it for my first time, but when you travel all over the globe, it eventually catches up with you.

One day, you come face to face with your pending reality: the hole in the ground.

If you’re traveling in a place like Türkiye or China and staying in the big cities, it’s often not a problem. The public bathroom will have “Western-style toilets” as they call them, and then one stall with a simple basin on the floor and a hole in the ground. Whatever it may be called, there’s no arguing that it is the traditional toilet of humanity. And if you don’t want to use it, you don’t have to.

Eventually, though, you’re met with an opportunity without a choice. And it’s probably going to happen while you’re well out in the African bush. It’s just you and the hole, and now you have to figure out how to navigate it. 

You wonder, what am I supposed to do with my skirt? Did I bring toilet paper? And where’s the sink? What’s going to come crawling or flying out of this hole right at me? 

(Flies, it turns out. Hundreds of flies.)

One time, to avoid skirt mishaps while I was still learning how to navigate the hole, I wore pants. A few minutes later, after returning from the latrine, I felt something scratchy. I discovered a locust the size of the palm of my hand had crawled into a pant leg in the few seconds I was in the bathroom. 

After that I decided that skirts were less of a hassle than the inviting leg holes of pants. 

To many of us Westerners, it seems appalling to have to squat to get things done. But to much of the rest of the world, squatting is a natural practice for many activities— bathroom, working, even just resting. Yes, in some places of the world, the squat is a natural resting position, something you might hold for 30 minutes or longer while chatting over a cup of tea. I’ve seen people squatting while washing clothes, making bricks, pounding seeds and nuts, even while fixing engines. It turns out that being unable to squat is actually stranger than doing all these activities in the squatting position. 

So if you can’t squat, I highly recommend you practice it. If you’re a traveler, you’ll definitely thank me one day for that bit of advice. 

After observing that much of life throughout the world— particularly in Africa— is carried out in a squatting position, I decided that I needed to create this habit for myself. Not only is it a health benefit for strength and flexibility, it feels good to be able to confidently use a hole in the ground for the bathroom. (And, it’s actually easier. I sometimes dread returning home and having to use a Western toilet). 

It also feels good to just be able to participate in life the way that my friends in other countries do. Squatting to sort out some papers? I can help with that. Squatting to take a closer look at a bike part? I can do that, too. Squatting because there’s no chairs for your afternoon tea? I’m not bothered.

But, as we know about travel, not all habits are found in all cultures. Even squatting etiquette can vary. Yes, there is squatting etiquette. 

I was in Uganda, working on my fieldwork for my master’s thesis, participating in the daily life of people in the village. I set out to cook a meal with a Ugandan family, learning from a woman with a few young children. I set in right away on peeling potatoes with just about the world’s dullest knife, hunkering down into a squatting position to work. There was no table, after all, and I figured I would be able to show how well I naturally got into position to help out. 

There was, of course, an audience, mostly of children who wanted to watch a white woman work. I heard some whispers ripple through the audience, but of course I didn’t understand them. 

“You need to shift into a different position,” whispered someone who was helping me understand the culture.

“What? Why?” I asked. I was confused. I watched many people all over Africa squat to work, so why was it wrong now?

She answered me bluntly. “This is the kitchen, and you look like you are pooping in it. You don’t do that in the kitchen. That’s why everyone is whispering.” 

I don’t even remember how I ended up repositioning myself. All I knew was I was deeply embarrassed. After all my efforts— learning to squat, observing that it’s a common position, trying to look natural at it— ended up making me look worse off. I was dishonoring the kitchen by sitting in such a grotesque way.

How would I ever figure out all the cultural nuances of understanding how to not be offensive? I guess it’s a lifelong journey filled with plenty of wrong turns. 

So, first I learned how to squat. 

Then I learned to be careful where I squat.