Eleonore Rartjarasoaniony \u2013 a 47-year-old mother, daughter and small-shop owner in Madagascar\u2019s capital Antananarivo \u2013 stands in the middle of her yard, watching two young men in colourful overalls and rubber boots service her new waterless Loowatt toilet, which replaced her pit latrine a few months ago. At her feet, two lean, long-legged chickens, flocked by a bunch of fluffy chicks, peck at anything remotely resembling food, including my shoes.<\/p>\n
Inside a wooden shack behind her, Rartjarasoaniony\u2019s elderly mother greets customers through a small window that overlooks the narrow, unpaved neighbourhood street. That\u2019s Rartjarasoaniony\u2019s shop, in which she sells a bit of everything \u2013 kitchen sponges, eggs laid by her hens and freshly brewed coffee, which she hands out to customers in small metal cups, rinsed in a bucket of water from a communal pump.<\/p>\n
As she describes her new toilet in the soft Malagasy language \u2013 and Loowatt\u2019s manager Anselme Andriamahavita translates \u2013 I discern the word\u00a0tsara<\/em>\u00a0in the string of unfamiliar sounds. By now I\u2019ve learned that\u00a0tsara<\/em>\u00a0means \u2018well\u2019, as in wellbeing and healthy. Rartjarasoaniony switched to the new toilet because it\u2019s cleaner and safer than her outhouse. \u201cMy family of four uses it, and so do my three tenants who rent the next house over \u2013 it\u2019s included in the rent,\u201d she says. \u201cEven my son can use it,\u201d she adds, echoing worries of all Malagasy mothers, terrified that their young children may one day fall into a pit and literally drown in shit.<\/p>\nReference:<\/h4>\n
\n