Spring Cleaning? Not!

Some mornings, my first though upon waking is "I should bathe today."  This is almost immediately followed with another though: "But why?"  I'll leave it to the perceptive reader to guess which though presents a more persuasive argument.
Whenever I finally do get around to making the hygiene, I enlist the aid of my trust partner in grime, Baldric the Basic.  Baldric is your standard-issue Rwandan basin: fire-engine red and big enough to sit in.  Baldric helps me to do unspeakable acts of hygiene.  He is my bath, my sink, my cutting-board, my rain-collector, and my occasional conversation partner.  And, when I'm feel particularly Rwandan in my pronunciation, I refer to his as Bardlic.  Then I picture a scene straight out of a scandalous Elizabethan palace drama:
     "Didst thou espy the latest play by that rakish Will Shakespeare?"
     "Aye. Verily, that's a bard I wouldn't be loath to lick."
     "Tis true, 'tis true."
When you live along with no computer, no electricity, and an ever-shortening attention span, you get a lot of time to sit around with your imagination.  Obviously, things can get weird.
Making the hygiene in Rwanda is a constant process.  During the dry season, dust runs rampant, coating everything and everyone in a thin layer of red.  I always feel so disillusioned after my weekly bath, as the dust comes off to reveal the fact that I am not actually tan.  And even after you bathe, the dirt is quick to reassert its superiority.  One time, after an especially satisfying hair washing, I shut the door of my shower shack only to have a large chunk of mud-brick fall directly onto my head.  The dirt here blitzkriegs you, and there is no appeasement.
In the rainy season, the dust is contained but the mud more than makes up for its absence.  The red mud here is composed of three parts dirt, one part glue.  I've arrived at school with mud half an inch thick clinging to the soles of my shoes.  And this phenomenon never seems to affect my Rwandan counterparts.  I suspect they know how to hover.
It's safe to say that Baldric and I have our work cut out for us.  The dishes are piling up, the hair needs washing, and the underwear sure ain't cleanin' itself.  So here we go once more into the breach, armed with soap and bleach.  Wish me luck.