One day I took 3 children from the orphanage to the doctor for a checkup. This can sometimes be an ordeal. They see a pediatrician at the hospital, but you don’t make an appointment. You just wait your turn like the 20 other mothers. Two of the children had used the bathroom before arriving at the hospital, but the third had declined. Finally, we were up next; I knew this, because we were the only ones left in the waiting room. Suddenly, the third child jumped up, holding himself and crying. It was obvious he needed to go, immediately. I awoke an employee to ask directions to the nearest restroom; the employee just pointed. Not being able to find the right door, we went downstairs to the information desk to ask.
We must have been quite a sight, me with 3 children in tow, all holding hands so no one would be left behind. We were then directed to another building. We stopped and asked again in the cafeteria and were given vague directions to follow the guy who just went around the corner. Unfortunately, not a single door was marked with a sign identifying it as a bathroom, and I wasn’t about to just open a door into an examination room. I finally gave up and took the children to a small grassy area where they all relieved themselves. Although this is usual practice here in Ghana, I flushed in embarrassment. Unfortunately, when we returned to the waiting room, we had to wait again, this time for the doctor to return from his break.