The plug

Plugs are not normally things which one carries with one. By plug I mean that black rubber thing which stops water escaping from a wash basin.

But trivial as a plug might seem, when there isn’t one, life gets tricky. You can, of course, just let the water run and not care about wastage. But that goes against the grain, especially in a country of shortages. So if you haven’t got a plug in your room what to do? Complain, of course, very politely, to the reception desk.

“But of course, we shall fix it immediately.”

But that evening there’s nothing. So improvisation must be tried. Use a water bottle, which is quite heavy. No – it doesn’t fit well enough to stop the water going underneath. Put a face cloth – this the hotel thoughtfully supplies – underneath the bottle, and thereby make the joint more watertight. Yes, not bad, until one uses the water, which is when the water bottle invariably totters and falls. How about my metal shaving cream can? That’s a quite good fit.

Then the thought hits me. I’m paying $180 a day, and have to use my shaving can to keep water in the basin. It’s not without some sense of outrage that I go back to the reception and remind them that nothing has been done. They smile sweetly and promise to get one tomorrow. I don’t share their confidence: I’m pretty sure that they have no idea what I mean. My sign language is obviously inadequate, but I give up for the sake of sleeping patterns. Life’s too short to get upset about mere plugs.

The next morning, I’ve looked it up in the dictionary and explain the problem in several different ways. I think I have made it very clear what the problem is and why they should do something about it. They smile sweetly and promise that the technician will deal with it that day. No problem.

That evening it is not without a little excitement that I open the door to my bathroom, expecting to find the named object, neatly fitted into its hole, or maybe placed delicately next to the soap. But no. Nothing.

Has the hotel run out of money? Do they not understand that plugless basins don’t work? Or is, dreadful thought, the plug a colonial imposition which the Congo has now rejected?

There are times in life when one begins to wonder whether cultural differences really really matter. It’s politically incorrect, of course, to even talk of them, as to do so often implies some sort of value judgement. My way of life/my culture is so much better than, er, yours.

I remember when we were young being taken over to France for the holidays. Talk about cultural imperialism! The French were considered so backward: nice bread, yes, but they (a) didn’t have Kelloggs Corn Flakes, and (b) had very smelly and/or strange loos. No toilet paper, just telephone directories. I ask you. Yes, we could allow ourselves a small smile of self congratulation. At least we had mastered plumbing. Spain was much the same: the drain smell seemed to be a signature flavour of the South.

So is the plug reawakening my old prejudices against foreign parts, or should I accept their standards as OK, and say and or do nothing in spite of paying $180 per night? What can you expect . . . it’ the Congo. Is that hypocritical? Well, if you ask me, being unable to supply a plug in a hotel is simply bad management, and no amount of excuses will make up for it. So forget about double standards.

But, in fact, I found out the reason a few weeks later when I was put into another room. The plugs were not a standard size: the basins – indeed the whole hotel – were Chinese, and they arrived with clever pop-up metal plugs. You pushed it down, and it stayed down; you pushed again, and it popped up enough to allow the water to get out. These are, of course, very common in most parts of the world. But it was clear that in Kinshasa the technology, and or the spare parts, had been too much. So if some clever guest had nicked the plug – maybe he had the very same basin at home – there was no way that they could mend it without, possibly, importing something from China.

Maybe they did import the part, or even a whole basin– history doesn’t tell us. But I would love to have been a fly on the wall in the management offices when my daily requests came for a plug.