This is a picture of my armpit. It’s a pity you can’t smell it because it would have made your reaction to this story so much more real. Ah well, maybe they will invent scratch-n-sniff editions of Facebook soon.
Until then, shall I regale thee of a story of an armpit during a power cut. In Germiston, we don’t have load-shedding anymore. We have ‘Power control’ exercises that last 2 – 4 days at a time. ‘Power control will commence tomorrow’ says the SMS. Thank God the power is in control in Germiston, because nothing else is. So, I was on my second day of ‘Power control’ during a cold spell.
Day 1: not phased.
Day 2: missed a bath. Technically I can take a cold bath if I want, but I am not in the mood. Spray some Chanel No 5 and I’m sharp.
Day 3: Witkiet, who normally snuggles like a furry anaconda by my side with his purring head nestling on my shoulder starts playing his own scratch-n-sniff game. He takes a whiff and tries to escape off the bed – during a particularly icy night. ‘Little bastard!” I thought. “I work all day so I can buy you food! I take you to the vet! I rub your tummy! I pretend to be impressed when you catch a lizard! All you have to do – all you have to do – is to sometimes be cute and warm and fuzzy and comfort me like a warm-water bottle during a power cut on a cold night! Come back here!” I grab Witkiet and forcefully bundle him under the duvet. He sniffs, he scratches and escapes, leaving me in the dark. Cold. Bleeding slightly. Stinking a lot. Or did I? Maybe I was smelling at things the wrong way.
What is this issue with body odour? It’s a completely natural thing, isn’t it? When did body odour become something rude and offensive?
Back in the day, humans in some ancient civilizations did not even wash their clothes, or when they did, they washed it in urine, which acted as ammoniac.
I am sure Ghengis Khan, Shaka and Jan van Riebeeck could stop an ox-wagon with a single flare of an armpit, but that did not stop them from being happy, influential people. Bill Gates and Albert Einstein are both examples of terrible hygiene. Compared to them, I might smell like a nice fresh brick of green Lifebuoy Soap. As a species, we crossed continents, founded civilisations and came to dominate the planet – all without this fuss about body odour. What happened? Why is it such an issue?
Well, during the Early Middle Ages the Christians considered it a taboo to bath. It was an act of defiance against the Romans, who had a bathing culture: ‘You are a heathen if you bath, you fiend!’ There is a big clue here – ‘hygiene’ and ‘cleanliness’ has in part become a form of class distinction and racism. You try and smell different to people you feel are beneath you or are different to you and you spend more in order to achieve that. Eau’ de Hobo for the poor and Dolce and Gabanna for the rich.
Did you know, the evidence for ‘hygiene’ being a significant contributor to disease control is rather thin, in fact all our chemicals might make us more susceptible to disease as it robs us of our natural ability to cope with life.
Additionally, a lot of modern ‘hygiene’ is simply consumerist propaganda, fuelled by profit-seeking corporations who prey on our insecurities. Do we really need all the different soaps and creams and rituals? By the time you leave for work, you have used 5 or 6 products. It’s rubbish. I mean, is it necessary for shampoo AND conditioner AND treatments? And wait for it: “Repeat’, says the instruction on the shampoo bottle. REALLY? I MUST REPEAT – SO YOU CAN MAKE DOUBLE THE PROFIT?!! It’s bullshit, I tell you!
There was a time it was enough when you stuck your head in a vat of water and merely ensured there wasn’t a rat sitting in your bolla. Furthermore, we are destroying our planet with unnecessary bottles of pointless stuff causing inferiority complexes, racism and a plastic apocalypse.
This whole thing stinks. As did I, if you subscribe to modern norms. Why did I ‘stink’ so much, much more than other people? Very interesting question. Thanks for the question.
Our sweat is actually odourless, but the strength of our odour-capacity is defined by glands called the apocrine sweat glands and the amount of bacteria on our skins. I happen to be blessed with a naturally large amount of bacteria on my skin and very powerful apocrine glands. Since when must I be ashamed of that? I am sure when I was a Neanderthal I was deemed a powerful force. People could smell me a mile away. I was my own perfume. Lovers swooned when I approached. On the other hand, I might have been the one they put at the edge of the village to scare the Sabre-toothed Tigers away. Who knows?
I was contemplating all these things sitting in a crowded room during a Zulu training session. I had a question I wanted to ask of the instructor, but considering that I was not a Neanderthal was aware that raising my arm could have consequences. I mean, this was day 4 of the very controlled power in Germiston. That morning, Witkiet came into the room, took one sniff, mistook my odour for a competing male cat and promptly pissed against the bed.
I thought about raising my arm in a room full of freshly bathed people. “Fuck this. My apocrine glands might be more potent than others, as Caster’s testosterone levels are, as AKA’s voice thingies are. Why must I be ashamed of who I am? Furthermore, why must I feel guilty for something out of my control? It is not my fault I have not had hot bath water for 4 days? Why do you judge me like that!?” (Meanwhile, I have been discriminating against fellow South Africans for that very same reason for years.)
I raised my arm to ask my question. The person on my right jerked their head and to try and make as if it was not a reaction to my armpit in their face and coughed. It must have been the flu. One minute you are fine, the next minute you are coughing as if you’d taken poison.
As a stand of solidarity with myself, I raised my arm repeatedly, like the Che Guevara of the olfactory disadvantaged. I made a fist like Mandela, saying ‘Amandla’ to the armpit. The person on my right went to the toilet and when they came back sat in a different chair.
By the end of the session, the open prejudice and bigotry against me and my ilk started overwhelming me and I didn’t ask questions anymore. But I stood firm in my resistance mentally.
“I will not bath.” I resolved. ‘Tomorrow, day 5, even if the power is on, I shall merely do a quick rat check in the morning and make sure there is not an actual tick still clinging to my nose and raise the revolutionary arm in public. You will not body shame me. Not for my chubby knees, my asymmetrical boobs, my kak untidy hair, the wrinkles on my face or my apocrine glands.”
Day 5. The power is back on.
I colonise the bath with shampoo and soap.
And repeat.
GOING SOMEWHERE WITH VIV 