Here's what camp life is like: bare floors, blankets for walls, a lone bare bulb for lighting, and absolutely no privacy.
The truth? Camp wasn't ready for people to be moved in. Stay classy, United States government.
Barracks are still being built; campers had not packed for the cold winds; people have continual diarrhea from eating spoiled food…
It's pure chaos at pretty much every turn, and it takes several months for things to settle down.
But before things settle down, there are things like the women's bathroom stalls to contend with.
Think: bad pipes and lots of poop. Not a good combination.
Oh—and the stalls don't have any privacy.
The first time they go to the bathroom, Jeanne's mother lucks out because an old woman loans her a cardboard box as a privacy screen.
Adult Jeanne tells us that her mother is like most Japanese people: on one hand, they're willing to suck it up in order to be cooperative; but on the other hand, they really need their privacy (especially in crowded, small places).
That's why living in the camp is constantly like "an open insult to that other, private self" (19).