One Loonie Idea - Day 160

ONE LOONEY IDEA

In 2006, we began a relationship with Ethiopia that we cannot turn our backs on.  

We don’t really want to turn away, but life became undeniably more DIFFICULT after our first, and consecutive trips. Members of our family were in Ethiopia in ‘06, ’07, ’08, ’09, and ’13. In Ethiopia, the majority of people build a life with less than a dollar a day. A dollar a day does not provide basic necessities. Roughly 39% of Ethiopians live below poverty (<$1.25 USD)—that is over 28 million people. The population of Canada is just over 35 million. 

The world is not equitable. 

***

We all have challenges. At this point in my life I am living with abundance. It doesn’t feel good to continue to accrue treasures when so many live with scarcity. I want to choose something different.

From January 15^th, 2015 – January 14^th, 2016, I am going to spend ONLY a dollar a day (average) for discretionary items.

I will put one loonie into my purse each day. Every time that I want to make a purchase, I will stop and think. I am becoming a thoughtful and responsible consumer, one day at a time—for a lifetime.

You can support me by pledging a dollar a day for any part of my 365 day challenge. The money will go to Canadian Humanitarian, who we have worked with extensively over the past nine years. —Just check out my Pledge Page on the left side bar. 

Betam amisegnalo. 

***

“Mind the Gap” first appeared in 1969 on the London Underground as a warning to passengers to be careful while crossing the gap between the train door and the station platform. It has since been used in popular media: books, movies, advertising, and video games, to refer to the gap in generations, classes, social science and politics to name a few. Recently, while reading “Daring Greatly”, a book I am studying with a group of women and a psychologist, I came upon this phrase. According to author Brené Brown, “Minding the Gap” is a way to remind ourselves to “pay attention to the space between where we’re standing and where we want to be.” 

We are people of values, surrounded by cultural values and other people’s values. Each of us has membership in several cultures: family, work, church, clubs, sports, and so on. Tuning into our own values while respecting the values of others is tricky business. It is a bit like a minefield. When the values we practice are no longer in line with the values we aspire to, there is a gap, and disengagement results. According to Brené Brown, “disengagement is the issue underlying the majority of problems in families, schools, communities, and organizations.”

The economic class where I live has cultural tenets that I have embraced without thought. With my loonie challenge, I am making changes to the practices I have accepted. It is virtually impossible, because the gap between where I stand—privileged—and where I want to be—intentional—is too big to leap over. But, I am still going to train.

Spending a loonie a day goes against values that my community aspires (or ascribes) to. There are those who are uncomfortable with my idea to spend less, and so the gap between us has widened. My personal values no longer mesh with community values. Disengagement becomes a viable option. 

The old adage, “Beat ‘em or join ‘em” doesn’t work here because the personal cost of living with misaligned values is too high. 

I am not directly asking anyone to change their lives. This is my journey, and I have my reasons. I have even stopped expecting my immediate family members to embrace this loonie idea. They are all back to doing and getting what they want. 

Am I disappointed? Maybe a little bit. 

But, I can only look at my own value gap, and shorten the distance between the values I am practicing, and the values I am striving toward. And in so doing this thing, one loonie at a time, a bridge will be built, forever connecting me with my inner compass, if I should get lost again. 

Ethiopia, 2006

We pulled away from the guesthouse, rounded the first corner and stopped at Bole Street. Three, or four lanes of traffic chaotically assembled on each side of an imaginary divide, not exhibiting any sense of order. Locals walked haltingly through the maze, avoiding predator-like vehicles. The sound of horns blared for the right-of-way, and the smell of gasoline poisoned the air. 

Our driver paused, and I glanced out the window. A small boy with brown, honey-tinged curls ran toward the van. “Ferenge, ferenge,” he cried out. I did not yet know this word, but I knew he referred to us. He cupped his hands into the shape of a bowl, and held them out. He wore only a t-shirt; scrawny legs stuck out like popsicle sticks. Behind him, propped against a concrete wall, sat a woman wrapped in lengths of fabric. A baby slept across her lap; its head hung over her leg as if on a broken hinge; its rib cage rose and fell with a stilted rhythm. The mother caught my eye, and she reached her hand toward me. 

I looked away. 

We pulled into traffic. Our driver moved through the milieu like a practiced chess player. Each time the van stopped, hands, leathered and dusty-grey, reached through the window to touch and implore me to help. One sold tissues, another gum, but most were reaching in hoping to fill their hands with aluminum or copper coins, bread to sustain them for another day. I saw young children, mothers carrying babies in slings, and others that had physical disabilities: blind, missing a limb, or unable to walk at all, scuttling across the asphalt like insects. “Please missus”.

I closed my window. 

The greatest gift of experience is knowledge. 

What one does with the knowing is the pivotal moment. 

Not knowing is no longer an option. 

One Looney Idea - Day 146

If you are new to ONE LOONEY IDEA, read below, otherwise, jump down to the picture.

In 2006, we began a relationship with Ethiopia that we cannot turn our backs on.  

We don’t really want to turn away, but life became undeniably more DIFFICULT after our first, and consecutive trips. Members of our family were in Ethiopia in ‘06, ’07, ’08, ’09, and ’13. In Ethiopia, the majority of people build a life with less than a dollar a day. A dollar a day does not provide basic necessities. Roughly 39% of Ethiopians live below poverty (<$1.25 USD)—that is over 28 million people. The population of Canada is just over 35 million. 

The world is not equitable. 

***

We all have challenges. At this point in my life I am living with abundance. It doesn’t feel good to continue to accrue treasures when so many live with scarcity. I want to choose something different.

From January 15^th, 2015 – January 14^th, 2016, I am going to spend ONLY a dollar a day (average) for discretionary items.

I will put one loonie into my purse each day. Every time that I want to make a purchase, I will stop and think. I am becoming a thoughtful and responsible consumer, one day at a time—for a lifetime.

You can support me by pledging a dollar a day for any part of my 365 day challenge. The money will go to Canadian Humanitarian, who we have worked with extensively over the past nine years. —Just check out my Pledge Page on the left side bar. 

Betam amisegnalo. 

***

The Daily Dollar

The loonie idea isn’t going very well. Bankruptcy looms large when dealing with a jar full of coins.

I have not handled the circumstances outside of my control with the constraint I imagined I possessed. I have a couple of valid excuses: our daughter was admitted to the hospital, and then our dog got acutely ill and needed to be admitted to a veterinary hospital. But everyone has circumstances outside of their control. I thought I could be mock poor, and make the kind of choices that a woman in Ethiopia might have to make. However, stress drops us to a default position, a place that evolved due to economics and demographics. Adequate health care isn’t a reality in many parts of the world, and pets are a privilege that many cannot enjoy—how can I really compare?

Something happened during this time. I hadn’t emotionally recovered from one hospital admission and discharge, when I found myself filling out paperwork for another. 

After dropping my furry companion Abby off at the Veterinary Hospital, I went in search of a coffee shop, so I could sit and write.  Abby became sick just four days earlier, maybe life-threateningly sick. She spent a night in the hospital because of prolonged vomiting and subsequent dehydration. She spent a couple of days at home, but wouldn’t eat or drink and seemed uncomfortable. I took her back for more diagnostic testing.

My head definitely hung low as I got out of my van and walked toward the coffee shop to wait for the call from the vet. A man, seated on an upturned milk crate, said, “Good morning, how are you?” “I’m fine,” I said, and hurried to the parking machine. While I stood at the meter I realized I had not asked him how he was. I should go back, I thought. I wondered if he was homeless. I sighed, and walked away.

In the coffee shop, I found a seat by the window and cupped my warm mug—a leaf pattern swayed in the frothed milk atop my coffee. I thought about Abby, and stared out the window. I’m not ready for her to die, I thought. I opened my laptop, and stared at the screen. Nothing. No inspiration. My gaze moved over the monitor and back out the window. Across the street, “milk-crate man” sat in the same spot, smoking. He drew air from his cigarette as if it was life sustaining. I need to go back and ask him how he is. I stood up to go, but I had already spread my writing implements across the table, and my hot coffee implored me to stay. I sat down.

I watched him as a character in a play. His quiet movements—the lift and fall of his hunched shoulders, the smoke of his cigarette rising like a signal, his hand floating to his mouth, and the slow draw of tobacco-steeped air—mesmerized me. I studied him for a few more minutes. I looked around the packed coffee shop, wondering if someone could watch my stuff, if I left briefly. No. I slid my computer into its case, grabbed my purse and walked out, leaving my coffee and notepad on the table. I strode across the crosswalk, and stood in front of him. “Hello again,” I said. He looked up at me, quizzically. Clearly I had not been on his mind. 

“You asked me how I was awhile ago, and I did not ask you how you were,” I said. 

“Actually, I’m not doing too well,” he said.

“I had a feeling,” I said.

His words constricted in his throat as he told me he had recently become homeless. I listened for the next several minutes to part of his story. I conveyed to him some understanding of his hardship, even though I had never exactly suffered in this way. Becoming homeless, and staying at a shelter was a significant failing for him. He found it hard to be with others whose suffering was of a different magnitude than his. He told me about many who are addicted, and many who are not “right in their heads”. He felt uneasy being there.

“Is there something that I can do for you today that would make your day a bit better?” I asked.

“You could get me a burger. I’m pretty hungry.”

“Easy,” I replied.

I learned about the line-ups at night for food. Most nights they run out of food, he’d said, before all of the people are fed. I could not fathom it. Right then, my phone rang. I recognized the number of the animal hospital, so I excused myself and answered. They had found a mass on my dog's spleen, free fluid around the intestines, and inflammation of the wall of the stomach. They wanted permission to take some samples for the lab to analyze. “What are the possible diagnoses?” I asked. Cancer, or severe inflammation, they said. When I ended the call, “milk crate man” asked me if my dog was going to be okay. I said that I didn’t know. He said he was sorry. I believed him. “Isn’t it odd,” I said, “you have recently become homeless, and right here—in the same city—I am worried about whether my dog is going to live.” He nodded.

I put out my hand, “My name is Wendy.” He shook it, “I’m Daryl.” We talked for a while longer. I learned about Daryl’s family, I wondered if he had anyone who could help him out at this time. His partner of nineteen years had recently died. He is fifty-six years old, has arthritis and is limited in what he can physically do. He needs medicines that he can’t afford. He picks through garbage looking for bottles every day, until his body gives out on him. “Praying keeps me sane,” he said, and he tapped the side of his head with his index finger.

“How about if I help you collect bottles, in my own neighbourhood.” I said, "Would that be helpful?” 

“Where do you live?” he asked.

“Edgemont.”

“No, I could never make it there.”

“I will collect bags of bottles, and bring them here to you,” I offered.

“That would be great,” he said with tears in his eyes.

“Okay, Daryl I will see you again later this week, and I will have some bottles for you.”

I bought him a burger, and when we parted, I held his hand and wished him well. He took my hand, and kissed it. 

***

 On that day, I had an epiphany. 

One loonie idea isn’t about the daily dollar. It is about making change, being intentional, opening our eyes to others in the world. Approaching Daryl, something I would not normally do, created an opportunity for me to envision something different. It provided me a chance to step toward someone who suffered alongside of me. There is no scale to measure human suffering; no one is immune to it. But together, we will bear our own circumstances with more lightness and grace.  

I am not amazing for this act of kindness. It is by moments, the world, and you, and all of us that are amazing. Together change happens. 

Post-Script:
Our dog Abby came home with some medications and a special diet. No cancerous cells showed up. She is recovering.
I sent a note out to my 'village' of women to help me collect bottles for Daryl. Within two days, our garage filled with fourteen garbage bags of recyclables, plus a $20 gift card, which I will take down in batches over the coming weeks.

Loonie Idea - Day 127

ONE LOONEY IDEA

In 2006, we began a relationship with Ethiopia that we cannot turn our backs on.  

We don’t really want to turn away, but life became undeniably more DIFFICULT after our first, and consecutive trips. Members of our family were in Ethiopia in ‘06, ’07, ’08, ’09, and ’13. In Ethiopia, the majority of people build a life with less than a dollar a day. A dollar a day does not provide basic necessities. Roughly 39% of Ethiopians live below poverty (<$1.25 USD)—that is over 28 million people. The population of Canada is just over 35 million. 

The world is not equitable. 

***

We all have challenges. At this point in my life I am living with abundance. It doesn’t feel good to continue to accrue treasures when so many live with scarcity. I want to choose something different.

From January 15^th, 2015 – January 14^th, 2016, I am going to spend ONLY a dollar a day (average) for discretionary items.

I will put one loonie into my purse each day. Every time that I want to make a purchase, I will stop and think. I am becoming a thoughtful and responsible consumer, one day at a time—for a lifetime.

You can support me by pledging a dollar a day for any part of my 365 day challenge. The money will go to Canadian Humanitarian, who we have worked with extensively over the past nine years. —Just check out my Pledge Page on the left side bar. 

Betam amisegnalo. 

***

Water you thinking?

October 2013

Our large group of Canadian Humanitarian volunteers left the tan stucco centre in Gindo, and headed along a dusty road. A mountain loomed in the distance, bearing witness to this changing landscape. We entered a large fenced area and walked down a narrow ditch, worn away by long ago rains. The earth, a cow-hide red stained our white socks and ankles. Down at the bottom of the hill, cows grazed, oblivious to the enhancements taking place above them. 

We could have been anywhere. The visual beauty camouflaged the struggle of this rural Ethiopian village. The poverty and the dry beaten land contrasted sharply with the sculptured rows and tidy crops within the farming project. A fence separated what was, and what could be. A transformation occurred. 

On previous trips, volunteers dug a well, and installed a pump inside the gated farm. Prior to that, the long walk to fill water jugs prevented irrigation of crops, which limited planting to certain seasons and specific produce. On our trip, a drip irrigation system was installed. It would mean that crops, like tomatoes, that needed a regular water source could be grown. Near to the centre a market had been erected, and the produce from this CH project generated income, and pride. 

Neither Ward nor I worked on the irrigation system. Yohannes did. Drip irrigation provides farmers the most efficient way to grow crops in water scarce areas, but historically it has been too expensive for small-plot farmers. The system worked on gravity, so the volunteers first built a wooden tower for the water barrel to sit upon. They used their physical strength, along with a variety of hand tools purchased in Addis Ababa. Over three days they laboured in the hot sun. At the end of the third day, our group walked into the field again for the first run of water through the system. One of the forefathers pumped the well, and ten-year-old Yohannes filled a bucket with water. He carried it over to the base of the tower. He climbed the ladder and poured the water into a large blue barrel. Keith, the primary planner, turned a valve at the bottom of the barrel. The water ran down a set of tubes to several different gardens. In each row, lines of perforated hose lay waiting. As fluid ran down the lines, tiny water drops pushed through the holes, and disappeared into the soil.

April, 2015 

I heard a story on Alberta at Noon (A@N) about a Saskatchewan business banning the sale of bottled water. Most of us don’t know when or why bottled water became a lifestyle accessory. The CBC story prompted me to do a little research, and for reasons I cannot fully articulate, it has created a cascade of emotion. 

Here is some of what I found out: 

Since water is integral to human survival, transporting it has been a part of human life since early civilization. However, the production of bottled water didn’t begin until the 17^th C when spa and water therapy gained recognition in improving one’s health. Bottled water became a safer alternative to tap water in the 18^th C when contamination with cholera and typhoid occurred, and hundreds of people died. Water chlorination in the late 1800’s, reduced concerns about safety. A chasm developed between Europe and United States; whereby bottled water spread in Europe and declined in USA. In 1977, a successful campaign by Perrier led to a rebirth of bottled water as a luxury item in the States. 

Today, it is the second most consumed bottled beverage, after soft drinks, and above milk, and beer. 

Fill your kettle with some tap water, steep a large cup of tea, and pause and ponder the realities of our living.

-  780 million people (1 in 9) do not have access to safe drinkable water. 37% of those live in Subsaharan Africa. The jerry can used to transport water weighs over forty pounds when full, and women and children carry them for many miles.

- One in five deaths of children under five is due to water-related disease.

- Bottled water is a safe alternative where there is limited access to potable water.

- 41 billion gallons of bottled water are consumed every year around the world. 2.4 billion litres in Canada. 

- The average price for a single litre of bottled water is $2.50. That is almost four times more expensive than gasoline! Alternatively, tap water costs around 1/10^th of a cent per litre. 

"Branding and bottling of water where there already exists a wholesome and safe supply of drinking water cannot be seen as a sustainable use of natural resources.” (Nick Reeves, executive director of the Chartered Institution of Water and Environmental Management.)

- Bottled water “plays into our ever-growing laziness and impatience. [It] fills a perceived need for convenience.” (Elizabeth Royte, author of “Bottlemania”) 

- The health and safety benefits from bottled water are debatable. 

The Natural Resources Defense Council carried out a four-year review of the bottled water industry, and concluded "there is no assurance that just because water comes out of a bottle, it is any cleaner or safer than water from the tap."

- Convenience has infested our lives with parasitic fluidity. What are the environmental costs?

- PET (polyethylene terepthalate) is made using fossil fuels, which are a finite resource.

- Energy is required to produce and transport plastic water bottles, often from another continent.

- Carbon dioxide is a by-product of plastic production.

- Water is required in the production process. Some estimate that 2-3 times as much water is used, as goes into the bottle. 

- Improper disposal/recycling is creating unnecessary garbage.

We use water filters in our home—for purported health reasons I have never bothered to research. We use reusable glass, plastic and metal bottles. And, YES! we have purchased plastic water bottles when lack of planning creates an “emergency”. Convenience becomes a commodity, for those who can afford it. 

We have fallen victim to the just-is culture, and neglected our responsibilities toward justice.

The loonie challenge year for me is about examining habits. Spending is one of those habits, and consumption is another. What if I re-allocated our yearly filter funds toward a program that provided clean, safe drinking water for a community that did not have access? Wouldn’t that be a wiser investment in our future, not just from a human life perspective, but also from an environmental view? I think that it does make a difference walking a day in someone else’s shoes. 

Carolyn Torhjelm, with Free the Children, in Kenya - 2013

RESPECT: "On this day, I shared the water walk with Barbara. We were a team. But the reality was we were sharing the job. Together, we carried a 50-pound jug full of water up the hill one km. Most Kenyan women do this 4-5 times a day!"