One Hundred Day Celebration

When my kids were in kindergarten, they celebrated their one hundredth day of school by bringing in a bag of 100 items. We carefully counted out the items the night before. 

Laurèn took Cheerios, Yohannes took buttons.  

I have been doing the Loonie challenge for one hundred days. 

What is the significance of the number 100?

- It reinforces counting skills, and the concept of time and days. 

- Most money systems are divided into 100 parts.

- 100 is the basis for the percentage system.

- It is the sum of the first nine prime numbers. Who knew?

- It is found in religion, dreams, politics, architecture, science, and more. 

- It is a number symbolizing a whole, which is itself only part of a greater totality.

It hasn’t been a “clean” hundred days. Life is running me over, and undermining my ability to be the best of myself, and to plan and prepare. Having said that, I have already learned some things 

. . . about a hundred things. Shall I bore you with all 100? Here are my top ten:

1. Spending so little is not fun . . . creative, but not fun.

2. A number of people have had a hard time adapting to my challenge, and that has made me feel guilty.

3. I used to buy a number of unnecessary things.

4. I am more than the sum of my possessions. In fact, my possessions are an expression, so what do I want to say?

5. Using hunger, sadness, exhaustion, or disorganization as a reason to spend irresponsibly are all cop-outs to dealing with the issue at hand.

6. Food is just food.

7. Stuff is just stuff.

8. $5.00 for three hours of uninterrupted writing is pretty cheap rent.

9. It is hard to ask others to support me in this challenge. 

10. Being an intentional consumer is hard. 

Recently, I picked up some things we needed at Staples. Home Sense is right next door. I walked in and meandered lazily through the store. I found what I wasn’t looking for in one of the eye-catching displays. A tall cylinder-shaped floor lamp, thicker around the middle, made of gauzy linen material. It would create the perfect ambiance in our quiet room. Must have it. I leaned over and flipped the price tag up—$100.00. I am proud to say that I walked out, not only because that was a ridiculous price for metal wrapped in gauze, but also because it clearly fell outside the boundary of necessary. 

Retail therapy, and especially things that I can put in my home to make me feel good, is one of my coping mechanisms. Over the past two weeks, I have desperately needed some retail therapy. It has taken strength to resist. 

At this hundred-day junction, I am in need of a show of support. Here is the 100-day challenge I would like you to contemplate. 

Imagine a bag of 100 loonies. 

Multiply the 100 loonies by a percentage that you can afford to donate—at this moment. 

Take that percentage out of the bag. 

Go to my pledge page--just click on the picture of ME below, and donate a portion of the whole. 

It Takes A Village

It takes a village to raise a child. 

Each child is a blessing bestowed upon the community. 

All blessings come with burdens;

therefore, the burdens too, must be shared by the village. 

A part of my village...

One component of a Canadian Humanitarian expedition is the participation in home visits. The interaction has many purposes. CH advisors, directors and volunteers listen to the concerns of the families and communities whose children are influenced by the programs. Being present affirms to those impacted that they are important and worthwhile. It cultivates hope, which gives them the strength to continue when challenges arise. Moreover, when people come together, it creates an opportunity for all to see the world in a different way, and to contemplate new ways of being. 

During the February 2008 CH expedition, I participated in several home visits. We walked from home to home through urban villages in Addis Ababa, where the sponsored children live with their guardians. As we trekked, our group multiplied. Community members walked alongside, down narrow stone-laid passages, or sprawling dirt roads—curious, yes, but supportive and engaging too. The sun reflected upon smiles and tears alike to reveal a certain kind of glory. It created—for me—the best and the worst memories.

Lunch prepared for us while visiting the "crisis intervention" house. Feb. '08

Surrounded by children, all along our visits. 

Pride and hope, the outcomes of support for many...but not all.

February 15, 2008

 Toward the end of our home visits, we arrive at Hannah’s home, where she lives with her grandmother and two of her cousins. The setayat, in her fifties, has aged prematurely because of life and loss. The home stands in a long row of “paper-mâché” houses, with dirt floors and a sheet of plastic overhead. If I stretch my arms fully, I will puncture the paper wall, and wave at the neighbours. The packed dirt floor swept clean during this dry season, weeps during the rains. A small raised bed, running almost end to end, gives us a place to sit during our visit. 

Hannah’s setayat has little opportunity to work, no steady income, no kitchen, or food pantry for the family she gained after the loss of her adult children. When she can, she makes injera, and cleans houses. On those days, she makes five birr a day (less than fifty cents). She needs Hannah to care for the younger children, beg on the streets, or find work. However, Hannah was accepted into the Kid’s Hope program when they expanded a year ago. Grandma shows weariness, and worry, but also determination and pride. She cries as she speaks of the days that she cannot feed her family at all, and she grows taller when she shares her gratitude toward Canadian Humanitarian. The joys and struggles face off against each other. Challenge triumphs momentarily and the small room seems to deflate, like a leaky balloon. 

Last, we follow Mekdes. She is the sponsored child of my in-laws; she leads us quietly down dirt roads lined with metal gates and flowing vines of delicate purple flowers. Mekdes lives with her setayat. This home, a sturdy mud structure, reveals a period of abundance with couches, a shelving unit, and a refrigerator. The grandmother paces as she listens to the greetings, and purpose of our visit. We have learned that she plans to take fourteen-year-old Mekdes out of the program. She leans against the wall farthest from us. Her voice a raspy whisper due to poor health, rises and falls just as her bony ribcage moves with her breath. She will not sit, or join us. We learn that Mekdes’ two aunts recently moved out, and life has become exceedingly difficult. They provided income as well as helping with shopping and chores. The aunts have not been good role models for Mekdes because they both work as prostitutes. Mekdes, at risk of following this same fate, remains silent and steady. 

  As grandma rants, and pleads for something more, her voice gives out and her head falls forward. One in our group wonders why we can’t give her money. Money does not promote sustainable living. However, supporting her health seems an appropriate way to help. The CH director communicates this idea, and then pleads with her, “This program is a chance for Mekdes to have a different future . . . for a better life, please do not remove her.”  Grandma relents; Mekdes can continue with her studies, for today.

***

Mekdes, seen here in 2008, is under the arm of Dr. Richard Northcott (co-founder). As of October 2013, she had graduated from school, and Kid's Hope, and taken extra training in the service industry of hotels and restaurants, and had a job. 

Within these ancient civilizations, the village is the base unit of existence. Daily life requires all members to participate for the well-being of the group. On most days they walk long distances to get food, water, wood, and coal, and often to the market to sell what they can gather. When one prospers, they all benefit, and when suffering occurs, they typically stand together. 

The village did not arrive at some point in history. It has always existed. Humans are meant to rely on one another. It is only recently that many in the developed world have severed the links between families of geographic or familial relationship, abandoning the village. We think we can make it on our own.  

***

As I stand on the outer rim of family crisis (yes, right now), I wonder…how can I continue with One Loonie Idea? Feeling the ropes of turmoil tighten around me—it’s hard to breathe, let alone plan, prepare, and perform. I ask myself, what would a woman in Ethiopia do if she were facing similar circumstances?

The answer is clear. She would turn to the village. 

I am one amongst many. Who have suffered. Hardship. 

Although we do not share the same journey, all of us are connected through feelings associated with experience. I ask, is there any one who has not experienced the sadness of loss? Do you know the angst that is saddled to helplessness? Can you relate to the disappointment of expectations not being met? When life throws you into chaos and struggle, can you avoid the anger and rage of a situation that doesn’t feel fair? 

I think we are the same amidst our differences. 

A sage in my village wrote me the following words this week, and I want to share them with you. 

Wendy, "Let me begin by saying that your life is an incredible journey - incredible doesn’t mean easy, nevertheless, incredible. Right now, Faven isn’t able to appreciate all the support she has been (and will continue to be) given, as her life thus far has also been an incredible journey.” 

Thank you for this HR.

Day Ninety

New to - ONE LOONEY IDEA - read below, otherwise skip 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. 

***

Grade Five - nine years old.

School Patrol - 1975, nine years old.

Soap and Water

Gindo, a rural area of Ethiopia, is severely affected by lack of water, food, and education, and has a high incidence of disease. Desperation floated upon the air, invisible but detectable, like humidity. We visited Gindo on the Canadian Humanitarian expedition in October 2013. A long-time CH supporter and expedition volunteer named Vern stared out of the window as we approached the brand new education centre; his eyes leaked, and his face quivered. 

In May of 2012, Vern, along with five other middle-aged, energetic, compassionate individuals began a “Chain Reaction” bike ride across Canada. Along their way, they raised awareness for CH, and collected funds to build the education centre in Gindo. The inspiration for the "Chain Reaction" ride began with Vern.

The fifty children from the CH program, waited for us. We arrived sporting Ray Ban's, Maui Jim's, Nike, Merrel, and Columbia. They stood in plastic shoes, white shirts dusted with red earth and missing buttons, tangled hair, and an odour that could curl the hairs of one's nostrils. The air pulsed with excitement as they prepared for the official opening ceremony. Indeed, yesterday there was a noisy, rust-colored ox tied to the fence; today, not even the rope remained. Instead, there were mounds of cut up meat as the women worked to prepare a meal, in our honour. 

After the ceremony, before eating, we washed at a long trough outside, with clear but contaminated water and soap.

A loonie a day.

There are obstacles to change. What is getting in my way?

Your beliefs become your thoughts, 

Your thoughts become your words, 

Your words become your actions, 

Your actions become your habits, 

Your habits become your values, 

Your values become your destiny.”

—Mahatma Gandhi

The starting point is the thought. My thoughts—I can’t do it…I don’t want to do it…I don’t have to do it…it’s stupid—cause me to stay in the ruts on the road. It’s hard to make positive change when stuck.
Over the last decade, I cultivated the habit of buying in excess of what we need. I never thought I’d be an accumulator. I have modest roots. I like order and organization. Clutter immobilizes me. I cannot cook supper until the kitchen is cleaned. I prefer simplicity. And yet, embracing indulgence became so common that I saw it as ordinary, and necessary. And if not necessary—deserved. Somehow the wrongs in my life could be righted through the purchase of latté’s, clothes, home decor, books, journals, writing pens, bedding-out plants, lunches, and 9-ounce glasses of Pinot Grigio.
I didn’t see it . . . until now. Instead, I felt the discontent of not aligning myself with my inner compass. I veered off course, but stayed there long enough that it became a worn trail.

I follow three generations of women who live and lived without grandeur.
My great grandmother, already in her seventies when I was born, focused on family and community. Everyone knew “Grama Great” for her generosity of spirit, contagious chuckle, modest and welcoming home, fresh baked cookies, and the perfect blossoming cherry tree. I loved the fact that the moment we arrived, we became a part of the neighbourhood, and had rousing games of “kick the can”. I loved eating home baked goods for breakfast in the tiny kitchen nook that overlooked Grama Great’s rose garden.
Her daughter, my Grama, lived in Saskatchewan and farmed full time with my Grampa. We spent long summer days on their farm at Last Mountain Lake, surrounded by cousins, and acres of unmarked land. If farm life looked simple and routine to my childhood eyes, my grandmother was anything but. An intellect, she could converse on any topic; a musician, she graced the piano with strong fingers and steady tones; and a caretaker, she built a large family, and looked after them with seeming ease. She had a regal quality to her that could not be diminished regardless of dress, or circumstances.
My mother, just seventy, has the same shining white hair as me, with an exquisite and inviting smile. Loving and kind, she possesses an edge of no-nonsense, and therefore commands attention. She continues to be able to get my children to work alongside of her better than anyone else. Like the two generations of women before her, she is a gifted musician. Her voice lifts high, rings clear, and brings joy to so many. Our car trips to the coast to see Grama Great, or to Saskatchewan to visit my grandparents farm were filled with many rounds of song. My mom, a tireless support to my siblings and I, never gives up, even when the challenges make it difficult to get out of bed. Her commitment to family—her legacy—inspires me to show up in my life, and be my best self, and to forgive the shitty moments.

All of these women had age spots; it is one thing that I share with them. The culture today encourages blemish-free, flawless living. I have been “counselled” time and time again by well-meaning friends and acquaintances to try various procedures to get rid of the spots—especially as they have become prominent on my face. I have used lotions claiming to lighten them, but the result has been a plethora of expensive products, and little difference to my skin. My grandmothers had access to one cleansing product . . . soap and water. The blotches of unmatched skin connect me to a depth and strength of spirit possessed by three remarkable women. And I am going to accept my flaws, and commit to living with what I need, not what society demands.

I can do it,
 . . . with soap and water. 

Sister Tobi with Grama, Grama Great in the middle, and Mom with me. 

5 Generations: Grama Great, Grama, Mom, Tobi and Kierla

Fun scene from the "farm". My mom is to the left of Grama Great, and I am on her knee.

My mom, with her grandson - Dayn. 

Mom, Grama and Me

One Looney Idea - Day Seventy-five

Una Idea Loca

I am not gonna lie…neither Ward nor I thought much of Fraser and Chelsea’s idea of  a “destination wedding”. It seemed like a lot of work to pack a bunch of people off to Mexico. It felt like an extravagant indulgence. Do we sound old? Originally, only Ward was going to go; the cost left us shuddering. And yet, I couldn’t miss it. It started to feel like a great opportunity for a family reunion, a chance to celebrate all five of our kids, over the event of Fraser’s wedding ceremony. And I knew that once Ward arrived, he would wish we had all come. So, here we are. 

As I prepared our family to go to Mexico, I continuously confronted decisions around spending. Clearly we needed sunscreen and bathing suits, but did we need lip balm, nail polish, flip flops—and an extensive kit of pharmaceuticals? I prepare for “just in case”, partially because that is who I am, but also because I CAN. Having a “back-up” bank account makes the entire Loonie Idea seem fraudulent.  The financial misdemeanours will not cost me. As I attempt to create change through my circle of influence, I am stymied to know if it is even possible.

Over the past seventy days, I have been creating new habits—based on thoughtful spending. My chief tactic has been to avoid places where I spend money—coffee shops, Canadian Tire, drugstores, and malls—as well as plan ahead, so that I have food with me when I am going to be away from home for extended periods. However, the two weeks leading up to our trip, I spent an inordinate amount of time shopping for things we needed for the trip, and I know I bought things that we didn’t need, but wanted—fuchsia nail polish to match my dress for the wedding. (Funny thing: Now that I am in Mexico, I can’t be bothered to interrupt the holiday and merry-making to paint my toenails. No one is going to be concerned with my toes.) But, being out in the spending sphere again, affected me. I found myself putting things into my basket reflexively. Shopping took twice as long because I constantly had to circle back and return things back to the shelves—it was like shopping with a merchandise-grabbing toddler. I also felt weak, when I couldn’t resist, and then remorse when I brought something home that didn’t fit the principle I had established for myself in this Looney Year. 

People say, “It’s okay—there are always exceptions to the rule.” 

True. 

False. 

I started a music class last fall. My piano teacher told me to learn the song, “Fly”, and feel out the timing of it myself; she told me that this particular composer allows great freedom with his compositions. In piano, mathematic in nature, it can be alright to interpret the rhythm, and change it to suit the artist who is playing the piece. This makes sense to me. 

Our daughter Faven constantly argues with us about her curfew. She disagrees vehemently with the rule that says: one minute past curfew is considered late. However, if we do not have a rigid rule around curfew, she becomes confused. If it is okay to be one minute late, then it is okay to be five, and then fifteen and then an hour late. 
The line in the sand becomes a figment of the tide.   

When one allows themselves to create sub-rules—also known as justifications—the water becomes muddy. Each exception dominoes into the next. The exceptions evolve the rule, and the rule becomes the exception. Try as hard as you can, but don’t worry if you can’t do it. The world doesn’t work like that. Natural consequences will show up…eventually. 

The wedding day—magnifico! Several challenges occurred through the week, but when the day dawned, all that was yesterday, fell away. Chelsea, a stunning bride, arrived at the beach in a golf cart; the gentle breeze caused her veil to dance behind her like a fluid feather composing a love song. Fraser, stared straight out to the calm, azure-blue ocean, instructed not to look at his bride until she stood in the archway of a Mayan thatched hut at the edge of the beach. He turned at the same moment that she put her bedazzled sandal onto the white sand. She walked toward Fraser, accompanied by her mom and dad. Each caught the eye of the other, and steadied within the others’ adoring gaze. The place, the words, the thirty gathered friends and family—all splendid. 

This exception to the rule, resulted in a holiday for our family, and a connection to a life event of two very important people, and we feel so blessed.

Our Five Kids: We couldn't be more proud! :)

Day Sixty-One

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. 

***

Here I am seven years old, with my brother Troy. CHECK out my socks--such a fashionista!

Celebrations

This week was Laurèn’s 13^th birthday—made more special because it fell on (Friday) the 13^th, and therefore was her “golden” birthday. In our family we celebrate birthdays with a family supper, cake and presents every year, and kids also have a home-grown birthday party up until they are 13. Birthday parties have become bigger as the children have grown. This weekend was no exception! 

Everyone has a birthday. But not everyone knows when their birthday is. I know this seems strange to many people, because when Ward or I say that we don’t know exactly when our children Yohannes and Faven were born, we get dumbfounded stares, and mutterings, like, “How could you not know?”
It’s simple.
Birthdays are not officially recorded in poorer countries that are highly populated.
Children are not born in hospitals; there is no record.
Mothers, in rural Ethiopia remember their children’s births by seasons, or events, but they don’t celebrate each passing year.  Certain milestones are celebrated. For example, in some parts of Ethiopia, when a girl gets her period she is considered ready for marriage. And a boy over twelve, is considered self-supporting and ready to care for himself. Therefore, throughout Ethiopia this is the time that teenagers drop out of school.
Through child sponsorship programs, students are encouraged and supported to go to school for as long as possible. Many of the children in the initial intake of the Kids Hope Program in Guelele  (2004) are now in the Canadian Humanitarian Scholarship Program, whereby they attend university, college, technical, trade or vocational schools. Through the Program, the student has tuition and books paid for, and gets a monthly stipend for living expenses. Once they graduate and are employed, the student agrees to re-pay 25% of the funds, over a period of time, to assist future students. 

I am pleased to see more Canadian children choosing to make financial donations to charities rather than accept birthday gifts, particularly when our children want for so little. But, I still think that the day of birth is special, and choosing to celebrate it, helps me to pay attention to the young people we are raising. I find their birthday parties completely exhausting, however, I also experience great joy seeing them in their element.
***

On Laurèn's birthday we went out to a friend's ranch in Springbank. It was 15 degrees. I love to watch her with the herd.  

Day Fifty

NEW to ONE LOONEY IDEA, start here, otherwise, start from the picture of me as a six-year-old child.

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. 

***

Here I am with my cousin Johannah - I am six years old. 

Candle, Light, and Whine.

Candle

A daily ritual.

I light candles all through the day. I like how the light accompanies me and connects me to the divine. It invites me to pause for the briefest moment. Some believe that candles remove negative energy. Most importantly, they ground me, and I feel peace in their flickering glow. Who isn’t mesmerized by a burning flame? Beeswax candles are known to clean the air and help allergy and asthma sufferers. I am both. Beeswax and Soy candles are healthy alternatives to paraffin, but much more costly. Adding essential oils to beeswax or soy candles can decrease the stress hormone cortisol (No Honey, I don’t have a double-blind randomized trial to prove it). Candles have a long history in ceremonial, religious, and spiritual traditions, all over the world. Light is the symbol of joy. Here, in the developed world, we associate candles with romance, and they almost always accompany a fine dining experience. 

But, I cannot make the claim that they are essential. Not here.

Light

Ethiopia sits just above the equator. The sun rises and sets at roughly 6:30, or 7:00 year round. Just 23% of Ethiopians have access to electricity. Candles, somewhat superfluous to us, are an important source of light to both poor and rich Africans, due to frequent power outages. Ethiopia does not have a natural source of wax for candle-making, so they import over sixty tonnes of it every year. They “consume” more candles than Coca-Cola products. Candles are integral to religious and spiritual ceremony, and also to daily life. Without electricity, many rely on candles and kerosene lanterns to light up the night, so they can finish chores, and schoolwork. But, even more people cannot afford this “simple” waxed pillar, and remain in the dark.

On our 2009 trip to Ethiopia, Ward and I took a day trip to the country, with Canadian Humanitarian, to install a solar-powered lighting system into a farmer’s hut. We got the solar-panel, battery and LED lamps from our friend, who operates Add Your Light Products. I think Ward and I, along with AYL hoped to provide a sustainable, affordable, solution for these rural areas with no access to electricity. 

Before the sun rose, we pulled out of the guest house. Our three kids: Laurèn, Yohannes and recently adopted Faven, stayed behind with my mom. We planned to be back in Addis before sun set. But a different adventure awaited. We traveled along the paved highway for the first hour and a half, and then stopped for breakfast at a lovely hotel, with a thatched-roofed dining room. It had a bar in the centre that reminded me of the TV show, “Cheers”; I half expected to see Sam slinging drinks, and Norm sitting staring into his mug of beer. 

We left the comfort of pavement, and began the four-wheeling part of our trip—in a mini bus. The area had experienced torrential rainfall over the previous days. The roads morphed into an off-road mud-racing track. We came to a section that would mark the worst of the journey. Our bus perched at the top of a hill; it shuddered, trying to communicate its fear of proceeding. Before us an orange grater moved mud to the side of the road, filling the ditches, where pedestrians slopped through barefoot, and horse-drawn carts loped along. A large white bus was glued sideways into the road like tubular pasta into clay. Our translator and guide, Ketema, rolled up his pants and headed out to assess the situation. Ward and I leaned into the centre aisle watching with disbelief as a large red truck took off down the hill as if descending a ski ramp. It picked up speed, skidded side to side, and then the mud grabbed the tires and rendered the truck immovable. 

“Surely we are not going to try,” I said.

“I don’t know,” Ward said, “Looks like Ketema is waving us forward.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

The driver revved the engine, readying himself for the run. We careened around the grater, slid past the red truck, and barrelled straight toward the bus. My mouth gaped open, and I gripped Ward’s leg the same way I do at movies. With car rally precision, the driver tucked right around the bus. We made it.

Six hours after we had left the guest house, we arrived in the village of Amaaya. After a lengthy discussion with the chairman of the woreda, in which he asked if the solar panel could run a TV, we headed to the farmer’s home. We stopped at the side of a dirt road and got out; we gathered our supplies, and walked across marshy fields toward the farm. The farmer, tall and proud, led the way. Ward and I, in shorts and t-shirts, looked out of place. The farmer wore a weathered sports coat, buttoned sweatshirt over a dress shirt, and a plaid fedora shaded his dark face, set with deep lines—a map of experience. His chapped lips stretched into a smile, revealing large yellow teeth. 

As the men went about the job of installing the solar-panel, at a certain angle to the sun, I sat on a small stool, and observed this small community. There were four huts, one made of hand-cut logs and a thatched roof, and the others made of dung with a tin roof.  The farmer was vague about who lived here; we found out on our return trip that he lived there with his three wives and over a dozen children. Only the main hut would be wired with lights.

Ward had been trained on the lighting system back in Calgary; he also spent the better part of the last two days getting ready. In the courtyard of our guest house, he built a wooden frame to attach to the roof, and hold the solar panel. He studied the installation diagrams we brought with us. His knowledge of electricity has always amazed me. Nonetheless, his nerves vibrated through the night, and dreams of wiring and circuits flooded his mind. The pressure of arriving late affected him; we only had a few hours of sunlight left by the time we got to the farm.  

The entire project was accomplished with hand tools. The solar panel attached to the roof on a wooden frame; the wires were pushed through a hole made in the roof. Inside the hut, a 12-Volt battery was installed. Wires from the solar panel connected to the battery, as well as to each of the LED lamps, and the lamps connected to a switch near the door. The wiring wrapped around open beams near the ceiling, and was secured with U-shaped nails down the supports. My husband did all of that, with eager, but untrained helpers, and dwindling sunlight. What an amazing task; I was in awe of him. Throughout the day, he remained focused, and nonchalant.  

When the installation was complete, everyone gathered inside the two-room hut. The farmer flipped the switch. The lights beamed. I expected cheering and whooping, but everyone was completely silent. And then one by one, they laughed. Ward let out a heavy sigh. 

Fourteen hours after we had left, we pulled into the guest house. As luck would have it, the power was out, and we used our winding flashlights to find our way upstairs. My mom, and the kids played cards, by candlelight. 

Walking into the farm site.

The ladder that was procured for the installation.

Ward and Ketema making some adjustments to the frame because the roof was sloped and not flat.

Ward is using a hand cranking drill.

The official presentation of the solar panel to the chairman of the woreda...

...and from the chairman to the farmer.

This is some of the family gathered, the lights are on. This picture was taken without a flash. 

Whine

I have just come through a fairly grumpy spell on this Looney-a-day journey. I momentarily forgot why I even thought this was a good idea. A friend of Faven’s helped me to remember. Faven, Laurèn and I shopped for dresses for the upcoming Mexican wedding. One of Faven’s friends found us and joined in the dress-picking fun. My young beauties found fabulous dresses at 50% off, a happy situation. While I paid, they headed off to another store, boasting a Closing Out Sale. I found them there, and Faven had a summer jean jumper-type thing in her hands—picture short shorts joined with a tube top, no straps. 

“Mom, can you buy this for me?” she asked.

“No,” I answered.

“Why not? It’s only 5.99.”

“Because, for one, you don’t need that, and two, I am in my loonie year.”

“Sheesh! That is so stupid.”

Faven’s friend asked, “What’s a loonie year?”

“My mom is doing this thing where she only spends a dollar a day. WE are the one’s suffering. It sucks.” 

“I do have a reason for doing it,” I said. 

“Yeah, I know,” Faven said, somewhat chagrined. 

Her friend looked at me, waiting for an explanation.

“I am spending an average of dollar a day on non-essential items, for the year between my 49^th and 50^th birthdays. I am doing this challenge to raise awareness and funds for programs in Ethiopia, where Faven and her brother were born.”

Her friend said two things. “That’s so cool,” and she smacked Faven on the arm, and then she said, “You don’t look 49, I thought you were in your 30’s”. Smile.
There are days when I don't feel like holding back. I want my belly button to open up and spit loonies out like a Las Vegas slot machine. 

But, I remind myself, and you, why I am doing this when I don’t have to. 

I am attempting, through intentional spending and sacrifice, to advocate to make the world a better place for those who suffer because of lack of access, poverty, disease and underemployment. 

I hope that you can find a way to support me along this loonie journey. It isn’t as easy as one might think.