Kaaba Soumaré is my courageous African sister. Kaaba is the reason the school we formed in Bamako, Mali, is successful.  She works full-time as the CEO of PIYELI, a microfinance institition as well as volunteer Director of the school in Bamako. Without Kaaba, the school would not exist.

In this week’s update from Mali, Kaaba wrote:

“Les nouvelles de Hèrè qui ne sont pas très bonnes.
Fatoumata Sangaré et Mamou Diarra sont enceintes, donc elles ont été renvoyées.
Astan Traoré est décédée suite à une maladie.”

Translation:

“The news from Hèrè jè (the training center) is not very good. Fatoumata Sangaré and Mamou Diarra are pregnant and thus expelled from the center.  Astan Traoré died after an illness (malaria)“

I am heart sick.  Every part of my being is ANGRY.  If I scream loudly enough will the world hear? If I jump off this roof will our collective will work harder to eradicate poverty?

A child who lost her parents at 2 and hungers for love at 15, thinks the young man paying attention will fill the emptiness in her soul. Rape is part of daily life. For the uneducated, birth control causes  sterilization so the elders tell young women not to accept it. There is no clean water, so the young woman washes in still standing pools surrounded by mosquitos. And she dies.

I am thinking of staying on this roof forever.

Can you see my fist in the air?!

Bleary-eyed at 5:00 a.m., I was heading to the airport for an early flight. (BT – before tent) All I could think about was coffee.  Dark. Rich. Spoon-stands-up-in-it-coffee.  Fair Trade would be nice.  No such luck. I pull up to a drive-up-coffee-for-the-person-on-the-go. Rolling down my window I am suddenly face to face with breasts barely covered by a bra. I must be in the wrong lane. When did they invent drive-up brothels?

I’m about to pull away when a voice chirps, “And what can I get you ~ pause ~ ma’am” (…well at least the breasts were polite.) What can she get me? How about a sledge hammer.  On second thought, how about a vanity blanket. (Did you know vanity blankets were issued to every Beijing police officer during the 1994 UN Women’s Conference?  It was assumed all the women attending the conference would tear off their clothing to protest in Tian’anmen Square. It’s the truth. Honest. I was there. One of the Beijing police officers told me about it. The Chinese government insisted on police carrying vanity blankets in case of naked protestors.)

Now I wish I had one in my car.  A blanket, silly, not a protestor.  Although at times both would be useful. Do I like underwear clad women serving me coffee?  Not so much.  It did, however, get my attention. Maybe that’s the point. A weak one. But a point nevertheless. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Aren’t you cold?“  Her response? “Not so much. We have a heater in here“.

To this day, I’ll drive an extra mile to find a “family friendly” coffee drive-up.  Somehow their coffee tastes better.  Even if it’s not fair trade. Also, I know I’m not promoting the “sex sells” marketing mentality.

Did I give her a tip?  You bet I did.  “Put some clothes on.”

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THE SEXPLOITATION DIALOGUE CONTINUES…

So the conversation about ’sexploitation’ has continued over the past few days among our high school volunteers,  college interns and  50+ volunteers (notice how cleverly I avoided using “elderly” or “retired” as those of us in the 50+ categories are neither tired nor old!)

We’re exploring the issues and having interesting dialogue about causes, perceptions, freedom of choice, slavery, Children’s Rights, women’s rights, Human Rights, Human Trafficking, prostitution, Child Labor. We interviewed Sarah Sweeney, Washington State Director of the Not For Sale Campaign.   There are no clear answers.  We all agreed each issue is multi-faceted. We often found ourselves saying things like,  “…it depends…” or  “…in that situation it’s different…” or “…I never thought about that…” or “…that doesn’t apply here…”

As for the sexpresso post, it too initiated interesting conversation. We did all agree that being served by men in Speedo’s was not the answer. Although we did have a few laughs about the alternatives.

The most important thing I learned is that I am ignorant about the issues.  I have much to learn.  Here are a few resources for those of you who want to learn more:

These 10 Quick Facts come from the website: Branded phx

1. Slavery has been outlawed in every country but still occurs everywhere (The Universal Declaration of Human Rights)
2. Human Trafficking is now considered the 2nd largest and fastest growing illegal trafficking activity in the world. (United Nations Office on Drug and Crime, Department of Justice Publication)
3. The United Nations estimates the total market value of human trafficking at $32+ billion-a-year. (Love146.org)
4. 80% of victims are women and 50% are children
5. Child prostitutes serve between 100 to 1500 clients per year, per child (Child Exploitation)
6. One million children are forced to work in the sex industry every year. Between 100,000 and 300,000 children in America are at risk for sex trafficking each year.
7. Among the millions trafficked each year hundreds of thousands are teenage girls, and others as young as 5, who fall victim to the sex trade.
8. Child pornography is a multi-billion dollar industry and among the fastest growing criminal segments on the Internet. (National Center For Missing and Exploited Children)
9. As many as 2.8 million children live on the streets, a third of whom are lured into prostitution within 48 hours of leaving home
10. The average age of entry into prostitution in Phoenix and U.S. is 13 years old

The City of Edmonds recently joined other cities in banning single-use plastic bags. Little did they know, remarkably resourceful recyclers in our  community have already been hard at work transforming plastic bags for good.

Gabriele shows what can be made with recycled plastic bags.

Long before the plastics debate, Gabriel Raudebaugh at Trinity Lutheran Church was recycling plastic bags to generate financial support for their international outreach program in Nicaragua. Trinity’s Sowing Seeds of Hope group is helping develop a sewing cooperative in Nicaragua. The  cooperative helps women generate income for self-sufficiency, improved health and education for themselves, their children and their communities.

Just imagine, plastic bags are transforming lives instead of landfills.

When you see Sowing Seeds of Hope recycle kits and products at the Edmonds Saturday Market be sure to support them.  You’ll find crocheted totes. Luggage handles. Eyeglass holders. Table runners. All from recycled materials. Purse kits are packaged in recycled newspaper delivery bags. Plastic bags have been washed, cut and cleverly stuffed in empty paper towel tubes, ready to be knit or crocheted into artful multi-use bags.

Intern Ari McPhearson models the award-winning recycled plastic bag hat

Ari MacPherson, Fabric of Life Foundation intern, models the latest in recycled styles. (Can you guess which store’s plastic bags?).  This charming creation by Trinity Church member Fern Thompson, won best of show at Mountlake Terrace’s recycling festival.

Recycling for a purpose. Has a nice ring to it.

When we opened the Fabric of Life Foundation’s fair trade boutique in Edmonds, we made a point of locating used store fixtures.  Just about everyone I know uses Craigs List. Have you seen Freecycle (”Changing the world one gift at a time.”)

The tents we set up on the roof came from Craigs List. The toaster in our shop came from Freecycle.  Okay, so only one side of the toaster works.  Big deal.  We seem to be obsessed with new and improved.  I remember a potential donor once said to me, “I know  you don’t spend money unnecessarily; I’ve seen your car“.  Hey, it gets me where I want to go, despite her 180,000 miles.  What are a few dents if I arrive safely at my destination? Who needs windows to go up and down anyway? Whatever happened to functional?

If you want to see clean go visit a rural African village.  Not a spec of trash. But then, naturally grown food has no packaging. And when your wealth is in relationships there is no trash.  When I travel to new places I bring a poloroid camera to take photos to give away and a digital camera for my own photos.  In a rural village in Uganda I recall putting an empty poloroid cartridge into the trash.  The next morning I found the cartridge propped against a window ledge ~ with a photo neatly tucked into it.

A woman who likes to shop in our store explained she was having a giveaway party. She descriibed that sometimes things of beauty need to be passed on because they no longer belong to her.  She hosts a party to which everyone brings a favorite treasure they want to pass along for someone else to enjoy.  What a lovely idea.

I think we’ll start putting out a table in front of our shop so people can exchange their old treasures.  And we’ll use hand crocheted reuseable plastic bags for people to carry off their new treasures.

It’s after midnight here in Seattle.  My tent beckons me.

“Not only is another world possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.” Arundhati Roy

I like Arundhati’s statement. It reminds me to slow down. To listen to the world breathing.  Where are we racing to anyway? Or perhaps running from? Today I’ve felt like the cartoon character with legs racing in circles going nowhere.  Doing stuff.  Minding  details. Recording data. Deposits. Emailing. Twitting. Doing. Doing. Doing. As if life depended on completing tasks.

Ever notice  when we meet new people, once we find out where they’re from we inevitably ask, “What do you do?“  Doing seems to be the indicator of usefulness in our western world. How much do you get done?  I have so much to do! “Hello, my name is Carol and I do things.“  Once you’ve identified my doing-ness I’m then a category of person.  Labeled. Boxed. Stacked. Ready for shipment.

I often want to respond to the question, “What do you do?” by saying, “I breathe“. Lately I find myself holding my breath a lot.  At least that’s what my trainer, Nicole observes because she always has to remind me to “BREATHE”. (Did I mention MKG Martial Arts in Edmonds has gifted me a trainer while I’m upontheroof?)

At Ndiaw Ndiaw Village in the Senegal desert, when we finished each day’s workshop we would rest.  The plastic mats would be spread on the sand and we would all lie on the ground and stare up at the sky.  And we would breathe.  And sometimes someone would tell a story. The night sky would unveil the stars.  It would be so still one could hear the stars twinkle.

When I first began working in Africa it would take me days to slow down. I would always feel a sense of urgency to do stuff. I became anxious if a meeting didn’t start when it was planned. I found myself frustrated because “time is money”.  We’re wasting time. Let’s get going. What are we waiting for? I would tap my foot and watch the clock.  Feeling I wasn’t worthy unless getting stuff done.

Finally one of the leadership team would say, “slowly slowly“.  And they would ask how I slept? How was my family? Had I eaten well? How are my parents? Would I like a cup of tea?  And suddenly I’d remember to breathe. To be and not do. And the richness of life would re-appear. When did we become human doings instead of human beings?

There’s always a question in the back of my mind when I think of developing countries.  Who is better off?  We with our stuff and our doing? Or those without stuff and their being?

I love how African friends use story-telling to make a point. Once I was rushing to yet another meeting when a Kenyan colleague in Nairobi reminded me again to slow down.  He told me the story of the great white explorers who first came to Africa.  They would rush to make camp and explore. They would break camp and move on. Set up camp and explore. Break camp and move on. Set up camp and explore. Break camp and move on. You get the picture.

One morning, the local guide refused to break camp.  The explorers were impatient sayingm “hurry, we must move on, we have places to explore and things to discover.”  The guide said simply, “You are moving too fast.  I must stay behind in this camp, to allow my soul to catch up to my body.”

I’m going to my tent to breathe.  Good night.

It’s an interesting time warp up on the roof. There are moments and there are years. The first 5 days were dedicated to adaptation. Adjusting. Problem-solving. New learnings. Excitement. Disappointment. Even anxiety and fear.

Will there be coffee? What if it rains? Will I be lonely? Will they remember to feed me? How will I shower? Brush my teeth? Will anyone care? What am I doing? How crazy is this? Can I go home now?

Odd. They’re the very same thoughts I experienced working in a developing country for the first time. My first solo assignment was training facilitators of strategic planning in rural village cooperatives. In French West Africa. In French! (only now do I appreciate the rigor with which Mlle Brunell made me repeat, ‘je suis, tu es, il est, nous sommes’ until my head ached.) 

Ndiaw Ndiaw village Savings and Credit Cooperative (SACCO), where the field training was to take place is 6 hours north into the desert outside Dakar, Senegal. I remember asking if I could plug in my computer.  I remember asking if I’d be staying in the same hotel where the workshops would be held.  I remember being confused when they said I should bring enough water to drink for 10 days because the well wasn’t working. 

It’s 38 hours to travel from the comforts of Seattle to Dakar. The door to the plane opened on a whole new world for which I was unprepared. Little did I realize the life-altering event this would be. I remember feeling at once excited and anxious. My senses on hyper alert responded to the spicy scents, breath-altering heat, lilting tones of Wolof, and the vulnerability of being in the minority.

It was the first time I saw begging children dying on the streets. And it changed me forever.

I’m hardly suffering up here on the roof mind you. At the same time, adapting to unknown environments brings up vulnerabilities no matter where you might be. And choosing to take a risk, marching to your own drummer, acting against norms, sometimes requires courage. To believe in something so strongly you’re willing to give something up to make it happen. 

Like Sister Marie McLaughlin did in South Africa.  She faced risks because she believed in the philosophy of cooperation regardless of the color of ones skin. She formed cooperative savings and credit societies in South African townships during apartheid. Sister Marie began meeting with women’s sewing circles in townships; common needs brought black women and white women side by side to improve the quality of life. Even if it was illegal.  Sister Marie believed forming cooperatives was more important than her own safety. She had 10 credit cooperatives formed and linked by computers before the apartheid government realized.

My own stand-taking can hardly be compared to that of Sister Marie McLaughlin.  The most fearful thing I face up here on the roof are the revelers after the bars close in downtown Edmonds.

You don’t have to go to Africa to take an action that makes a world of difference. You don’t have to defy a norm, or even live on a roof in a tent. (…although I highly recommend it!)  My Granddad used to say, “Do something. Even if it’s wrong. Just do something.”  I always interpreted his comment as, “get off your butt and quit being afraid”. Thank you Granddad for that philosophy.

I applaud those of you taking action for something in which you believe. No action is too small.  And thank you for sharing your actions with me. I  am hopeful about the future.

Many of you ask me how I’m doing up here in my tent. The biggest irritation so far? My finger nails are dirty.  Yep, that’s the thing that’s bugging me most. Never mind that I’m in a boat surveying the puddles near my tent. Never mind the wind decimated the two tarps I have taped together to shield me. Never mind the porta potty’s broken and leaking everywhere.

MY FINGER NAILS ARE DIRTY AND I CAN’T GET THEM CLEAN! Aaaccck!

As I ponder my predicament and calm my irritation at the lack of warm, soapy water in which to wash my hands, I glance up to find four ladies climbing the ladder to my aerie. They brought me French toast. And bacon. And coffee.

I curl my fingers into my palms so they won’t see the dirt. I hope they don’t notice I’m wearing my pajamas. I haven’t brushed my teeth in 2 days (Please tell me my dentist isn’t reading this!) And my wool socks leave wet prints on the mat as I greet them.

When their stories unfold suddenly my nails don’t seem so important. Barbie and Cassie are homeless.

They brought me breakfast this morning cooked at Mary’s Place. It’s a day center for homeless women. And so much more. It’s a loving community of support. A place to remember what it was like to cook in a kitchen. A place where people look you in the eye and hug you. A place where people call you by name.

“It’s so important to be called by your name; because when you’re homeless you get called a lot of names and not necessarily your own.” This quote from formerly homeless, Mona Joyner, is from a book of portraits titled, Women of Mary’s Place.  Sixteen women artists and sixteen homeless and formerly homeless women of Seattle participated.  What a great heART project.

Mary’s place is where homeless and formerly homeless women and children find a safe environment to build community, find resources and develop strength to help themselves.  Marcia McLaughlin, Mary’s Place, shared that in addition to direct contributions, they could use volunteers:  nurses for their free health program, people to cook on Saturdays, volunteers to write a note of support to homeless women in jail. Call Marcia at (206) 228-4354.

We shared a powerful conversation this morning. Barbie and Cassie reminded me that many of us are one paycheck away from homelessness, one illness away from living in a shelter. In Snohomish county alone, we have almost 2,000 people every day who don’t have a place to sleep except the street or in their cars. I could be one of them.

Seems so trivial to worry about my dirty nails.

Tonya and I had lunch today up on the roof.  Tonja expressed how difficult it was to create a meal for under $3 (I’m asking people not to spend more than $3 on a meal for me.) Yet, today I feasted on healthy spinach leaves with peaches and nuts. Tonja knows how to streach a dollar. As a single mother she raised three beautiful children and the love she gave them cost nothing. She grew up appreciating the little things. Being raised by a loving depression-era grandmother instilled in Tonja a deep commitment to making a difference in the world. Regardless of her own challenging situation as a single mother, Tonja acted on her value of making a difference by volunteering in a soup kitchen.

When I asked who were her mentors in addition to her grandmother, Tonja named her 1st grade teacher, James Knowlton at Crown Hill Elementary in Kitsap County. He passed away recently. She credits him with inspiring her to dream and the gift of believing in herself. What a powerful influence our teachers have; they teach us how to learn and think; they inspire us to the greatness of our potential.

Tonja would write thank you notes to her children’s teachers for being a positive influence on their lives. Teachers spend more time with our children than we do and she wanted to honor them. She would frequently hear back that no parent had ever written them a thank you before. How sad.

This is the note I wish I’d written my third grade teacher at Olympic Hills Elementary before she passed away:  “Dear Mrs. Kvarnstrom, I’ll always remember your third grade class with love because you opened the world to me through reading. I still remember the postcard you sent me when you went to Norway in which you wished your whole third grade class could have been there with you. Thank you for the gift of learning. I’m grateful I still carry that gift with me every day.”

When was the last time you thanked a teacher in your life?

PLEASE VOTE FOR TONJA’S BOOK

Tonja authored heART That Is Making A Difference. When she wins, prize money will go to FareStart contributors to the book and a foundation she’ll start to help the homeless. VOTE HERE for her book to win.

Tonja’s passion of honoring organizations that make a difference to the homeless led her to create Show-me-a-sign on RedBubble.  Check it out!

Good thing I’m living alone in this tent because it’s been 9 days without a ‘decent’ hot shower. Certainly the camping sun shower is adequate and I grudgingly admit it does the job with much less water. It’s true, at home I linger under the clean free-flowing hot water.

When we brush our teeth , how often do we let the water run in the sink?

Here’s a fun Internet site created in Australia with activities to sensitize ourselves about how we use and abuse water. http://www.teachers.ash.org.au/ceoteach/taps/wateruse/water_use.htm.   Makes me think twice about how I use water.

Water:  Ndiaw Ndiaw: Rural Senegal
At Ndiaw Ndiaw, 5 hours into the desert by car from Dakar, there is no fresh water. We bathed with a tea kettle from standing well water. If I had woken there this morning, as a woman, my first task would have been to walk 3 miles to a neighboring village where there was an operational well pump.

Go ahead. Imagine you’re carrying 5 gallons of water on your head in a bucket. I used to slop most of it over the sides just walking from the village barrel to my hut. My attempts generated raucous laughter.

I’m just sure I could hear the men thinking, she’s not married, she has no children, she can’t even carry water ~ what good is she?

The water burden falls most heavily on women in developing countries. Girls are denied education because they are sent to fetch water. As adults, women often take 3-4 hours each day searching for water.

Here’s a startling statistic:
884 million people in our world lack access to clean water

That’s about 1 in 5 people who don’t have access to clean water. If you’re a family of five, pick one person in your family who must drink water from a puddle on the street.  Pretty scary.

It’s a crisis killing as many as 5,000 children a day – the equivalent of 20 airliners filled with children lost EVERY DAY to an entirely preventable public health crisis.

If you feel compelled to act on water issues, check out these two sites:

http://tapproject.org/

http://www.endwaterpoverty.org/