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.

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/

JP Patches is a childhood celebrity for me.  I remember being transfixed in front of the television entertained by his joyful antics.  He was magical.

The bell on the roof basket rang this morning with an urgency that said I must respond.  As I poked my head over the edge to sneak a peak at the contributor, whose face should appear but JP PATCHES himself!  Oh the rush of memories.

I am 8 years old again.  Standing on the set of his morning show.  Beside me is the SeaFair Junior Royalty King.  It was the Seattle World’s Fair and I served as junior SeaFair Royalty Queen.  (Don’t be impressed please; I was queen because my name was randomly drawn out of a hat at the Seattle Chamber of Commerce who sponsored Junior Royalty at the time.)

It is I who was in the presence of royalty: JP Patches.  I recall JP asking me if I and the Junior King were married.  I remember squishing up my face in horror.  I much preferred the SeaFair Pirate.

Today, JP brought smiles to everyone around him.  JP connected with fans of all ages as he dropped his own contribution in the basket.

I am toasty under layers of comforters and hugged by the warmth of a traditionally hand-woven Malian blanket. Do I have to face the cold outside this tent? I hear the wind whipping against the flimsy sides of the tent, pushing hard to invade my space. Oh please tell me it’s only 4:00am and I can languish under these blankets for a few more hours.

Then I thought of Fatoumata in Mali, West Africa. The thought of Mo encourages me to jump out of bed without a single whine and bless the sides of the tent protecting me from the force of wind. Mo sleeps on the sidewalk in front of the mosque in Bamako. She doesn’t have a tent.

Her story reminds me why I’m up here and I honor her every day for reminding me of how much I have, even in the worst of times:

Mo was the youngest beggar to attend Hèrè Jè. With no birth records, we guessed she was about 11 years old. From a rural village, her parents came to Bamako looking for employment. What they found was begging.  Shortly after Mo’s birth, her father died leaving her blind mother and 5 babies to fend for themselves.  Mo and her sisters sometimes found peanuts to sell on the street.

Mostly they begged on the streets. Their “home” an alcove on the sidewalk in front of the grand mosque. When we first met Mo, she didn’t remember eating regularly. She explained mostly they ate meager leftovers from people bringing food to the mosque.  Only once did Mo remember receiving a new dress for a Tabaski celebration.  Mostly she relied on throwaway clothing from others.

Fast-forward 4 years.  Mo is eating healthy food every day. She supports her mother and sisters.  At Hèrè Jè Center, Mo learned to use a serger that “finishes” fabric edges.  Not only has she mastered the machine ~ she also knows how to repair the serger when it breaks down. We think she could become an engineer! Her favorite activity is wax-stamping the fabrics. She’s a master.

When she first came to Hèrè Jè we asked her dream.  Her response, “To earn enough money so my mother doesn’t have to beg at all.”

Mo is now a talented artist creating beautiful hand-wax stamped fabrics. Her dream has come true.

Mo is why I have no complaints living up on this roof.  Bring on the wind.  Bring on the rain. I am impervious to it all because of Mo.

I thought meals up on the roof would be about the food. Silly me. Meals are a means for conversation. Dialogue about what’s ON the table, WHO prepared the meal and who’s AT the table.

Meals have become, slow-down-sit-down-notice-the-food-and-sometimes-even-share-it-with-the-person-who-prepared-it-and-has-a-story-to-tell kind of eating.

I totally confess. I’ve convinced myself I’m so busy that dinner consists of opening the freezer, un-thawing store-bought pizza, standing over the sink eating with my hands to minimize the washing of plates. Napkin? Unnecessary. Crumbs fall directly into the sink. In all fairness, I’m communing with nature while I eat ~ I can see the birds outside my kitchen window.

So meals are a whole new experience up here on the roof.

Meals Day ONE

Sue Sorensen (aka Sue Soaring Sun) lives in Edmonds and has an amazing garden. I ate her garden for lunch; well not exactly the whole thing:  fresh cucumbers, broccoli and peas straight from the pods. Add a touch of natural yogurt with dill ~ voila ~ can you hear me feeling self-rightously full of healthy food! Mom, are you reading this?! Yes, I ate a whole meal of fresh vegetables. (And yes, sometimes I make up words.)

Sue is an artist. Don’t imagine the word “artist” as one-dimensional. As a lawyer Sue uses her art of research to help others know the law. As a garden artist she tills the soil by hand to feed her family with healthy foods. As a mother Sue guides her daughter with the art of love. Add power seller on the internet artist and activist artist helping save the Historic Rose House in Edmonds and you get the picture. A full artistic life.

So I was grateful when she gifted her time to prepare a meal for me. Sue commented, “Like many busy women sometimes you just ‘forage’ to put something together. I happen to be able to forage in my garden.” Lucky me she forages.

Have a look at what people spend on food for a week in different parts of the world.
http://www.everybodygoto.com/2007/10/12/what-people-eat-around-the-world/

What do you notice? How might you think about food differently?

Food As Survival

At the Bamako based Hereje Training Center in Mali,West Africa, previously begging street children eat breakfast and lunch every day at the center. Learning to eat nutritiously is as much a part of the curriculum as health, AIDs prevention, literacy and social skills. While begging on the streets the girls were lucky to eat something every two days.

I noticed the first few weeks at Hereje Center, new students will spend all their money on food.  Students receive a stipend while they learn to prevent them from having to beg during the 18 month training.  The $20 stipend covers transport, their food, food for any family they may have, water plus a portion to a savings account in a local microfinance institution.

I remember asking Sanaba, 15, when she first came to the center, “What is your dream?” Her response, “To eat until I am full.” In the beginning, some students would wake at 4:00 am in the morning to walk to Hereje Center instead of spend money on bus fare.

And what do they do with the extra money you ask? When I asked Assa, 14, she reached into her pocket; with a big grin, she offered me a piece of candy.

6:15 am

I’m up on the roof waiting for the King 5 TV interview. It’s chilly. The sky is overcast. The sun is rising somewhere out there, lighting the buildings in downtown Edmonds. The city is just beginning to wake up. Looks like King 5 had other breaking news, so I’m headed down to the shop for last minute prep before I officially go up to the roof.

11:30am

I’m totally stressed. Just beam me up Scotty. Thank heavens for volunteer Dana Nunnelly who arrived just in time to send me home for a rest. One of the many lessons I’m learning is to ask for help; and accept the gift of help from others. What a joy to be around volunteers who show up just when you need them most. It’s what I love about what I do – being surrounded by caring volunteers dedicated to service. I can only hope they get as much from this as I do.

3:30pm – One hour to lift off!

Just arrived back at the shop after a visit home to pack a bag. Excitement is building. Dana has everything under control.

Henry is 10. He’s number one volunteer in charge today of no parking signs and barriers at both ends of main street for the arrival of Engine 20 from Edmonds Fire Department. Maddie is in High School; Maddie joined us just last week to start her service learning volunteering, even though she’s not getting credit until school starts in the Fall. These are just two of almost 20 volunteers who showed up to help and support me today for this Up On The Roof event.

9:00pm – First post from up on the roof!

The moon is keeping me company. It’s as though time is suspended up here. Being in this new space reminds me of my first night in a new country. New smells.  Different noises.  Is that scratching George the raccoon who hangs around downtown Edmonds?  Will he join me in my star gazing tonight?

Click here to see photos from today on our Flickr page.

And click here to see even more photos and videos from today on Dana’s Flickr page.

8:00 am

I just walked around the space on the roof and tried to imagine myself there for however long it will take. For the first time, it struck me I’ll be living in view of the world in a “glass house”. I felt my chest pounding. I’ll be <gulp> vulnerable. Certainly a luxurious vulnerability considering the status of most of the world. My stomach will be full. My head will be protected from the elements. Fresh, clean, safe drinking water delivered. How can I possibly feel vulnerable? And yet there it is. The leering face of fear.

Quick. Get back to the work. Place of safety. Place of routine. Place where it’s too easy to bury oneself in doing rather than being.

11:00am

The energy in the shop is swirling with warmth both literal and figurative. Our shop is more of a meeting and sharing and learning place than a place to buy. I notice shoppers linger. People become engaged in what’s happening here. They learn about fair trade. They learn how products are made and about the producers who create them. They pause to read stories of the young women who are no longer begging. They become a part of what’s happening. Inevitably they buy something because they are moved. Or they volunteer.

3:00pm

A woman entered the shop with a newborn baby asleep on her shoulder. A floppy hat framed the baby’s angelic face. The weight of the baby was clearly a strain. I offered the woman a chair in Selma Dublin’s Discussion Salon where people sit to chat. She sank gratefully into the chair, the baby nestled at her neck. She closed her eyes in peaceful harmony with the baby and stayed for a long while.

That’s what our philosophy is: Connection. Harmony. Peace. I remind myself of that as I’m pulled in a thousand directions….when I’m fretful about all the tasking that fills my days.  There’s a greater purpose going on. It’s when I keep that greater vision in my head that I’m energized.

That’s part of the reason for the roof. To slow down enough to celebrate.  To take time to honor the positive things happening around me.  I’m weary of negative energy that stings like poison arrows.

9:00pm

My day is over. I achieved very little administrative work. What I did was more significant ~ connected with passionate volunteers who run our shop; met visitors who came in to meet “the woman going up on the roof tomorrow”. (I can see the question in their eyes as they shake my hand, “Does your elevator go all the way to the top, my dear?”

I was to sleep in the tent tonight because King 5 TV is coming at 5:00am to film.
Instead I’m going home to have a final restful sleep in my own bed. Tomorrow’s the beginning of a new beginning.

10:00am

Today I climbed the ladder to finalize the supplies for the roof. It’s hot hot hot hot. Record breaking for Seattle. Around 100 degrees.

I see that volunteer David Crouch has been busy and a creative pulley system is already in place. Volunteers are the cornerstone of our success. David is CEO of Foss Home in Seattle and shares his love of computers and his handyman expertise with us. Elizabeth Crouch (yes, married to David) is a Rotarian and masterful networker. Her ability to create linkages between people results in significant happenings. Elizabeth has already begun social networking through Twitter to create buzz about the purpose of Up On The Roof With Carol.

David also designed the tent platform and pulley system that allows me to haul up meals. Between David and my brother Stephen Schillios they’ve made the campsite safe from rain water that might pool on the roof. (Wait a minute…..I might be up there when it rains????)

The most frequently asked question? “How will you handle the heat on the roof?” I think about the African desert and those times the heat becomes oppressive, suffocating, life-taking. I learned to slow down and breath. Just as one learns to adapt in different cultures, that’s what I’ll be doing. Adapting. My response to the question? “I’ll breath through it.”

This morning, in the tent on the roof of my shop, I placed a photo of the first 10 graduates from HereJe training center in Mali, West Africa. I want to be reminded of these brilliant young women every day.

It’s for them I’m leaving the comforts of home to live in a tent up on the roof. These young women have gone from begging to self-sufficient in 18 months. They are my inspiration about what can happen when you believe in the possible.

Picture a 13-year old girl who has been begging to stay alive since she was born. Her name is Oumou and she doesn’t smile. She holds her hand out. That’s her life. Now picture that same young woman with her head held high; a proud look on her face. Oumou grins from ear to ear as she signs her name on a scrap of teabag and slips it inside the pocket of a book bag she has just created. The look of satisfaction on her face is mirrored in Fatoumata’s face, a graduate from the previous year who is now a full-time instructor at Hereje.

These two young women are why I’m going up on the roof to live in a tent until 1 million people each send me $1. That’s right. One Million Dollars. Because my 501(c)3 Fabric of Life Foundation wants to help more Oumou’s of the world access resources to become self-sufficient.

I also hope to inspire more people to celebrate small actions they’re taking to make their world a better place. I believe every small action IS significant. Sometimes the enormity of the issues seems overwhelming. It can be discouraging. I hear people comment, “what impact can one person really have?” My response is, “a lot”.

My lifelong mentors, Jack and Selma Dublin who worked in cooperative development in Africa always said: “Do what you can do within your own capacity.”  They often reminded me that it’s many small acts combined that have the biggest impact. (Credit Union pioneer Jack Dublin passed away 4 years ago and Selma Dublin, at 90, passed away 4 months ago.)

Eleanore Roosevelt said “Do one thing every day that scares you.” I believe in what can happen when we step out of the shadow of our fears. I’m 57 years old. That in itself is scary.  I’ve never blogged before. Even scarier.  I thought blogs only existed on the moors of Scotland.  It’s scary to “reveal” your inner self in public. Yet here I am. I’ve decided to follow Eleanore Roosevelt’s advice.

The idea to live on the roof of my Foundation’s fair trade store literally popped into my head one day last May. I’m often described as “crazy” when I’m introduced. Personally, I think of myself as “bold” or “gutsy”, both of which require a bit of crazy, don’t you agree?

So this is my chronicle of being UP ON THE ROOF. I have no idea how long I will live in this tent. I’m not coming down until I come down. If that statement makes sense to you then you probably understand me a little bit. I hope you’ll learn as much about yourself from this journey as I am about to learn about myself.