Where There's Smoke ~

Mornings in Nicaragua: the acrid smell of smoke from cooking fires filling the air and burning the nose and throat. Some of it is wood smoke, but mostly it's something a lot less pleasant, reminiscent of burning tires. I don't know what these people are burning to cook with but it's not anything I'm happy about breathing. They probably aren't happy about it either but most probably have no choice. To eat they need to cook; to cook they need fuel; and fuel is expensive for poorer families which is the bulk of the population. Firewood is not always easy or affordable to obtain. And the forest are disappearing.

This is not a new story. We have witnessed it again and again around the world. The reasons why it can't be curbed are ones I do not yet fully know or understand. Three billion people – nearly half the world's population – still cook over open fires that spew very significant quantities of CO2 into our global atmosphere. It's only recently that there has been a dawning awareness and growing alarm of how much this is contributing to climate change. Suddenly there's a lot more interest in figuring out how to come up with and implement alternate cooking methods. And it's no surprise, at all, that already corporations are sniffing around that door, sensing the possibility of profit.

There are a lot of cooking stove projects out there, and many are focused on manufacturing and selling or supplying the stoves to people. A lesser number are helping the people who need the stoves to establish their own manufacturing businesses in their own cities and villages. Global Alliance for Clean Cookstoves was founded? by Hilary Clinton and is endorsed by Julia Roberts, and has endless text on their website about meetings, conferences, establishing standards, policies, and on and on. It's mind-numbing to think of the amount of time and “energy” they are spending doing these sorts of things.

This winter I connected with a guy – a refugee – from Ethiopia, where the open fire and deforestation situation is grave. He spends virtually no time whatsoever on these sorts of things. He has started a sustainable “clean” cooking stove program, Green Energy Without Borders, as a way of helping the people in his homeland, taking the route of assisting them to establish their own manufacturing programs there. In just four years, his program has built and distributed about 120,000 stoves made from recycled, readily available materials. The stoves use compressed briquettes made from agricultural organic waste such as sugar cane stalks and corn stalks, which is converted to charcoal, mixed with a small amount of clay, and formed into specially designed briquettes that burn slow and clean. They also scavenge the fine bits of charcoal from the ground in marketplaces where charcoal made from wood has been piled for decades. Some of these “deposits” have built up for years and are quite deep.

The system is not perfect; the process of making the charcoal does create CO2. But it prevents deforestation, and it eliminates smoke during cooking. The fine particles in this smoke are the cause of millions of deaths annually, worldwide, from related health problems. I asked about carbon monoxide emissions from the stoves and he was not able to answer that; he has not had his stoves tested for that. But apparently no one has died over the past few years, so presumably this is not a significant issue. In a pinch the stoves can burn any combustible materials, and indeed people sometimes break the briquettes in half or quarters and mix them with cattle dung or other solid fuel to extend them – this does create smoke but not as much as a regular open fire. The program is supporting a local economy and fosters innovation, but it also gives away many, many stoves to those who are most in need and cannot afford to purchase one. And it is self-sustaining, without the support of large organizations filled with red tape. It's homegrown. And his stoves are the number one preferred stoves in the Adama region where they are being made.

One of the projects I will be working on in Nicaragua involves the introduction of heat boxes to help extend cooking time. The traditional diet here includes a lot of rice and beans, and the beans especially take a long time to cook, even when soaked first. Activist and musician Paul Baker Hernandez wants to start a program that will encourage and assist people in designing and building insulated heat boxes from simple materials such as cardboard, that will keep a pot of beans hot long enough to finish cooking them after a short amount of boiling, and reduce the amount of fuel needed and smoke emitted.

There are some cooking stove projects in action in Nicaragua, though Paul says he has not heard of any that are using agricultural waste to make briquettes for fuel. Perhaps one day soon Green Energy stoves can be introduced here.

Happy Solstice! from Babylon

The game of Pictionary should be taught in all schools worldwide. It would greatly improve human communications. Far too many people have inadequate skills for non-verbal communication, and non-language communication... as when two people speak different languages.

I have found that the majority of people I've encountered in Central America are excellent at non-language communication or little-language communication. They seem to enjoy it as much as I do, have the same good-natured sense of humor about it, and derive the same sense of satisfaction when success is achieved. They are creative about their approach which is usually key. Attitude seems significant for success. I also found, unsurprisingly, that the people in the tourist areas are better at it and tend to be more cheerful about it.

However, I have also encountered some impatience and annoyance, perhaps born of lack of creativity or humor with the process. I've had more than one person repeat the same few words over and over, with increasingly exaggerated slowness and increasing volume, as if they were sure my problem was stupidity or deafness or both – even when they knew perfectly well that the real problem was simply that I did not speak Spanish. Rather than try to find a creative way to express their message – gestures, writing, metaphor – and rising to the challenge, they simply got frustrated.

Of course, I am well aware that these folks probably deal all the time with tourists like me and that learning at least a few words and phrases of the native language is basic courtesy when visiting – one that I neglected due to time and craziness but that's no excuse. I'm not saying I expect these folks to speak English or to be under any obligation to deal with someone who doesn't speak it. But nor do I adopt the attitude that they should be. This is simply observation.

Also, there is not a direct correlation between my experience and the Pictionary theory. The former just made me think a bit and spawned the idea about the latter.

For those of you unfamiliar with Pictionary, it is a group / team game involving cards printed with words or short phrases that must be conveyed, within a short time limit, to the other players via drawing only – no words or sign language or gestures (though some gestures inevitably happen in the excitement and heat of the game).

Pictionary offers a fascinating insight into how player's brains work. Which aspect of the picture the drawer chooses to tackle first; whether they choose to draw the actual object or action, or phoenetic alternates, or symbolic representations (no actual symbols allowed except a few select ones such as =m or -); and what sort of associations their minds make. For example, a player might choose to convey the phrase “solar power” by drawing a sun, and an arm with flexed bicep. Or, they might draw a sun and a flower, hoping that when people run the phrase “sun flower” through their brain and realize that it's not “sunflower,” they might make the connection – this option might be helped along by drawing an ear next to the flower indicating that it's a word that sounds like flower, or by adding a picture of a shower nozzle with water spraying out. Or, they might draw a solar panel, perhaps aided with an electrical plug or outlet. Or...

After the others guess correctly, or the time is up and the answer is revealed, there is typically a moment of sharing thought processes from both sides: "I was trying to get this across," or," I kept thinking you were trying to draw a..."

It's also amazing how rapidly the other players can correctly guess what the drawer is attempting, much of the time. This often takes on a nearly psychic quality and possibly indicates a similarity of thought process (“that's exactly what I would have drawn”). Interestingly, looking back over Pictionary sheets from months back it's often much harder to guess what the drawings represent. Without the “live” element something is lost in translation... so to speak.

The game provides positive reinforcement for both effective graphic representation and good interpretation skills, so the more someone plays, the better they tend to get. It's easy to imagine that someone who has played a lot of Pictionary would exhibit significant improvement at non-language communication in general – supported not only by practice, but by lessened intimidation and a greater enjoyment of the process as well.

As I said, my experience was merely the catalyst for the theory.

Comments?

Hello In There, Hello

One thing I had not done on this journey of descent was to stand on the street corner with a cardboard sign. Or any sort of panhandling actually. It seemed the experience would not be complete without that. I've talked with many homeless and nomadic people who have done it and I wanted to know what it felt like.

The first attempt was an epic fail. I was clueless, it was getting dark, no traffic at all, poor location. The humbling and humiliating realization that there's more to this than you'd think. It's actually a somewhat skilled job... and a fine art. Does one sit, stand? Wave the sign around a bit or keep still? Smile at people? Look sad and desperate?

Next morning I walked past the patch of stinging nettles on the way down to the beach and said "ah ha." I picked about 8 bags (and did a lot of impromptu foraging education for curious folks walking by). My second panhandling attempt was during the evening rush at the entrance to a supermarket and I added a second sign to my starving writer one: "In return I offer Fresh Nettles!" Can't say I was swamped but several people walked over after parking their cars, chatted for a bit, gave me a donation - and only one woman was interested in nettles so I gave her two. I got $16 plus change and lots of good conversation. Folks were interested in what I was doing and why -- in hearing my story and telling theirs. Some had been homeless in the past and knew what it was like to sit on a street corner with a sign.

Earlier that day in a parking lot, a guy noticed my VT plates and I talked with him for an hour. He had also lived in his car for some time, years ago, and had even stood on street corners with signs. He said he didn't like the way people looked at him when he did that (he's black). And later, I spoke with a homeless man (also black) here in town who invited me to join him someday at The Ramp – which is apparently The Place to panhandle – meaning the off ramp from the freeway. I haven't yet taken him up on his offer but want to at some point. He hadn't yet counted the money he had collected that day but it looked like he had at least $70 from about four hours of working The Ramp. Well gee.

As to the experience... yes, it felt weird. Yes somewhat humiliating, especially initially (a bit better with nettles to offer). People driving by had no idea of my story, who I was, why I was doing this. It was great when folks came over to chat and could hear all that. And this is exactly why I wanted to experience this – so I could feel those emotions, and so I can truly, from the heart, write it all into a story and / or article and tell everyone: next time you see a homeless person, or a person on a corner with a cardboard sign, or whomever, anyone at all -- remember this:  there IS a real person in there, with a human brain and human feelings and a human story. And that you don't know at all what that story might be.

Starbucks has lately been playing the John Prine song "Hello In There" which is about old people, but really could just as well be about homeless people – or any people.

"So if you're walking down the street sometime

And spot some hollow ancient eyes,

Please don't just pass 'em by and stare

As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello."

One other thing I have reminded people about -- to stop and remember that so many of our great artists, recording artists, movie stars, all the creative types, were at one time or another homeless nomads, sleeping in cars, washing their hair in gas station bathroom sinks, etc. How would you feel if you knew you'd run Bob Dylan or Jewel or JK Rowling out of town thinking they were "just a vagrant?" When I say this everyone pauses. "I never thought about that," they say. Well, neither did I, really, til I made this journey.

Hello.

*****
Postscript: my good friend Mark who leads spiritual workshops said that he thought this would be a great assignment for his students sometime! I agree. A great exercise for anyone.

Cosmic Feathers: Why Did the Rooster Cross the Street?

Last night at the beach park was a random rooster.

He was following a woman who was jogging up and down the stairs. Charmed, she took several photos. Imagine her surprise when later, after dark, she returned to her car – at the top of the hill and outside the park – and found a bundle of feathers roosting on the roof... which astutely let out with an attention-getting cluck before she got in and drove away. A small group of us stood around marveling and pondering the situation. Being the only one of the group who had actually had chickens, I rapidly became the go-to for many questions.

Ultimately, the universe won out. The woman climbed up on the running board of her mini van, and after several cautious attempts, got a wing-securing grip on the amazingly calm bird, lowered it off the roof and tucked it in the back seat of her vehicle to drive home with her.

None of us, least of all her, could fathom why she had materialized this rooster into her life... or why he had materialized her into his... or most likely both. But it was clear to us all that they are meant to be together.

“Yeah here come the rooster, yeah
You know he ain't gonna die
No, no, no ya know he ain't gonna die...”