(Or at least a website) www.live58.org  I read the book for this site and I really liked its optimism and hope. Finally—someone was telling me what I felt was right all along—that we can end extreme poverty. Begin a discussion—see how fast people tell you it cannot be done.

http://youtu.be/7uZV90fsoCY . And maybe it can’t be done. Maybe it is a scam: that is what part of you thinks, right? But I am sick of worrying about being taken in (Kony, anyone?) and I think we should just go for it. And maybe your “going for it” doesn’t include rice and beans or Brazil or this organization…but do something besides putting down everyone else’s attempts at making this world a better place for those who have nothing.

http://www.live58.org/survive125  is an interesting interactive “game” that gives you some ideas of what it might be like in extreme poverty. Some of these things are what my children at Living Stones are dealing with. The idea of live58: “58 is an unprecedented, action-based, global alliance of Christians, churches and world-class poverty-fighting organizations working together to end extreme poverty in our lifetime by living the True Fast of Isaiah (chapter 58).”

“We are a movement of Christians who are willing to make personal sacrifices (or “fast”) to free up resources to help the poor… who give to effective projects led by world-class poverty fighting organizations (the 58: Alliance), and who pray to align our hearts with God’s will as expressed in Isaiah 58. And here’s the good news: not only is it possible, it’s already starting to happen:

In the past thirty years, extreme poverty has been cut in half. In 1981, 52% of the world’s population lived in extreme poverty (defined by the U.N. as living on less than $1.25 per day). But by 2006, that number was 26%.”  (http://www.live58.org/about/what-is-58 )

Wow. Social justice causes and poverty are the easiest ways for people to put aside their differences. I’ve seen it here in Brazil, and trust me—nothing warms my heart faster to a perfect stranger than seeing them care about the same kids I care about. I love finding ways that people have made to help connect people to the need. And this is one of them. It is well organized, and relevant. 

I didn’t eat enough last night. I couldn’t go to sleep because my tummy hurt, empty-like, and I was rolling around thinking, “food food!” But my brain was not willing to get out of bed to open the fridge and eat cold rice and beans. Eww. So a big breakfast of…rice and beans. My friend invited me over for dinner and made…rice and beans. That is true friendship, and I appreciate it. My mind is beginning to chant “Thursday, Thursday” when I will enjoy garnishing my rice and beans with creativity. Ohhhhh.

I find it interesting all the people who are worried about my health. Once I let them know that I will be adding more variety of vegetables after the first week they are fine…but really, even without the other vegetables, I am still (with just my rice and beans) eating healthier that most Americans—and most of the people in poverty who only have the starches (rice and maize). I am not the one to be worried about.

It is Sunday. Nice to have a day off of work to work on forgetting that I am only eating rice and beans. What’s the problem? Why are people going hungry? Can’t they just all eat rice and beans? Apparently not. And I am guessing anyone who says that has never TRIED it.

Official reports (http://www.worldhunger.org/articles/Learn/world%20hunger%20facts%202002.htm ) state that hunger is caused by poverty (unequal income distribution, lack of resources, and conflict), which is caused by harmful economic systems (a minority who live high while others barely survive) conflict (natural disasters, but mostly man-made violence), and hunger, which itself is a deadly cycle of causing poverty and even more hunger.

Here is a secular look at rice and beans, their nutrition, Sean Hannity, and the worry about upping the amount of rice and lowering the amount of beans: http://www.npr.org/blogs/thesalt/2012/05/03/151932410/man-cannot-live-on-rice-and-beans-alone-but-many-do .

I really liked this biblical stance on poverty at http://www.relevantmagazine.com/current/op-ed/incomplete-politics-poverty , and the implications on our upcoming voting:

“Why was there a bail out of Wall Street when so many other people are suffering? Why is the income gap growing? Why is the poverty rate around 15%? That’s more than 45 million people. And the most important question, at least for the candidates: who’s to blame? A partial understanding of a cause will lead, at best, to a partial solution.

Scripture is very clear about how we should treat the poor and the consequences if we don’t. Not many people argue that we should be seeking solutions for poverty What we don’t hear as much about causes of poverty. The Bible groups poverty’s causes into three general categories: calamity (drought, disaster, disease, death—Lam 4.9.), oppression (rich ruling poor, wicked dominating helpless-Prov. 13:23), and personal responsibility (personal foolishness, laziness, selfishness: lack of character—Prov.10:4).

President Obama generally subscribes to the oppressive cause for poverty and suggests creating better systems and increasing funding. Romney, on the other side, focuses on personal moral failure.  The answer isn’t a one step process that fits in a five second sound bite, slogan, or political zinger. They’re both right. They’re both incomplete. We can’t just throw money at a problem and make it go away. Good systems are full of corrupt people and corrupt systems have good people. Neither can we just dismiss the poor by saying they brought it upon themselves and refuse to offer help or increase spending on the right programs. The problem of poverty is multi-faceted. Our response to it must be equally so.”

“You need to stop eating beans if you really want to identify with the poor. Poor Brazilians are not able to eat beans anymore because the price has doubled recently.” Karine informed me. I told her it was the principle of the matter. Rice and beans. Roberto, Karine’s husband came over and looked wary. I told him we were not arguing, I was gathering information. Karine said then I didn’t know what arguing was. Apparently, we were arguing.

The farther you go into the interior of Northeast Brazil, the poorer they are, and the more bean prices have gone up.  The people are eating more fuba (or cuzcuz—the cornbread like stuff) and macaroni, neither of which has much nutrition. Not the beans! You can’t take away the beans!

I just want to feel something. The idea of cheating on this rice and beans thing promises me it will get rid of the feeling in my tummy of something missing. It says I will relax and be ok afterwards. I know these things are lies, but I just want something and I get to the point where I am just willing to try anything. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to give in because it is weak. It is weak and pathetic, and I know if I just hold on, it will pass. And I know if I can’t do it, how could I ever ask anyone else to. And that is not the world I want to live in.

I think my belly is on strike. It is 2pm and I haven’t eaten anything and I am not hungry. Not hungry for rice and beans at least. I burnt the beans. I learned how to cook them quite well in the pressure cooker at Living Stones. But just a pot and water and I am stumped. It seems that you just have to keep adding water and let it cook for 2-3 hours. That is a long time. That is a lot of remembering to add water. By the time it is 4pm and I haven’t eaten anything,  I am ready for rice and crunchy, slightly burnt beans.

My life is becoming rice and beans. My friend Carina just got back from six months in Zambia, Africa. I asked her about her rice and beans stories. Rice in Zambia is something special you might buy for Christmas. It is imported. Their staple food is Nshima, which is a corn mush from maize. They grow it, grind it, cook it, and eat it. Beans are called Chilemba, and are a common side dish (called a “relish). Other relishes are fish, leaves, and caterpillars (when in season). Chicken? Perhaps once a month.

So when Carina wanted to make a meal for her host family to join, she didn’t have enough money to buy everyone something healthier like eggs, so she often chose beans. Luckily, she was always being saved from her cooking by the African women. They would rescue her nshima or chilemba…or would just eat it crunchy or mushy while saying “Chaaaawammmmma!” (Carina’s name in Zambia)in a playful scolding way.

Beans are hard to cook in the bush because they often cook over charcoal, and it isn’t as hot as fire—so it would take hours and hours, and by that time, the nshima was a mushy soup. After a couple times of saving Carina’s cooking, when she would suggest they eat together, her host mom Christine would jump to say, “I will make the chilemba.”

As far as fruit and variety goes, not too much. In season, there are guavas and mangos, but not too many people plant fruit trees. And so even when available, the people don’t always eat fruit because half the time they don’t have it. And you just get used to what you get used to. As Carina put it “fruit is a luxury item that you don’t pay for.”

Currently, Carina is at St. Vincint, one of the poorest islands in the Caribean. But life there is much more colorful and varied—and easier in every aspect than in Africa. She has rice and beans everyday in her communal living situation, but the people on the whole eat a lot of fish, fruit, and different kinds of potatoes that grow rampant and freely. In St. Vincent the original tribe was called ‘Garifuna,’ which means ‘the cassava eating people.’ Rice and beans are common, but normally mixed in with a bunch of other things.

Carina loves me. She got me an Elephant for my birthday, but we both decided to leave it in its natural habitat.

I think the first day of just rice and beans is the worst. Well, at least for me, yesterday was horrible, but today it hasn’t been a big deal. Or maybe the secret is to just be busy with something else. I woke up not even thinking about breakfast and then my lil bowl of rice and some sugar wasn’t even that bad. And the rest of the day food just has not been an issue. Yes, I have rice and beans—but I have a life full of other things to think about.

One good thing about this rice and beans thing—I’ve never noticed just how much food I give out on a regular basis—cake for birthday parties, fruit and vegetables…candy and popcorn…bad news is constantly saying no to it. Grrrr. This is what people on diets feel like. I never liked diets. Vegetarian, yes. Fasting, yes. But diets? No.

Variety is the spice of life, huh? Well my life is quite unspicy. I was feeling so hungry that I ate a huge plate full of rice and beans. But I am not full. Instead, my tummy just hurts and I can’t look at rice and beans. But I still want…something. Is it even possible to overeat on rice and beans?

Poverty in the past used to be something different: walls were there, lines were drawn. You may know that you were poor and they were rich, but…it wasn’t in your face. Their world was just that—theirs. But not anymore. With television, they can see every inch of what is not for them. All the variety that is only available for $9.99. Milena lives in a dirt and stick house with a ratty couch. But she has a tv. And on it, the other day as I passed, was I-Carly, in Portuguese. American Disney life right there in the middle of poverty, holding up its priviledged ringed finger and saying “but no, not for you.”

5 Fascinating Food Facts (http://www.edenproject.com/blog/index.php/2012/06/fascinating-food-facts-and-how-to-feed-the-world )

1. Potatoes, wheat, rice, maize, beans, and bananas and plantains are the key crops that feed the world. Out of the tens of thousands of edible plant species on the planet, just a chosen few have been bred, spread and cropped.
2. Rice is the world’s number-one food crop, feeding around half the global population.
3. Today, in the 21st century, there is enough food to go round but nearly one billion people worldwide go to bed hungry. Around 50% of food grown is wasted: between soil and shelf, between shelf and plate, on the plate, in the bin.
4. One in three African smallholder farmers are women. Providing women farmers with the same access to resources as men could increase crop yields by 20-30%.
5. Only a dozen countries produce the ‘big three’ (wheat, rice and maize) on a large scale for export, meaning many people across the world are reliant on them and that their food prices are affected by spikes in financial markets. International food prices of some basic foods – such as rice, wheat and maize – are set to more than double by 2030. Investing in small-scale agriculture helps these small farms grow food.

I woke up grumpy. Yesterday I decided that enough was enough. Quit saying it is a cool idea to go a month with only rice and beans. Quit writing it on your to do list for eventually and just do it. So I cooked a pot of rice and a pot of beans. And realized I don’t even know how to do that, because at home we use a rice cooker (how long? How much water?) and beans…well, I learned how to do them in a pressure cooker (and that was still iffy). Waking up to the knowledge that you will only have rice and beans available is not fun. It just makes things a little heavier.

So I am letting myself put ONE thing in my rice and beans each meal. For breakfast, it was rice with a lil bit of sugar. And tea. I figure tea is about as universal as rice and beans. But that is it. Hmmm. What for lunch? Oh, I know…rice and beans. Snarky. I am a bit snarky as well.

At least with fasting (when I don’t eat anything) I feel like I have a valid reason to complain. Now I don’t even have that—I am only fasting from excess, nothing else. I have food. I can fill my belly at any moment. And that, it seems, makes things even harder.

In simple words, it takes away a pleasure. It is a simple pleasure to eat, and have flavors and texture and colors and all those things that please our appetite. And being poor takes that away. There is precious little that is free—no wonder those in poverty have so many kids—sex is one “free” pleasure. In a base way of thinking, when you don’t have anything but other people, you can still do that.

Eating is a pleasure we are given. Eating what we want to eat even more so. when you are hungry, or limited, everything turns to food: “oh, there is a party tomorrow—cake!”  “Oh, I will be going to so and so’s house—dinner! “ And so on. And then my face falls because I remember—oh yeah. Rice and beans. Rice and beans it is.

Top most popular foods in the world (http://www.china.org.cn/top10/2011-06/28/content_22875896.htm ):

1. Pasta
2. Meat
3. Rice
4. Pizza
5. Chicken
6. Fish and seafood
7. Vegetables
8. Chinese food
9. Italian food
10. Mexican food

I’ve been eating rice and beans all my life. My mom makes great rice and beans. I never thought there was anything odd about eating rice and beans until my friend, age 14, came over to my house and had never eaten rice before. I began to notice that perhaps I was a little different.

I’ve been eating rice and beans on an almost daily basis for around ten years now, as I have gone back and forth from Northeast Brazil and served there. I learned that there is nothing that smells better than a big pot of Brazilian beans cooking on a hungry afternoon. I have seen the poverty around me that brings me to my knees.

A couple of years ago, a friend told me of her idea for her family to eat only rice and beans for one evening a week, to sit down and remember the other half of the world that lives on the buying power of $2.50 a day or less. To identify with the 1.4 billion people who live off of less than $1.25 a day, and what most of them eat: only rice and beans. I thought that was beautiful.

Since then, I’ve been hearing of people eating only rice and beans for a time, to donate the money saved, and to learn a little more of what poverty is like. To those in poverty, this may seem like insignificant baby steps—but we have to learn how to walk some way, and I would rather fall moving in the right direction. I put it on my list of things to do this year. And the time to talk about it over, the time to do it is now. So here I am.

The Challenge: one month of rice and beans (September 13-October 12, 2012). There are many different forms of this that people have done, and churches that have hosted these fasts. Here are some well organized sites that explain how they did it:

1. http://www.solidrockinternational.org/riceandbeans
2. http://prairieprincess.hubpages.com/hub/The-Rice-and-Beans-Challenge

3. http://irememberthepoor.org/2009/02/05/rice-bean-reflections-from-other

The first week I am going cold turkey: just rice and beans. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I have learned that when you don’t have—you DON’T HAVE. I am allowing myself one “seasoning” for each meal (salt, onion, garlic), and occasionally some tea. This is like the 1.4 billion people who live off of $1.25 a day.

For the following three weeks, I will eat rice and beans, but can be creative (within reason) about it. This is like half the world (over 3 billion) who live off of $2.50 a day (and most of the people I work with in Brazil). I am hoping this will give me a lot of good ideas to share with my friends about what they can do with their rice and beans. Cheers to a new project!

I asked Mona Lisa (yes, that is her name) how school was—she said they were on strike. In Brazil, the government often just doesn’t pay the teachers. For a long time. I am sure there are plenty of political reasons behind this, but whatever excuse is bologna to me because this is education we are talking about. And it happens enough to think there is corruption behind it. So paychecks just won’t arrive. For one month, two, three…the teachers start saying “then no, we won’t teach!” Some of them continue teaching, for their students—and so you might have one, two classes a day, and then they are sent home.

It is hard for the poorer students to get to and from school—especially if the bus drivers go on strike as well. All that effort for just a class or two? And then there is the pressure to work since there isn’t school since there is so much need at home. And once the children start working…well, they very rarely stop to go back to school. And so the cycle continues.

This week, the children at the trash dump went to school and had two classes and were sent home. This is a normal week. Normal procedure for Brazil. And you wonder why even 28% of public school children in Brazil graduate. The official illiteracy rate for Brazil is 10%, but in the poor areas of Northeast Brazil it is closer to 30-40% from my calculations. The higher literacy rate in the rest of the country averages it out.

Today I set out to get individual pictures, names, and birthdays of the children at the dump. Most don’t know their birthdays, so about half of them went running off to find their mothers, because the idea of getting to celebrate their birthday was enough motivation to find out. The other half of them told me their “birthdays:” 5 of the children have birthdays on Sao Joao (June 24), three on Children’s day (October 12), and two on Christmas. This reinforces my idea that Brazil runs on celebrations—from one to the next. Even the mother’s don’t remember the exact date, just the closest celebration—and so that becomes their birthday.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this LASIC surgery. I have dreamed of not having glasses ever since I got glasses. When I was 15 and first saw the billboard for LASIC eye surgery, I knew I wanted it. I planned. I schemed. But to no avail. My parents said my eyes had to finish growing first. In my 20s, I thought about it, but managed pretty well with my contacts. All my money was going directly into my trips to Brazil anyways. Two years ago I got serious. I made the appointment and had my eyes checked—yes, I could have the surgery. Next Friday? $2800. I couldn’t justify that much money on myself. I didn’t have that much money.

This summer Supercamp offered me a good paying job in Hong Kong. With the money, I decided to make LASIC a priority. And June 18^th, 2012 the deed was done. 36 seconds of laser in each eye. It was all so easy I wondered if it was a scam. The price went down as well.

The recuperating days were harder than I had thought. I had to get the PRK since one eye is oddly shaped, and I have abnormally large pupils. Did you know that? I have abnormally large pupils. Isn’t that interesting? But it means the surgery takes longer to heal. And I had 4 days of quasi-blindness and no strenuous activity. I realized everything in my life involved my eyes and strenuous activity. Except for listening to music and radio theater. But even that gets old.

It took a month and a bit, each day different—some better, some worse, but then I didn’t notice anymore. I could see. And it is something you love without learning how. Only in the little moments did I notice it—when I woke up and fumbled for my glasses…oh, no more of those! When I could use sunglasses. When I was at the beach—I’d never been in the water where I could still see well—it was amazing.

Something I didn’t account for was my self-confidence. I’ve always felt self-conscious in my glasses, but have worked hard to get over that. One boy called me “four-eyes,” and it only took one. I figured that my confidence would rise without having to use glasses or have the constant worry of contacts. True, but it affected me more in a different way. For the first time in my life, I made the choice to invest in myself. A significant amount of money for nothing necessary—only a desire. I was saying, loud and clear to myself, that I was worth the investment. I was worth investing in. and that is powerful.

In Brazil I appreciate LASIC more than ever. The convenience in a place where I am very mobile and staying different places and plans that always change at last minute—it relieves so much stress to not have to worry about contacts or glasses. But even more so is with the children.

I work in hot, humid, and dirty conditions. I take multiple showers a day when working. The roads to get to the children are dusty in summer and mud in rainy season. Daily sun and sweat gathers everywhere. If I choose glasses, they slide down my face and get smudged by a thousand tiny fingers. If contacts, my eyes burn red from the dirt that gets perpetually blown into my face. It is something simple, little—my eyes—but such a difference. And to have one less thing to worry about lets me focus more on what is important: sharing God’s love with these precious children. My gratitude cup is full.

Being gone and coming back so often makes things different/difficult for me. And the kids never really know about me. Then again, they never really know about anyone, so that isn’t new for them.

When I am finished visiting homes, I put down my bags and go straight to the shower to wash off. My legs, my flip flops, my hands, my feet…covered with dust and dirt from all over. I can feel the dirt in my ears and nose and my eyes are dry as I wash my face again. I have to wash it all off. But not my thoughts. I keep them.

11 birthdays in Paudalho, where I still keep in contact with the children from the Living Stones that closed in 2010. Mercia was home; she is my constant. The girl who was always there, but never really talked—she has been my truest friend and helper these years since the program ended, due to political corruption and reorganization.

Mercia is doing good, and I talked to her about her brother Marcone. Marcone is deaf. He came up to me today and gave me a handshake. This is the first time he has ever done that without a lot of coaxing, and I appreciate the effort. No one knows when his birthday is, but I am determined to celebrate it.

“So Mercia,” I ask his sister, “What is Marcone’s favorite day?” “Probably children’s day.” “Fine then. Since no one knows Marcone’s birthday, we are going to say it is on October 12^th, Children’s day. I will come by then to celebrate.” And so, that is how it is done. I don’t know how else to do it. What do you do for someone who doesn’t have a birth certificate, and no one knows where his mother is? Mercia is the closest thing he has to a mother.

Cleyton’s house. Everyone in the neighborhood knows me, because I am the only one who keeps coming around. “Tia Ha-kel!” they call as I pass. Cleyton and his sister Morgana are very intelligent. They have gotten into an all-day program school, but are off this morning to study. They tell me with shining eyes that the students with the best grades may be chosen for an exchange program to the USA. “Well, you have a friend who speaks perfect English, if you need any help.” I add.

The “Birthday party” is something simple, but effective. Say hello, give them a card and present, sing happy birthday with whoever happens to be around, put on the party glasses and take a picture. Then talk about what’s been going on in their lives while I cut them some birthday cake. This often happens in the middle of the road because there is no room in the small houses.

I missed a lot of birthdays while I was gone, so I am doing catching up today. No one seems to mind I have the wrong day. Many of them didn’t remember the right day. All around the birthday stops, I pause to say hello and check in with the families I remember. They still ask me when the project will begin again—they’ve been waiting two years.

The sun is getting hotter as I walk towards Vera’s house. She is getting older. They all are. She has a boyfriend now. She tells me her sister, Alexandra, just had her second baby, at age 16. Rafael is taller than me now. His brother Daniel has a birthday coming up in two days, but he is out and about and cannot be found. I stand on the porch until the neighbor yells over, “let the girl come in—she is tired!”

Getting Rafael to put on the glasses and take a picture was a challenge, since he is 15 now, but getting him to open the card was almost impossible. I tried to hide my embarrassment for him as I realized a little too late—it was because he doesn’t know how to read.

“You don’t remember us, huh?” Calls out a voice from Isac’s home, as I almost pass it up. His mother remembers me and calls me in for a minute. I meet Rafael Jose’s mother and she glows with pride for her son—who is worth it—working every weekend in Recife to bring money home for their family. At the corner bar is two video games, and I find Cesar there. Cesar, my favorite. Cesar, all grown up. I am almost reconciled to the fact that he isn’t my lil boy yet, but not quite. He in return, still gives me a good hug and stops playing his video game to tell me he is doing well, still going to school, and happy to see me. I turn to go and he calls out “Come around again soon!” which makes me smile on the whole motorcycle ride to the other part of town where more kids live.

The road out to Belem, that part of town, is a dusty mess, and it isn’t even dry season yet. In rainy season it is a pile of mud. When I knock on the door, one of the girls answers because Rosane is sleeping. She wakes up and says she is a bit sick, but she smiles because she knows I am here for her birthday. This mother of 8 children—all of them who were in the project and who I know well—told me her birthday too, with strict instructions not to forget her.

She is excited about the birthday card, and wonders what the $1 bill is. I explain it is a present from my sister, for her to remember that people all over the world are praying for her and her family. She fiddles around with the lotion I gave her, trying to figure out how to use the fliptop. She hasn’t had one of those before.

The other girls are at school, but I give their cards and presents to their grandmother. Risonaide, today is her 16^th birthday, and she is 3 months pregnant. She is doing well in school, for now. I wonder what it would be like to be 16 and pregnant.  I didn’t know anything when I was 16. I walk along the dusty road as truck after truck from the factory passes and blows dust over me until I choke. I flag down a motorcycle to take me to the next home.

Last house is my girls. No birthdays there, I just want to see them, and since I have leftover birthday cake, I want to share. My girls are Karla, Rosilda, Mariana, Camila, Josefa, and Rosana, and one more…Like the seven dwarfs, I always seem to forget one name… seven girls under age 13. Rosilda meets me coming down the road. She runs along the road barefoot and takes my bag for me. The rest of the girls have only their underwear on, and the neighbor kids look on at us with hungry eyes.

They invite me into their sparse house, which has one ratty couch. I stand, because there are so many of us, but am corralled to sit—once I do, I realize the couch is wet, and I hope to God it isn’t pee. Whatever it is, I will wash it off later, and try to ignore it for now.

Their mother and I have a nice relationship, and their father is also around today (I’ve only seen him one other time). I pass out cake and talk about China and hear about their adventures. Josefa will always be my favorite as she bounces around and looks in my bags for something fun. I tell them we must do something fun for Children’s day, so we schedule a time where I will bring snacks and games and we will all go swimming in the lake. “Don’t forget!” they cry out as I turn to leave. I won’t. I can’t.

I planned a special class for Cajueiro—on Thursday, to do the “star of the week” and music. So I brought my cd player. Great day for Flavio to forget me and have a meeting. So I arrived and the boys were around, but no key, no nothing. So I sat down and thought, and by then all the kids come running, so we have about 11. Then one and gets the key from the cook down the way, and we sorta have our “projeto” anyways. Milena was star of the week, and I must say, it wasn’t easy for everyone to think of something nice to say about her. “she doesn’t stick her tongue out at people” to “she is special because God made her” (I helped with that one.

Then the boys played soccer while the girls and I practiced English and sang songs. I taught them the cupid shuffle and then we did the tango line around the church to “Waka Waka. ”I got rides from motos passing me on the way home, so didn’t have to walk too far carrying all my bags. That was nice. Very nice.