Carol Schillios accepts the humor and adversity of her quest to raise $1 million for cross-cultural relationship building.
Our friend and CFJ board member Denise Attwood sent the following post from her friend and fellow world traveler Carol Schillios.
A couple notes:
1) The context for Carol’s rain-soaked but funny misfortune is that she has committed to living on a tent on her roof in Edmonds until 1 million people donate $1 each to the Fabric of Life Foundation, a non-profit organization that Carol founded. The purpose of the foundation, and Carol’s self-enforced exile in her tent, is to support cooperative development projects around the world. You can read more about Carol and the Fabric of Life Foundation here.
2) Lest there be any confusion about the parable in Carol’s post and the implications of its publication here, I should be clear that the Center for Justice doesn’t condone bribery. On the other hand, dancing, especially in the rain, is something we deeply encourage.
Posted 9/09/09
It’s hard to believe it’s been 39 days living in my tent on the roof.
Yesterday in an interview, King 5 TV’s morning anchor Carolyn Douglas asked, “What’s the
toughest part about living up here?” My response, “the wind.”
The last three days I have cursed the wind. I have been buffeted by rain driven into every cranny by what seems like the angry hands of Zeus hurling insults. The 50 ft. tarp covering my tent flew off during the storm. Rain soaked everywhere before I finally captured a corner to secure the tarp.
So this is what the labor in Labor Day means.
By then it was 3:00 a.m. Monday with no full night’s sleep in sight for the third day in a row. The last straw came when I made a mad dash to the porta potty only to find my bathroom structure had collapsed with the flimsy “roof” barely attached. With what little dignity remained I sat in the rain thankful at least that it was too dark to be seen. At that moment the roof decided to collapse on my head.
I finally gave in. I took off my shoes, my wool socks and my knit hat. At 3:00 a.m. I danced around the rooftop in the rain. Go ahead and laugh. I did. Deep, breath-gasping, belly laughs. And it felt terrific. And I felt exhilarated.
I celebrated our capacity to handle whatever comes our way. And the choices we make to get through whatever happens with humour.
Sometimes you just have to accept what is. Like things one cannot control in other cultures.
I remember my naiveté, trying to tell my African colleagues in Mali, how the practice of paying bribes to police can only be stopped if one quits paying bribes. Silly me.
We were driving home from a field visit to the branch office of PIYELI savings and credit institution for which Kaaba is CEO. The light was just beginning to fade as we reached the capital city, Bamako. Of course my white face could still be seen in the car. As frequently happens, we were stopped by the police. The look on the officer’s face could only mean, “hand over money and no one will be delayed”.
Zachary and Kaaba exit the car, driving papers in hand. Lots of gesturing and shaking of heads. The bribe dance has begun. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Suddenly Kaaba and Zachary are moving quickly to the car, “Allons-y, Allons-y” and we’re driving off quickly.
“What happened? What happened?” I ask, my heart pounding with indignation.
“We paid him off and he let us go. Because it’s dark, we slipped him a 1,000 cfa note instead of 10,000 cfa and he doesn’t know it yet. We’re getting as far away as we can before he discovers it.”
At this point with my clearly superior, great white Western logic, I express that perhaps the practice of bribes would end if people would stop paying them. Kaaba and Zachary exchange patient looks and Kaaba says, “You explain it to her, Zachary.”
“If we don’t pay, he takes my papers. To to get them back, I must take a day off of work for which I am not paid, to go to court. I wait the whole day for my case to be brought before the judge. If I want it to be heard that day, I pay off the clerk. Then I pay off the police officer. Then I pay off the judge who then gives me back my papers. So what would you have me do? Follow your logic or mine?”
As we pulled into the office the rain began to fall in torrents. I took off my shoes and danced in the rain.
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