Loss in a Time of Covid: The good, the bad, and the out of one's control

In mid-February, I went for lunch with my grandmother. I never imagined that dessert would be followed with news that she was sick. I equally did not anticipate her request not to tell a soul, unless she could tell them in person. At the time, my brother was away, so you can imagine how hard it was not only receiving that news, but to keep it hidden from Michael, for a week or so.

That drive home and the rest of the day is a blur. My heart was broken for my sweet Myrtle - just 6 weeks away from her 93rd birthday, and about the amount of time her prognosis was initially given.

To make matters worse, just two weeks before her birthday, Nova Scotia entered into a “two week” lockdown to help reduce the spread of Covid-19. This would mean I’d most likely miss her birthday for the first time in years, or at least when I was in the country. Time was of the essence and this staying the blazes home wasn’t really working for me.

But my Gran and I maintained contact throughout the months of quarantine that followed, through daily phone calls, and the occasional grocery drop off. I found it difficult not to drive down for our regular weekend visits, but was happy to have what communication we had - particularly as she seemed to surpass the expectation of the remainder of her life.

Then, before I knew it, we were permitted to visit with a small number of people. Grammy, of course, was top of my list. In fact, during Ramadan this year, “Hug my Gran” was the first item on my list of things to accomplish after lockdown. That first hug was EVERYTHING.

Throughout the summer, we spent time chatting about nothing over coffee, going on random adventures, and feeling grateful for the time we were now able to share. We were, in fact, making up for lost time.

Near the end of July, the climate crisis and the realities of Covid caught up to me, and I took several days off with the intention of plunking myself in the woods for a few days, without any contact from the outside world - just me, my thoughts, a forest of trees, a book, and a pen and paper. But as luck would have it, a man fled police custody on charges of attempted murder, and was hiding out in the very woods I was supposed to be. All of the emotions I was trying to keep in came flooding out, and I found myself, instead, in the comfort of my grandmother’s home along the South Shore.

On the first night of our three-day sleepover, I told her we were going out for the evening. We had dinner at home, and promptly jumped into the car. I took her to Peggy’s Cove, which is just a short drive from her home. We found a quiet spot away from the crowds, and for which, would accommodate our bottoms and we watched the sun set. She admitted she had never witnessed the sunset from this location. I was dumbfounded, as it was so close and she and my grandfather would go for sunrise each year on Easter Sunday.

As we sat, we talked about how the world had changed over her lifetime. We talked about how lucky we were to live in a part of the world that was home to so many people of different backgrounds, interests, and journeys. We talked about climate change, what the future might look like, and how beautiful the sun was tucking itself into the ocean. I left Peggy’s Cove that night thinking, if she passes tonight, my heart will be at peace.

But lo and behold, she exceeded all expectations. The summer transitioned into fall, and in that time we had many more days out, sleepovers, coffee, and conversation.

Last week, I received a message from my aunt telling me that my Gran was asking for me. I promptly left work and made my way down to my grandmother’s. When I arrived she was sound asleep. I didn’t wake her, but instead spent this time chatting with my aunt and helping her with a few little things around the house. And then Grammy awoke.

We spent the next hour chatting. I recorded most of the conversation, asking her questions about her first date with my grandfather, regret, her greatest accomplishment, and her life, more generally. I will treasure those recordings for years to come. It was my last conversation with her. 

Three days later, my brother called and told me I needed to come down. It was a miserable, rainy day and I was hesitant. But I made the drive. It took me longer than usual, but I will forever be grateful for doing so. She passed away about an hour after I arrived. My brother held her hand and I sat next to them both as she took her last breath. Finally, she was at peace and (hopefully) reunited with her beloved Jimmy.

I have experienced a lot of loss in my life. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, friends, and my mother. All mostly sudden. All met with varying levels of shock. This time was, and is, different. Of course I miss her, and will continue to do so, but my gratitude and relief for her to no longer be suffering has outweighed any sadness. Why do we allow ourselves to accept this end of life for the humans we love, but not other species we feel equally fond of?

Usually in my experience, the days following a death are met with a busy schedule of phone calls to family and close friends, making funeral arrangements and a long list of preparations that are unknowingly exhausting until after everything has been completed. But with Covid, there is no funeral to plan. A 5 people maximum hardly sounds like the right way to say so long to a woman who was regarded by so many at such a level. Plus, many of our family members are not in the province, and therefore, are unable to come home.

The morning after she passed, I spent most of the day feeling lost. The post-death routine wasn’t possible - so what does one do? Do I go to work? Should I be struck with grief? Should I be helping to plan something? Everything seemed off. Even how others support you is different - which as an omnivert, the more introverted part of me was thrilled not to have people coming to my house dropping off lifetime supplies of lasagna (still happily willing to accept any you want to send my way, though!!).

The truth is, my Gran deserved better than this scenario. All around. But, when it’s safe to do so, and everyone can come home, we will give her a proper send off. We will gather, swap stories and share moments of both tears and laughter. But until that time can happen, I am grateful for the bonus months we had this year, that I was with her in the end, and for the many things she imparted on me. She was, in short, the Matriarch. The strongest, most stubborn, classy, and glass half-full woman I have ever known. My heart. My hero.

- Myrtle’s granddaughter.

COVID Chronicles Part 8: The things you can’t unsee

Have you ever had one of those moments when someone makes a really innocent comment that leads you to unload all the fear you’re holding inside?

I sure have. And as recent as last week.

I don’t even remember the context for which the topic came up, but I commented on a weird pattern of weather events that had occurred earlier in the year, which, in that moment hit me like a ton of bricks and I verbal (via text) diarrhea-ed my soul without any invitation. Truth be told - I still feel awful about that. But, it also allowed me to recognize the toll these last few months have had on me.

The weather events in question are the last snowstorm and first heatwave of the year. They happened 3 weeks apart. And the more I have thought about this fact, the more frightened I become of what’s ahead.

Before I get into that, I want to rehash a bit of the unload. I have previously alluded to part of this in my first post at the onset of the pandemic, and that is having already lived in a climate changed world. I shared with this particular individual about witnessing the speed in which the rainy seasons shifted hastily from two per year to maybe one; about the impact on farmers and the economy. I shared about the inability to unsee the impacts of climate change once you begin to recognize it happening around you. And I shared how afraid I am to see the same happen here, in Nova Scotia, only to, once again, find myself in a position to be unable to do anything about it. Because once it hits, there is no turning back. It’s game over.

But the more I thought about the events that bookcased those three weeks noted above, the more I consider the circumstances that took place before the middle of May. We’ve been in lockdown starting the week of March 16th. Our world in this tiny province came to an abrupt stop. And like so many other parts of the world, on a climate-level at least, we started to see positive changes. People didn’t need to drive every where, every minute of the day. We ventured outside more, for the sake of being outside. We began to refocus our attention on supporting local businesses. We adjusted our way of life.

I have experienced cyclical periods of optimism and dismay during these last few months. They have given me time to pause, reflect, and consider the future. But nothing has been as striking as the other day when it dawned on me - those events occurred after a change in our behaviour.

For the last couple of days, I have sat with my thoughts for some time and pondered how things may have been different had the pandemic not set in. Would that three week period have happened in the same way? Would it have been worse, had we not given Mother Earth a moment to breathe? Or did we make it worse?

I don’t have the answers to this. But what I can tell you is that this is my unseeable moment. Climate change has found us in a way we can no longer turn a blind eye to. Sure, there have been other obvious indicators in the past, but this is the one that will stick; for me at least. I can no longer deny what’s happening around me. This is a painful reality.

The most difficult part of working in the realm of climate change, is that there is never a clear cut or easy answer. Every single decision unleashes any number of equally terrible outcomes. For example, we place great weight on solar panels (I myself am quite keen to live in a house powered by solar energy!). And yes, they do have a positive impact on reducing GHG emissions once they are on our rooves. However, getting them to that point requires significant extraction of resources, plus the use of  some heavy chemicals in order to manufacture the panels, and then there’s the whole process of transporting and installing them. But rarely do we discuss that side of it.

In saying that, there is a very real possibility that our global lockdown has, in fact, increased the intensity and impacts of climate change. This relates to global dimming, the resurfacing of gasses previously stored in bodies of water and in the atmosphere due to pollution, and the abrupt shift at which we went from 100 to 0. This is precisely what I meant by, would we have seen such a drastic change in weather patterns if we had continued with “business as usual” or did we make it better or worse?

I realize that these intertwined contradictions are, for many, the reason we have such skepticism. Climate change is sort of like beating a difficult level of a video game, only to then have to face “a boss” without any cheat codes. We have the knowledge and the skills to beat the worst of it, but I mostly fear that we will lose the fight due to the overwhelm and exhaustion of the constant uphill battle that is climate change. This is why I continue to be inspired by younger generations, and love working with students eager to make a difference. The social justice sphere comes with a high rate of burnout. It can be soul crushing, although when breakthroughs happen, they are magnificent. But it also stresses why it’s so important to have new blood entering the playing field continuously. We can’t do it alone. This is a tag-team scenario. And if we keep up that momentum, maybe we’ll have a fighting chance of sustaining long-term human life on our planet.

- the Orange Canadian

COVID Chronicles Part 7: 2 steps forward, 100 years back

When I first heard word that the Town of Wolfville was about to undertake a bold plan to transform it’s downtown core into a one-way system that would focus on pedestrians and active transportation options, my heart stopped. I was so overcome with hope and joy, because this beloved little town is a place I spent some significant years of my life, but I’ve mostly avoided since, due to the chaotic nature of the traffic in the area. However, in the time since this switch took place, I have spent more time in Wolfville than I probably have in the last number of years. It was easy to walk around. Easy to navigate, and not once did I have trouble finding a parking spot.

For those of you not in the know, Wolfville is home to Acadia University, some of the most breathtaking views, and a number of small businesses. It brings in countless tourism dollars, is the birthplace of grapenut ice cream, and has been the underlying source of inspiration for many careers in all manner of industries, from arts to business to politics to science, and everything in between.

There is no doubt that traffic issues in Wolfville are the bane of almost everyone’s existence. But in a time when traffic numbers are down significantly, we’re in need of a little bit of space, and some physical activity could go a long way, the idea of shutting down one lane to make room for people instead of cars was an exciting undertaking by Town Council. As someone working in the field of climate change, I understand the significance and impact of every trip in my car. I’ve calculated down to the 10th of a tree what it takes to remove the equivalent carbon, and this move by Council made me think, if we can make this work, all of the other things we are facing are that much closer within reach.

Unfortunately, not everyone felt as elated as I did. In fact, a core group of people rallied against council, in a mostly disrespectful and disappointing manner. It has always struck me as funny that people become so unreasonable and un-human whenever someone is brave enough to take on the norm. To me, threats, name calling, etc., is not part of the democratic process. And that these were made by adults, makes it all the more disgusting. And yet, Council moved forward with this plan, anyway, and again, I was filled with hope.

Having worked on climate related projects for the better part of a decade (officially), finding hope at the best of times is often a challenge. Our planet is changing at rates that are so devastating it’s hard to believe it’s possible to make even an ounce of difference at times. But that never stops us from trying. Amidst a pandemic (which is very much a part of that whole “climate change conspiracy” thing), finding hope is even more difficult, and admittedly, I have questioned on more than one occasion if this is truly a world I want to continue living in. For the record, I don’t. That’s why I am working so hard to make whatever change I can and to celebrate the few times that wins - no matter how small - are on the horizon.

So yesterday morning - when I (regretfully) opened up Facebook to read the update that only 3 weeks after actioning this people-focused plan, they were going to be tearing it down - my heart sunk. I’ve been on such a high for the last few weeks (despite my need for a break last week). Work has been good. Life has been good. And in the last couple of days my heart has hurt less, and my sense of hope has returned in a way I have missed. But after reading once sentence, it all went away again. Closed-minded, negative folks - +4 kajillion. Climate change, progressive action - -4 kajillion.

In no way am I saying that the plan was perfect. No plan ever is. But sadly - like so many other great ideas aimed at making the world better - its success was determined long before it was ever even actioned, and all because of our obsession with convenience and our sense of (greatly undeserved) entitlement. This is why we can’t have nice things (including a healthy planet that can provide us with all we need and more).

I have spoken with a number of people that have wholeheartedly opposed this initiative. I listened to their point of view (and probably did a bad job of responding to them, in exchange for their kindness to shed light on how they saw the situation - even if I truly did appreciate it). I considered it for a few days, even weeks. And while I do feel some of their points were valid, to me, the overarching possibility still outweighed the minimal chance of many of those concerns happening. Again - many were valid, but not all were realistic in terms of likelihood (possible, but not likely). I still don’t understand how anyone can quickly dismiss something at this rate, without giving it a try.

If this pandemic (which is still happening, in case you forgot!) teaches us anything, it should be that we are utterly FiretrUCKED and that we no longer have time to mess around. There has never been a more crucial point to step out of our comfort zone than right now. And once again, we’ve proven we are not capable of making change. Change that will be necessary to sustain life on this planet. The same lives we claim we care about when clinging to our current and outdated ways.

- the Orange Canadian

COVID Chronicles Part 6: Poverty, burnout, and a loss of hope

I was doing so well with writing out what I was observing and feeling at the onset of the pandemic. It was a productive way for me to cope and focus my energy in a more positive way. But when the BLM protests began across the US and much of the world, the overwhelm at the bigger picture unfolding around me was too much for me to process.

In Nova Scotia, things have slowly been reopening, starting with countless businesses and services. Most recently, the province opened its borders to the rest of the Atlantic Provinces (Newfoundland, New Brunswick and PEI). All of these decisions are indicative of a step in the right direction. We’ve been permitted to see friends and family, explore our “backyards” and feel a bit of freedom. And with it, a growing proportion of the population has voiced concern for what that will mean in both the immediate and long-term outlook with Covid.

I have to say, I am not on the side of anxiousness at this news. It is great to see so many friends have the chance to hug their loved ones and/or open up the doors to their businesses once again. There is a certain level of hope and comfort that comes from that - for me, at least.

But I have to admit, I am not immune to anxiety within the wider sense of this situation. While things open up, and I see those around me going back to their pre-Covid routines and activities, that comfort is quickly turned into fear. I know this is partly the signs of burnout, from all of the many things happening around me and not having the right outlets for me to channel it. But it’s also a consequence of the nature of my work, and the realization that we, as a species, are not great at staying the course or change more broadly.

I have made it quite clear going into the pandemic that this was an opportune time to address the many inequities of our planet. Speaking mostly from a climate lens, I saw this as perhaps, nature's way of cleaning house. I fully anticipated to say goodbye to loved ones - and I may very well have to yet. I also hoped we would see the error of our ways, as we collectively watched in horror at the events happening around the world. And yet, I feel more hopeless than I have at any point in my career in this particular field.

Over the course of the last few months, I have quite blatantly, been accused of harbouring a selfish mentality towards the potential of contracting the virus. I’ve had several people tell me that by not being concerned about my own wellbeing, or by sharing that globally, the planet could do with a mass reduction in population, that I was not being a good human. And to those folks, I’d say you’ve missed my point. I am very much concerned about lives of the people around me - my friends, my family, and the many random strangers that I’ve encountered throughout my life. While I may be lax on my own concern of contracting the virus, I’ve followed the rules so that those around me would be safe.

The truth is, at least from how I see it, there is a far greater loss of life on the way - though it’s not directly at the hands of Covid, but rather an offshoot. While most people seemed to be concerned about the here and now, my concerns have always been with what the longer-term impacts are likely to be.

If the BLM movement is teaching us anything, it’s that there are imbedded inequities that exist in every system and structure within our society. In fact, the environmental justice movement was born out of racial injustice in the United States in the mid-1960s. Climate change and social justice are inextricably linked. They coexist, if you will. And what makes this so important, is that right now, we have an opportunity to address both. But we won’t.

I went for a walk with a friend a few weeks ago and we talked about the political and economic implications of our current scenario. We talked about how those with jobs or big savings will come out of this on top. They have been and will continue to easily access their basic and not-so-basic needs just fine. But it’s the proportion of our population that was already at a disadvantage that are going to suffer - and in ways that are not only unimaginable, but unacceptable.

I believe that in the coming months, as the proverbial dust settles, we’re going to see higher instances of death by suicide. I believe domestic violence rates are going to skyrocket more so than we’ve already seen happen. And I believe we will see a significant number of people die at the hands of poverty - in whatever form you want to look at that from. But this isn’t an “us vs. them” scenario or a “here vs. there.” We will witness neighbours and friends - not just those we’ve been trained to equate with these inequities. Yes, I think Africa and much of Latin America are going to be at a massive disadvantage when it comes to lives lost. But I also think it is naive to dismiss this very thing as potentially happening here, closer to home.

I worry about the single parents who, like my own mother, had to make difficult choices everyday, like whether to pay the power bill or feed her children. I worry about how food and energy security* will place further stresses on families at growing rates, for which we have not previously experienced (thinking specifically about the West). And what I worry about the most, is that we have the tools to alleviate this - on a global scale - but we have yet to learn that the many challenges facing us today are not siloed, rather they are a symptom of the other.

So how do we fix it? How do we shift away from focusing on what we can’t do and move towards the steps forward? In all honesty, I don’t know anymore. In my head it is overly simplistic, but then again, I don’t have a political agenda. I truly just want everyone to get along and find the solutions together. The reality is, the solutions are far more complex than we realize and yet are staring right in front of us.

If we look at how many are reacting to the pandemic, you don’t have to wait long to witness someone willing to bend the rules for their own ease or convenience. They think they are above the rules. They are putting the rest at risk. And this is where I differ. I’m not concerned about my personal wellbeing.  I am, however, deeply concerned for the wellbeing of others and how they will survive these next few years. I am willing to give up my freedoms for the greater good. But those who see wearing a mask for 30 minutes as an attack on their rights are the perfect example of why my hope for action and a better way forward sinks lower every day. We are inherently selfish beings. We couldn’t even go a day without leaving our homes unnecessarily. We are reminded numerous times a day to wash our hands, and then given instructions to remind us how to do it properly. So how are we supposed to solve the complexity of a climate crisis, if we can’t even follow two simple directives?

I need a break from all of this to clear my head. To find some rest, and some peace. Time to find my breath...

- the Orange Canadian

*In my own county, 46% of the population is considered energy insecure. This means that at least 10% of their income goes to paying in-home energy costs. And this was pre-Covid - Imaging what that could look like in a year from now.

#AllBlackLivesMatter: Hypocrisy in a Racial Revolution

As I scrolled through my social media feeds on Tuesday, I was immediately filled with a sense of hopefulness at the continuous streams of black squares that flooded my screen. The only posts that seemed to defer from this trend were those continuing the education process, and the plethora of advertisements from companies that seem to think I’m interested in their products, but are actually fairly irrelevant to me. To see so many people taking a pause from their daily postings to focus the energy, globally, on a long-overdue conversation, well that’s something I never expected to see; especially while coinciding with the pandemic.

But recently two places have become frequent overthinking hotspots for my brain - my morning run and the shower. While partaking in both of these activities my mind is in overdrive and I find myself becoming increasingly angry about the things happening in the world today. And on Tuesday, despite the above return of hope, it just as quickly washed away.

I have been struggling with the myriad of social media postings over the last week or so. On the one hand, happy to see a conversation starting; on the other, questioning the intent behind each one. Is it because it’s trendy and could lead to increased likes (after all, this is what matters most in our virtual society!), or is it because there is a real drive to see change? Even my own posts, I’m questioning whether or not I should be posting or if my voice is really needed for this conversation.

So as I scrolled through those feeds filled with black square after black square, I took note of who was following along. And this led to my shower-time breakdown.

I don’t believe the people in my circle that are showing support for this movement are doing so as a form of personal or professional gain. I think there is a genuine care and concern for a better way forward. But there is a certain degree of hypocrisy within it all.

If I may shift to my African experiences for a moment, some of this frustration might become a little more evident. For, you see, every time I return from my latest adventure abroad - whether it’s a quick visit home from the continent or from travels related to work and play - I am greeted with questions and comments that are completely coloured in stereotypes and just plain ignorance. How do you get around? How do they communicate? What do you eat? Sure, these may seem like innocent conversation starters, but when they are met with shock when I respond with on roads with cars; cell phones; or witness disbelief that there are tomatoes in Africa, it hurts and it’s tiring. Or when I so-freely invite people to join me on a future trip, only to be told I don’t want to be surrounded by poverty on my vacation, it makes me realize just how much we are influenced by media on what the realities of life outside our Westernized, privileged bubble look like. I am all for helping the education process, and I understand not everyone has been as fortunate as I am to have travelled to many of the countries I am grateful to have lived or visited. But there comes a point when this just isn’t okay.

I realize that last part will sound like I am passive-aggressively calling some of you out for past conversations, but we have had those discussions face-to-faces and my frustration is not something I have hidden from you. I realize also that some of you are family or those I consider my closest friends. But I’m struggling to reconcile how you can indicate the injustices against Black people in the West are unfair, yet so quickly dismiss the injustices and stereotypes of those from the African continent.

We have grown up believing the messaging from a multi-billion dollar industry of poverty that shows us images of poor, starving Africans that are too malnourished and lacking in energy to swat away the flies that are resting on their faces*, in exchange for high-cost administrative fees that pay for Western jobs more so than helping to achieve the very outcome they are alleging to address. Messages that only perpetuate the reality of a continent held back by Western actions, rather than celebrating its innovation, beauty, and capacity.

I have struggled with living in Canada ever since I first returned from the continent I love so much. I struggle to reconcile these two realities. I struggle to understand how things can be applied to one but not the other. I struggle with the unwillingness to learn and grow from those who have real-lived experiences to share, to reshape how we see other parts of the world that may be different from our own. I struggle with having to question which stories and experiences to share, for fear that despite the hundreds of beautiful, inspiring and positive moments I proudly tell, it’s the infrequent moments of negative experiences that are the only thing people choose to remember. I struggle with showing proof that regardless of our origins, culture, differences, etc., that fundamentally, we are all the same and there is no reason to fear, judge or assume.

I struggle with hope. I struggle with seeing a positive future. I struggle to see the point of trying to make a difference if it is always going to be lost in the misinformation of our world.

I struggle with hope and I am tired.

And yet, my lived reality is one of privilege. I do not live in constant fear that my actions will lead to my demise. I do not live in fear that a misunderstood facial expression, my clothing choices, or simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time could lead to a jail sentence or worse. I do not understand how fear can be the basis of how we treat another human being, just as I do not understand what it is like to live a life other than my own.

I think it’s wonderful - truly - to see so many people outraged by recent world events. I think it’s wonderful to see an uprising all over the world to make changes that are generations too late. And I’m proud of those of you who are listening, learning, supporting, etc. But my hope, my ask, is that you apply this same outrage, concern, and desire to see kindness, justice and understanding to the many others who share a similar trait. Pigment.

- the Orange Canadian

*In no way am I attempting to assert that poverty does not exist in Africa. I am, however, trying to highlight that there is more to the continent than what media portrays it to be.

COVID Chronicles Part 5: Wash your hands, don’t be a Racist, and other lost common sense

Well, it’s been a tough week in North America. No - I’m not talking about the benefit concert that a number of African musicians put on to raise funds to help the UK and the US fight COVID (yes, that actually happened!). I’m talking about the recurring and ever-present existence of police brutality and  systemic racism more generally that we can’t seem to get away from.

I’m been following the news stories and posts on social media related to the incidents that took place early last week in the US, and I have been struggling to use my words to express how I’m feeling about it all. How does one articulate the outrage and heartache of a problem so imbedded in our everyday way of life that it is barely reported. How is it so normalized that when the guilty parties are actually held to account for their actions it is almost more shocking than the act that led them to that position in the first place? How have we still not figured out how to all get along and appreciate our differences, respectfully - whether it’s skin pigmentation, sexual preference, religion, geographical origin, culture, etc.?

The two incidents that happened last week in the US have left me dumbfounded. First - how could anyone feel threatened by a birder? This is the least threatening activity ever, aside from maybe napping. But also, how is speaking in a calm and respectful manner justification to call the cops? Second, how did that cop not know the impact the placement of his knee on that man’s neck would have? It’s all so illogical, that infuriating isn’t even the correct word. How are we still here? How is this still our world?

As a white person born and raised in Canada, my privilege has provided with me with a pretty safe existence. Have I experienced hardships? Absolutely. Being a female anywhere in the world comes with countless challenges. Growing up food insecure, also not the greatest situation. But in both of those scenarios, I still have (or had in the case of my experience living with poverty) it easier than an entire proportion of the population. Why? Because we don’t live in an equal society. And quite frankly - it’s bullshit.

As a white person who lived in Africa, there was always a weird juxtaposition at play. On the one hand, I was a minority for the first time in my life. On the other hand, the idolization of what it means to be white is so ingrained into society - globally - that we cannot escape our privilege. People would literally bend over backwards to help me, if I were to ask them to. I’ve also, unfortunately, been witness to countless incidents when the “expertise” of an ill-informed or less experienced white person (sometimes me) was considered higher-value, than that of the local, far more knowledgable expert. It drove me nuts, and ultimately, was a large part of why I inevitably left Africa and returned to Canada.

But we as Westerners also don’t shy away from the unequal playing field in these circumstances. This is noticeably observed in the disparity between living conditions and pay from local employees holding the same posting as an “expat.” I have never held a position that payed a considerably higher wage than my colleagues (in fact, in several cases, I didn’t get paid at all!). And even this is telling of my privilege - that I could afford not to be paid. But I am digressing...

One of the things I find difficult, is in the process of storytelling. By nature, I love to write and to share my experiences and tell the story. But as I developed this part of me, I was also struck with the sense that it was not my place to tell many of the stories I wanted to expose or share. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel they were worthy of being told, it’s that when I look back at so much of history, the stories of hardship, the realities of minorities have all too often been disseminated by white people, in a white voice. And who am I, the most translucent of the Caucasians, to write about or study and attempt to document - accurately - these voices, when these very voices are the ones that should be heard? Why aren’t they being heard without the involvement of someone else’s voice?

This has led me to an internal debate that has yet to find a conclusion - is it more important to have the message heard or have the it delivered by the voice of the message? I could argue both sides. I have, in fact.  But this still doesn’t solve anything. It doesn’t get to the root of the issue at hand, or does it?

When I put on my climate change hat, I have - and continue to - experience a rollercoaster of emotions since mid-March when lockdown became the norm. I've felt hopeful that change would happen, given the number of people who have prioritized being outdoors in meaningful ways. I've felt angry that people couldn’t make the link between climate change and COVID. I've felt overwhelmed by fear that I wouldn’t get to hug my loved ones again. And, more than I want to admit, I’ve felt apathy about the world around me. Yet, all of this, every emotion I’ve experienced over the last few months can be applied to the systemic racism that is sadly inherent in our society, but on a much larger scale.

Even when looking at the history of the environmental movement, we (rightfully so) give credit to Rachel Carson for kick starting things. Her work has changed how we look at chemical use in food production and beyond. She has helped to pave the way for meaningful action towards a healthier environment for all living species (not just us humans!) and sparked the creation of Earth Day (which just celebrated its 50th year!). But alongside the outrage that stemmed from her book Silent Spring (1962), was the onset of the Civil Rights Movement. If you think these two incidents are separate, you are terribly mistaken. Environmental justice (which is not focused on justice for the environment, but rather justice for those impacted by the destruction of the environment cause by others) as we know it today, was born at this same point in time. And it’s as much of an issue of systemic racism, as it is about saving the environment. Actually, it’s probably more relevant to the discussion of systemic racism than it is about the environment.

There is, right now, so much opportunity to change. We can change the way our economy operates. We can change the way we work, travel and play. We can change our education system. We can change the way our healthcare is delivered. We can change almost anything, because at no other point in time in recent history have we needed to rebuild our society almost from scratch to the extent we are seeing right now. And we’ve proven that we can play nice and work together to fight unprecedented things.

Look at the way countries are helping each other to understand this virus and to access testing, supplies, and other forms of aid. Look at the way we are mourning the loss of humans all over the world - not just the ones we know. Look at the increased outrage at how flawed health services are delivered. Look at the growing frustration of parents trying to work, parent and educate full time. Look at how we are seeing neighbours help their neighbours - many of whom had never spoken before. There is a growing momentum to break the status quo. There is also a growing urgency to do it now. And yet, I can’t help but feel, that at the end of the day, the fear of losing a privilege we have done nothing to earn is of higher importance, than the fear of changing nothing at all.

And that is why I continue to struggle to see hope for our future. This is why we have long been doomed as a species. Our priorities are wrong. Maybe they always have been. But I beg you to ask yourself - if not now then, when? When will it be any more convenient than right now to change the way we’ve been doing things? We can no longer be silent. We can no longer accept inaction. If not now... when?

COVID Chronicles Part 4: Reflections on a month-long, socially-strong observance, without the social

Yesterday marked the conclusion of Ramadan 2020.

I was so excited when I realized that this year, Eid al-Fitr fell on a Sunday, because after living in my house for 2 years, I was FINALLY going to have a party! But... you can guess how that turned out.

For those of you who aren’t in “the know” about Ramadan, it’s a month of fasting during the final month of the Muslim calendar. From sunrise to sunset, you are not permitted to eat or drink. And when the magical time finally arrives to break your fast for the day, it is usually met with a social event with friends, family and/or neighbours. But this year, things were much, MUCH different.

To back up a bit, a) I’m not a Muslim (I mean... have you SEEN how much I love bacon?) and b) this was not my first time observing Ramadan. My decision to participate, initially, was a mix of curiosity and having previously lived in Muslim communities while in Uganda. My first experience was so impactful, I’ve continued to join my Muslim friends and chosen family all over the world for this month-long journey.

But back to this year...

It never once occurred to me not to participate during a period of isolation. In fact, I was looking forward to the added element of increased routine and structure that was becoming increasingly difficult after weeks of being home-stayed. I knew I would have to cancel that party, but didn’t see any other reason why this year would be different from previous ones, aside from not being able to see people face-to-face.

Well, let me tell you - there wasn’t much that was similar about previous years, that’s for sure. I underestimated the power of social interaction during a month of fasting. Leading up to the start of Ramadan, I was working out with a few friends and family every morning. I also underestimated how much those few minutes of catch up before and after the workout were the much needed boost my mental health needed while being isolated. Sure - I’ve been having daily Zoom calls (sometimes more than one!), so I can see people, but it’s not the same. It get’s old and lonely pretty quickly to break your fast late at night all by yourself.

My willpower was also not as strong this year. I wanted to call it quits more times than I care to admit - but most especially in the final few days. It felt long. I experienced a new level of tired and emotional exhaustion, which, ironically, is not unlike what going without ones basic needs can also feel like. By the mid-way point, I vowed never to do this again.

But then something happened - we were permitted to see one other household! This meant I could see my brother and Beth. And although it meant they weren’t getting up with me at 3AM to workout, it did mean I could be with them on the weekends, including this past one, which fell in line with the end of Ramadan and Eid al-Fitr!

I was thrilled when they told me they would stay up past all of our bedtimes to break the final fast this past Saturday. We made a beautiful steak dinner - BBQed directly on the coals of the charcoal. We shared a few laughs and enjoyed every morsel of our dinner. It was the perfect conclusion to a month of increased isolation and decreased mental health.

Now imagine how much more excited I was when they both agreed to get up the next morning (yesterday) at an ungodly hour of the day to drive to a beach to watch the sunrise!

I had about 45 minutes to myself before they arrived, and I spent that time reflecting on the past month and all the struggles, growth and things that had been occupying my thoughts.

The sunrise was spectacular. It filled my heart with so much comfort and calm. A sense of hope I’d been struggling with off and on returned, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude from yet another year of Ramadan.

In previous years, I had recorded a list of things I was grateful for at each of the prayer times. This year, I made a list of things I wanted to do, achieve or work towards after COVID confinement passes or is at least reduced a bit more. That’s 150 things that I consciously thought about over the course of the month - though, in truth, there were many more ideas, I just didn’t want to write them down outside of being in the moment! And, let me tell you, there was no shortage of things to put on that list, but it’s a start nonetheless.

Just like in previous years, I gained a better understanding of who I am and who I am not. I grew a bit more. I became increasingly grateful for the things and folks in my life. I contemplated worst case scenarios and either decided they weren’t worth it, or have since chosen to be bold and proceed!

A lot has changed since Ramadan 2019. I have changed since Ramadan 2019. I am stronger, braver and in someways a little more understanding. But I think I’ve also become a little more guarded, grumpy and concerned about the insignificant impact I am likely to have in/on the world. I am surrounded, quite possibly, by some of the most incredible people - who challenge me to be better every single day; who listen when I need to vacate the anxiety, insecurity or anger that exists from time-to-time. I am surrounded by a beautiful landscape of ocean and agriculture (two of my favourite things!). I am healthy. I have a roof over my head, and can afford beyond simply meeting my basic needs. Despite how dark some days can seem, I am getting better at recognizing that they will pass. Even the days that are dreadfully long and uninspiring. And I am, once again, reminded that I am no closer to perfection than I was in years before.

How fortunate does all that that make me?

-the Orange Canadian