As we talked, a few children stopped by on errands from their mothers, and a friend stopped by to chat, taking a break from harvesting coffee. Oh, yes, coffee! Azucena grabbed a bag of local, freshly-ground coffee and gave it to me to take back home with me. We got talking about our Jewels for Schools program. I told Azucena that I donate 20% of my retail sales to educational programs  in the community where the jewelry was made. I asked her what she knew of the educational needs in her village. Turns out, she knows a lot, and is somewhat of a local advocate for education. From her position there on the street, she sees which kids are in school, and which ones aren't. In fact, she said, that boy she just waved to, Norman, should be in high school. He's a bright kid, but his parents can't afford the uniform, books, and transportation for him to attend the closest secondary school in town, about ten miles away (three miles walking, and seven by bus). A few dollars a month could make the difference between a future of poverty and a professional career for a kid like that. 

It was one of those moments when you realize that it's not all about the earrings. It's about finding ways to support people who want to, and are able to help their neighbors better than an outsider ever could, because they see that bright kid passing by on a school day and know why he isn't in school. 

Azucena was so excited to find a way that she can help kids like Norman finish his education! And since that time, she has started a "Saturday School," for kids who can't afford to go to school in town every day, to at least pick up some of the basics on weekends in their own community. She's even more "in the know" about which families need help, and which kids are the most likely to make use of a secondary education, if they could afford it. She's going to administer our Jewels for Schools program in her community, and I can't think of a better person to do it! To support this program in a natural, sustainable way, shop Azucena's one-of-a-kind earrings.

wood salad bowls, and those jute plant hangers from Bangladesh were the hot items). Finally came the opening day. I arrived early, made sure everything was ship-shape. Got out the cash box. Watered the plants. Set the atmosphere, with soft music on a little cassette tape player, sat down at the check-out desk, and waited for my first customer...and waited...and waited. Had some lunch. Waited some more...finally in the middle of the afternoon, a man appeared at the door. He opened it. He walked in. He was wearing pink fluffy bedroom slippers. He was a little bit nuts, and he was scary. He wanted to know if I sold women's underwear, because he loved it so much. He was my only customer that day, and he turned out to be harmless.
I had many days like that in that little shop in Chicago. But I also had lots of great conversations with people who really cared where they used their purchasing power, and loved the idea that we could "serve the poor" through business, even more effectively than with charity.  Since then fair trade has grown and changed. It's much more powerful and sophisticated. Now we have Facebook, Twitter, Etsy, Pinterest...and the guy in the pink fluffy slippers is on my browser, not in the same room with me. Which is a bit of a relief. But there is still that sense of anticipation...who is going to be my first customer on this new website? Won't you be the guy in the pink fluffy slippers this time?

As I sit here writing this first blog post for my new company, Omiyo, I am catching whiffs of the soup I just made from wilting vegetables and the smidge of pulled pork left over from Friday's dinner, flavored with bouillon purchased at the local "scratch and dent store (or did my friend LuAnne give that to me from her latest dumpster dive?). I call it Must-go Soup.  And no, this is not a food blog, thank goodness.

I'm frugal. A simple-liver. I committed to it in college, when I learned in sociology class that we in the United States are using up the lion's share of the world's resources. I started turning off lights. Eating less meat. Then I married a Mennonite, which sort of clinched it. Our poor kids were the last to have a home computer, cell phones. On the rare occasions when we frequent the drive-through to get soft drinks, we order one drink for each row of seats in the van. We're actually pretty cheap.

So, you may ask, why am I starting a company to sell jewelry, headbands, scarves...stuff people probably really don't need? Good question. I've been through this. I heard it a lot from customers when I managed a fair trade store for six years: "I really really love this thingamajig, but I just don't need it." No, I'm sure you don't. You probably have a closet like mine, full of stuff from your local thrift shop (OK, well, maybe yours comes from Macy's or whatever). In fact, when you clean out your closet, you may give your stuff to your local thrift shop, which, to tell the truth, is fuller than your closet, so that your stuff eventually gets baled up and sent off to Africa...where it shows up in the market. And guess what? It's cool again! It's American! It's cheaper than buying locally-made clothing! A win-win, right?

And besides, is that the kind of world you'd want to live in? With a lot of computer programs and no African batik clothing? Me either.

The world needs people who make things. Simple, beautiful things, made from materials they find in their environment, like paper, pine needles, African batik, bales of American Tshirts...and the people who make these things need us. They need us as a market for their goods.

You may say, "I don't need stuff, and I'd rather just donate money directly to help poor people." OK, there is a need for that, and that's why Omiyo is connected with a sponsorship program, to help orphans and other kids who are living with ancient grandmas unable to put them through school. But ideally, parents are the ones who pay school fees, who put shoes on their kids'  feet, who do all the things we do for our own kids. They want to do it. They are able-bodied and they believe they can do it. They have learned to sew, or to make jewelry, and they are offering their beautiful products to us. So, give in. Treat yourself, and in doing so you'll be helping them support their families with dignity. You may not need this purchase, but they do.