The Ice Bucket Challenge: Alive and Well in ADAWA Communities

A few months ago, Facebook was inundated with videos of people dumping buckets of cold water on themselves. While some did it in conjunction with a donation to ALS and others as the alternative to making a donation, the idea was simple: dump a bucket of water on your head to raise awareness and funds for research (and hopefully, a cure) for a heartbreaking, crippling disease.

The campaign was wildly successful, raising $100 million dollars for the ALS Association. Nonprofits the world over looked on with admiration and envy, wondering how on earth they could ever leverage that magnitude of support for their cause.

While paying a monthly visit to ADAWA during the Ice-Bucket Challenge frenzy, in the midst of fundraising for community wells, the hilarious irony of this fundraising campaign struck me.

Friends and family back home were dumping buckets of cold water on themselves as a punishing alternative to not donating to ALS research or as an uncomfortable way to show their solidarity for those suffering, while those in our rural communities were doing it on a regular basis, thankful simply to have a bucket of water to wash with.

Let’s recap: People were taking unpleasant bucket showers to raise awareness and funds for ALS. We were trying to raise awareness and funds to make uncomfortable bucket showers accessible to more people.

"AHHHHHHH! SUFFERING FOR CHARITY!"

 "Boy, I sure am lucky to have this
bucket of water to shower with today!"

Life's funny sometimes.

To clarify, this is not a criticism of the Ice Bucket Challenge or its participants. Any social media campaign that successfully engages millions of previously uninvolved people is cause for celebration and close study. It demonstrates how willing and eager we are to help when a compelling call to action comes our way. And it gives the rest of us nonprofits hope that someday, some way, we can find a way to motivate and mobilize others similarly around our own cause.

The creator of the Ice Bucket Challenge, unbeknownst to him, turned a bucket shower into a fundraising phenomenon. As we further develop our Household Infrastructure Initiative (wells and rainwater filtration, improved outhouses, and safer cookstoves), we’re wondering how to do the same.

While the Ice Bucket Challenge is already taken, its success has certainly forced us to think a little more creatively about how we engage potential donors. While we’ve yet to hit on our own winning idea, we’ve enjoyed coming up with some real ridiculous ones:

“I Give a Sh*t About Santa Lucía” Challenge- Find a full, overdue-for-servicing Porta-Potty at a nearby construction site and spend 10 minutes in it on a 90 degree summer day- or make a $10 donation to ADAWA! 

“If You Can’t Take the Heat...” Challenge - Build a firepit in your kitchen. Light said fire and try to cook a meal on it. If that seems scary, unsafe, or simply too hot for you... donate $10 to ADAWA!

“Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is” Challenge - Know that dirty, stinking river/pond/stream a few towns over that’s notorious for being contaminated with sewerage runoff and way too gross to swim in? Go enjoy a refreshing glass of it! Or... you guessed it... donate to ADAWA!

We jest. Still, our gears are turning. While our current fundraiser for a concrete block mold and construction materials for wells, safe indoor cookstoves and improved outhouses raised $325 in its first few days, we’ve reached a standstill. 

We’ll keep working on our ideas, we promise. In the meantime, we’d appreciate it if you could share our GoFundMe page with your friends and family. Our fundraiser may not have viral internet appeal (yet!), but it will help a a whole lot of families who are eager to get their hands dirty and build a safer, healthier community together. Thank you!

Fighting Adult ADHD... and Child Mortality in Guatemala's Q'eqchi' Community (at the same time)

Beto was 22 months old and weighed 13 lbs upon
admission to the hospital for acute diarrhea and a parasitic infection.
Access to clean water, waterborne illnesses, and malnutrition
are closely linked in the developing world.

My family and friends have heard me lament about my ceaseless struggle with (rampant) adult ADHD- a puzzling misnomer, as ADHD begins in childhood. Despite years of learning to force productivity from a brain as rebellious and petulant as a 16-year-old girl, I still flounder every time I’m faced with a structured task or a deadline. My ADHD is both the biggest challenge I face in my career, as well as the greatest strength I bring to the table. 

Thanks to my ADHD, I monitor traffic through 8 different train stations within my brain, each consumed with a different problem or potential project, watching hundreds of thought trains come and go, directing the most coherent, promising ones to the next track for further consideration. Due to the sheer number of thoughts I can have simultaneously, I can multitask, problem-solve, and brainstorm like a boss.

This week, however, it's been a burden. Despite my excitement and dedication to ADAWA (our website and Facebook page have finally gone up, take a gander!), I am having a hard time slowing the thought trains down enough to record the information they’re carrying. And I need to. I really, truly need to. Because the task I’m working on is important, and relevant, and a small but critical first step towards reducing rates of child mortality and improving health in our region.

During the first week in April, I’ll be delivering interactive workshops to different audiences in Santa Lucia Lachua. Due to low literacy amongst participants (save for formally educated health workers) and their primary language being Q'eqchi', the workshops need to be highly visual to ensure participants leave with a good understanding of the information they have asked me to present. As someone who relies heavily on the written word to express myself, this poses a great challenge for me and my disobedient brain. 

Last night, as I sat with my laptop, fighting to keep my eyes, thoughts, and typing fingers at least loosely united, twenty tabs open to gather various bits of information, my eyes fell on the following statistic:

“2,195 children die daily from diarrhea- that’s like losing 32 school buses full of children each day.”


32 school buses full of children die every single day, because they lack access to clean water and a $3 course of antibiotics. This is like the entire elementary school population in my small town passing away in one day- three times over. 

How many of those children are coming from our little corner of Alta Verapaz, where entire Q'eqchi' communities lack access to clean water and the knowledge needed to prevent their children being infected by contaminated water? Judging by the statistics I received from the oil company’s part-time doctor- yes, believe it or not, in Santa Lucia Lachua the local oil company is the good guy, and currently runs the only clinic in town- a lot. Of the 75 children seen in January, over 50% were seen for diarrhea, amoebas, and parasitic infections.

It’s amazing how one sobering fact can refocus a runaway mind so quickly. I was humbled, reminded that while this workshop may be a struggle for me to develop, it is pathetically small compared to the struggles faced by the women I will be delivering it to. Women who routinely lose their infants and youngest children to something entirely preventable. Women who are doing their very best to keep their children healthy, knowing how deadly ONE bout of a common childhood illness can be. Women who want to learn how to protect their children, and are hoping I can teach them.

While my brain may go awry from time to time, it’s "aha" moments like last night's that help me keep all those trains on track. The simple act of teaching women how to protect their families from waterborne illnesses while helping them gain access to cleaner water saves lives. 

Since I began in nonprofit, many have told me "I could never do what you do."  Days when my brain is on the fritz, I really don't feel cut out for it either. But the reality is that simple measures save lives. All the time, effort, and investment is worth it. Healthy communities that aren't fighting to survive preventable illnesses have the energy and attention to devote to their own long-term, sustainable development. Our communities want to- and we want to make sure they're able. 

In addition to delivering health education, our BIG goal for this year is to put a well at each of the 34 schools in our area, and get a water filter into every school and home. Wells ensure that kids no longer have to drink from contaminated rivers at lunchtime, and that each community has a well for public use. Filters ensure that the water they drink will no longer infect them with deadly waterborne illnesses.

If you happen to be interested in helping us, we're gratefully accepting donations for the well project. $125 purchases all materials needed to construct one well, though any amount is greatly appreciated. For a 'newly minted' project such as this one, even small amounts make a big difference. In keeping with our commitment to foster collaboration and teamwork throughout the region, communities that have already built wells send teams to teach, mentor, and assist other communities as they build their own. 

Thanks again to all who are taking the time to read these posts. Some days it's a struggle to sit down and write them, but knowing that even a handful of you are following along helps me wrangle my brain train into the station. :)