Photo by Flickr user Whiteafrican, Erik Hersman. The girls involved in the Urine Powered Generator project are Duro-Aina Adebola (14), Akindele Abiola (14), Faleke Oluwatoyin (14) and Bello Eniola (15).
It sounds like one of those things that comes up after looking at pictures of Burning Man; “Look at that dune bike! I could make stuff like that. We should totally have a Maker Faire!” Actually, Wikipedia knows who came up with the idea first – good old Make Magazine, the very hipster, fun, and addictive DIY magazine to which I was subscribed for years before realizing that I wasn’t a person who was able to lift a hammer without a.) smashing my finger or b.) getting distracted and wandering away. When I get more time (oh, hahahaha) I shall go back to reading them, and actually, you know, make a project once in awhile. I’m sure I’m fully capable.
I discovered that there are the non-magazine related international offshoots of the Maker Faire. A couch on which you can grow a lawn is fab, and kinetic sculpture is groovy, but a Faire which models wind turbines made with old car parts or crop irrigation from surplus screening, and makes a difference in the lives of those on the margins is also very interesting. This is not to say that Maker Faire Africa doesn’t have arts and crafts, toys and games, architecture and computers and all as part of their scope. I’m glad that they do. But what excited me was a practical entry from this year’s Maker Faire Africa, the generator run on … pee.
These ladies are a serendipitous find this post-Sandy morning. I am hearing from friends who have just today gotten power after last week’s storm, so I am thinking a great deal about generators. I am considering bottled water, MREs, camping food, and propane stoves. I am looking at my own life, and understanding the nature of crisis. We’ve been shown repeatedly – and more forcibly since Katrina – that it’s in everyone’s best interests to be prepared. FEMA, while a lovely thing, is not as responsible for me as I am. As we tell each other in writing group, no one will love your manuscript as much as you do. No one will care for your own hide as much as you. In Earthquake Country we don’t get satellite imagery and 72 hour evacuation notices. We get short, hard shakes, aftershocks, dust, and rattled nerves. It’s my job to look after me – and not wait on anyone else. Just like they tell you in the plane – oxygen over your own mouth and nose first, then help your kids, help your neighbors, help the storm-lost puppies – but YOU FIRST.
A trio of teens in faraway Lagos are your reminder today: be prepared. We best help others when we save ourselves.