Waste

A recent attempt at some homemade iced coffee. Tasted pretty good.

Waste // weɪst Noun: "an act or instance of using or expending something carelessly, extravagantly, or to no purpose."

Today at least, it's summer - my absolute favourite time of year, where I transform from grumpy jumper-wearer to smiling sunglasses-bearer. The days are long; the sun is bright; salads and iced coffees appear in abundance.

Except, this year, iced coffee got me thinking.

It all started when my summer drink cravings began. I was wandering the streets for the best frappe in town when I realised that my reusable (and insulated) coffee cup wouldn't be so helpful in the coming days. Things became more complex still when I realised that it's pretty difficult to recycle straws.

Then, around the same time, one of my favourite eco-warriors and all round great human beings published this blog post, and I realised that I needed to see what this zero-waste thing is all about.

We live in an increasingly throwaway society; one where appliances aren't built to last, and coffee cups aren't always recyclable. Where even greeting cards made of paper are covered in polythene wrapping, and takeaway cartons contain polystyrene. And if you're not sure what all these materials are, the long and short of it is: they're not great for the planet; they take a while to decompose; they're quite difficult to recycle.

I realised I was feeling pretty guilty that I consume so many materials on such a regular basis. From the cling-film that gets almost instantly thrown away, to the plastic wrapping on my tomatoes. It all got a bit overwhelming last week when I raided my kitchen's plastic bag supply, and the result was not pretty at all.

... 

In its very dictionary definition, 'waste' implies a few things:

"expending something carelessly, extravagantly, or to no purpose."

So we live in a throwaway society - but we're pretty privileged to be able to do so. I don't remember seeing much (if any) disposable plastic in rural Rwanda when I was there last year. And I do remember that many things were reused. Plastic bottles held oil after soda; butter tubs held salt when the butter was gone. 

So I realised that every time I was throwing more cling film into my bin, I was doing so with the attitude that I could get more when I wanted to. I was doing so with the privilege that comes with living a lifestyle of plenty, rather than little. And then, when the thought of sacrificing summer frappes was a huge challenge, I realised I needed to get a fresh perspective; and to challenge myself to do things differently.

So I'm trying. And I'm starting small. 

It's hard though. Already, making my own bread instead of buying it has been a time-consuming challenge. Not being able to find salad leaves in my local market has been interesting. I'm still figuring out which bits of packaging are plastic-free. And that's just the little things. I can't seem to find how to buy pasta, rice, and couscous (any tips appreciated); where I can get cleaning products; what the recycling rules are around different types of plastic. How to do the zero-waste thing where I literally don't produce any waste. 

In conclusion, zero-waste is not an easy way to do things. Supermarkets don't make it easy. Convenience seems to come wrapped in cellophane. What I'm realising is that it's a symptom of our throwaway society that we find it so hard. 

But, like so many of these environmental challenges, it's starting to think a bit about the issue that really kickstarts the action. And like many of these things, I'm trying to pray about it too. Not to beat myself up every time I fail, or when I worry that I'm not doing well, but to do what I can (when I can) and teach myself a few lessons along the way.

And yes, I'm even learning that I don't always need iced coffee. But that when I do, many places are happy to put it in my takeaway cup, even if I do miss out on the cream.