Last Grains in the Hourglass

Few people would consider the sand they lie on at the beach a precious resource. However, we use more of it than any other substance except water and air, and it accounts for 87% of everything mined from the planet. Why? Since ancient Egyptian times, it has been used for construction and is the major ingredient in both concrete and glass. Almost all modern roads, buildings and bridges, silicon chips, detergents, cosmetics and even toothpaste are only possible thanks to billions of tonnes of sand. Humanity’s dependence on sand shows no signs of disappearing as our growing urban population will need countless more tonnes to sustain itself - it is estimated that China used more building aggregate (the mix of sand, gravel and crushed stone used in concrete) between 2011 and 2013 than did the United States in the entire 20th century. Environmentalists are now starting to realise the unsustainability of this; more sand is taken from the earth than can ever be replenished.

Looking at the world’s deserts, the idea that sand may be running out could seem ludicrous. In fact, these arid landscapes are growing as desertification and droughts affect nearly 170 countries. Ironically, though, they consist of the wrong sand for either construction or other manufacturing uses. Being formed by wind, desert sand is incredibly fine and rounded, with none of the sharp edges needed for human purposes, whereas sand dredged from rivers and ocean beds is perfect, as the water has insulated the grains, preventing them from rubbing against each other and losing their angular edges. In addition to beaches and riverbeds, we can also mine quartz sand from open pits but these are rapidly depleting.

The fact that we can only use certain types of sand from finite sources reveals the problem we are facing. Some countries, such as Australia, have large sand reserves. However, the price of the commodity can more than double when exported because of transport costs. For this reason, it is important that deposits are as near to construction sites as possible; otherwise, the increased costs are reflected in the price of housing and infrastructure. While some countries with no reserves are able to buy foreign sand - Singapore is one big importer, and the mighty Burj Khalifa tower in Dubai was made from Australian sand - the problem will become serious when a country depletes its local supply and is unable to import the volumes needed.

Though when a country does have access to sand supplies, there are still problems to consider. Extensive extraction alters rivers and coastal ecosystems and research shows sand mining has an adverse effect on many species - including dolphins, fish, crocodiles and crustaceans - due to their loss of habitats. The impact on humans is also potentially devastating because of the erosion of beaches and wetlands, whose geographical features protect communities from floods and storm surges and whose loss could be catastrophic.

A preventative measure implemented against this degradation is increasing restrictions on sand mining - imposing limits on quantities of sand that can be removed and requiring payment for land restoration in affected sites. Yet the ever-growing demand for construction has led to a huge increase in unlicensed, criminal extraction of sand to be sold on the black market. Half of all construction projects in Morocco are thought to use sand illegally sourced from its beaches, a trend being replicated all over the world. This problem is perhaps most acutely felt in India, where so-called ‘sand mafias’ battle to control illegal sand mining sources, leading to hundreds of deaths. Given that it is so hard to prove the provenance of sand, legislative measures to address the problem are difficult to enforce. It is an easily accessible resource which is almost impossible to regulate. The complexity of this issue is perhaps why it is often overlooked in policy and international development debate.

So, are there any measures we can take to avert this crisis? Certainly, we can and should recycle all concrete and stone structures; it is possible to re-extract sand from these materials rather than locating new sources. Yet nowhere near enough is generated through this process to meet our construction demands; it is thought that in 2012 alone we used enough sand to build a wall thirty metres wide and thirty metres tall around the circumference of the earth. Other than recycling, engineers are trialling more creative solutions. In the UK, a group of researchers are experimenting with a concrete that substitutes up to 10% of sand with tiny particles of waste plastic. However, this would only be a partial solution and many environmentalists would take issue with the potential release of trillions of plastic particles into the ecosystem. Another group of researchers in the Netherlands are experimenting with a type of bio-concrete, which utilises bacteria to self-heal by filling cracks with limestone, thereby dramatically reducing the need to repair or replace existing concrete structures. However, these measures are only a partial fix to a complex problem that is looming rapidly. Unless we are able to quench our thirst for construction or find a sustainable alternative, the sands of time will inevitably run out.

HOME SWEET HOME

A Culture shock is not an uncommon phenomenon. Most of us, when travelling to unfamiliar shores would be shocked not to suffer some disorientation at being flung into a new time zone, operating under a different set of beliefs and traditions to those we are used to. However, reverse culture shock - that same sensation experienced upon returning to one's home country after time spent abroad - is often an unexpected surprise. The extent to which one suffers will depend upon many factors. However, re-entry in the worst of cases can lead to the asking of such basic existential questions as 'who am I?' or 'where do I belong?'

B To answer these questions, it is necessary to consider the often pleasurable experience of first setting foot in the foreign country that is to become your home and the four phases of the subsequent cultural readjustment. First is the honeymoon period. Upon arriving, a stage of acclimatisation is expected and often exciting, as new cuisine, timetables and customs are discovered. A new language may be challenging, you may have a new job, new friends and neighbours, a new home. Yet once the novelty wears off, it may be replaced by feeling lonely and homesick. This is the negotiation period, followed by the adjustment phase, during which, over time, these 'fish-out-of-water' feelings subside, until you subconsciously adopt the once strange and foreign as extended facets of yourself. This place now feels like home and the fourth stage - adaptation - is complete.

C But what is home? Craig Storti in his book The Art of Coming Home gives two definitions. The most literal is that home is the place you are raised, where you share a language and behaviour with others. The more profound is that 'home' relates to feeling and routines, the place you are understood, accepted and forgiven, where you can truly 'be yourself'. And here begins the problem. Those who have spent significant time abroad, and have paid visits to their country of origin are undoubtedly familiar with the euphoria of catching up with loved ones, knowing they will soon be back 'home' and again living their daily routine. The very definition of 'home', and with it identity of self, can become confused as sufferers feel they have one foot firmly planted in each culture, yet actually find themselves neither here nor there.

D The enthusiasm those living abroad feel when visiting their homeland can be replicated when returning permanently. Feelings of longing for 'home', having possibly been idealised, may make the prospect a shining one. Storti, quoting a theory proposed by Lysgaard in 1955, views the transition as U-shaped, with this initial feeling a high point. Nevertheless, once reality sets in and initial euphoria wears off, it can be quickly replaced by alienation. You no longer feel you fit into your own culture, family, friendship network, customs: home. This is the bottom of the U. Gullahorn and Gullahorn expanded the U hypothesis in 1963, introducing their W-curve hypothesis, exemplifying both the initial shock and that felt upon returning. Both 'shocks' may be considered to contain the same four aforementioned phases.

E This dip to the depths of the second U can be explained by several factors. Firstly, you have come to view old norms, values, faces and places from a 'foreign' perspective not available to you pre-travel. Additionally, returners' expectations may be of 'taking up where you left off', only to find a new reality that appears similar, yet whose functions are completely alien. Further considerations are the voluntary or involuntary nature of one's return, length of time abroad, the degree of interaction with the foreign culture, and the levels of difference between it and the home culture. Research suggests millions of people, their families and children included, are affected by culture shock at any one time, the reverse type being much more complex to overcome due to its unexpected nature.

F So, how to deal with this and the questions raised earlier? The US Department of State, in offering advice to repatriates, states three main considerations. Firstly, you have changed. Your recent life-changing experience means your idea of self has evolved and morphed. Additionally, home and your perceptions of it have been redefined, along with your relationships and, finally, your culture has changed. Having taken on a new cultural identity, now you must adapt anew. Storti also discusses four effects seen during this process. Those returning can become highly critical and judgemental of the home environment, in addition to feeling marginalised as they no longer fit in. A change in day-to-day routines, paying attention to patterns and customs can be exhausting, and these former three points and the disconnection they create, can lead to withdrawal and depression.

G As more research into the condition becomes available, maybe combating it will lie in being aware of it beforehand and creating the mentality to deal with it: forewarned is forearmed. Pico Iyer, a British-born essayist and novelist of Indian origin, residing mainly in the US for the last 48 years, yet spending as much time as possible in Japan over the last 25, offers sound advice. In a talk for TED he discusses his multiple ‘origins’, rationalising them as 'taking pieces of many places and putting them together in a stained glass whole’. He goes on to discuss home as anything but a physical place, echoing Storti's second definition of home, stating 'home has less to do with a piece of soil than a piece of soul', suggesting the new international, intercultural you is a positive to be embraced, not a negative to be denied.