City of Waterloo Mayor Brenda Halloran is currently in Lesotho with our team from Student Reach International. Over the next week, Mayor Halloran will be blogging daily at the Waterloo Bracelet of Hope website.

By Mayor Brenda Halloran from Lesotho, Africa

Brenda with some oprhans in Eshowe, South Africa

Hello everyone!

Thank you for your interest in reading my blog notes about my trip to Lesotho with the Bracelet of Hope Team. The team consists of five of us – Dr. Anne Marie Zajdlik, the founder of the Bracelet of Hope Campaign, Andy McDougall, the Executive Director of the campaign, Rob O’Flanagan, reporter with the Guelph Mercury newspaper, Philip Maher, photo-journalist and myself. A fantastic group of people to travel with and to share in this journey. I highly admire and respect each and every one of them for their compassion, dedication and the desire to help the people of Lesotho and assist Anne Marie with her determination to save this country from the devastation of AIDS.

We also met up with a group of six incredible students who are part of the Student Reach group – Abid, Ashley, Brittany, Matt, Meghan and Nicole -students who have spent the past many weeks travelling to Kenya, Tanzania and now Lesotho to work on various projects. They have volunteered their time and talent to enrich the quality of life for others. I am so impressed with these young people – they are 19 years old and have already accomplished so much and will change the world – we are so fortunate to have incredible young leaders like these students who are stepping up and making a difference.

Read the rest of this entry »

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We were walking down a typical dirt road, both curbs lined with aluminum storefronts selling the routine fruits and vegetables, fried goods or Vodacom minutes. Nothing surprising, and nothing remarkable… Until we turned the corner. It was what I had been expecting, but lost in the four weeks of having been here and not having seen it – I suppose I had simply forgotten. I almost lost my footing when I took my next step. The stench was raw and potent. People were everywhere. The houses sat side-by-side like townhouses but were obviously not meant to. The only source of water seemed to be a greenish-black river that chunkily made its way down a few rocks by the perimiter of the slums. It was simply unlike anything I had ever seen before, but everything I’d watched on the seemingly overdramatic television commercials for child sponsorships and community development projects. To say the least, I can confirm the fact that those tv ads are anything but overdramatic – but I’ll save my thoughts on desensitization for another blog. The moment we turned the corner, I felt my heart sink into my stomach, and I almost felt sick.

Jeff, a friend from Children of Kibera had taken us around these Kibera slums – otherwise referred to as ‘home’ to its 1.5 million inhabitants. The issues he explained are ones that hit me inexplicably hard. The land in Kibera is all government-owned, causing a lot of trouble for home’owners’. The civilians are unable to build permanent housing, or develop their land for business or crop use. Furthermore, the government refuses to enter the slums (God forbid they stink up their nicely ironed suits and scuff their newly-shined shoes) to do anything about the growing population and diminishing space. Thus, school-building is extremely slow, business-development and employment are inconsistent, and personal aid is virtually non-existant.

A few days before, I had travelled to the slums of Nakuru to visit a community of locals living under the “Queen of the Dump”. Their neighbourhood was a landfill; the streets being the spaces between mounds of trash that separated your block from another. In the mornings, everyone – mothers, brothers, orphans, grandfathers – run out to the arriving garbage trucks that bring the daily rations. Neighbours hang side by side, clinging onto the sides of the tipping truck to get their morning ’shopping’ done. That is just how it is.

More and more, I am beginning to believe that there is specifically one type of person that can do anything about any of this – they are the individuals I like to refer to as ‘the non-heroes of our time’. Non-heroes don’t look for huge obstacles to overcome, there’s no elaborate adventure or fruitful reward, and they do not accept praise for their doings. They are not in search of anything in particular, and do not look for great endeavors. Rather, our non-heroes look directly at the situation, figure out what works, and – to put it plainly – work with it. There are a million and a half opportunities to blame someone else for your concerns – “The organization of this is horrible!” and “How could he/she DO such a thing?” are even a few examples I know I’ve used in the past. But what do our non-heroes do? They do not put the blame on others, nor wish to be the person who flips the world upside down. They realize the truth in ‘That’s just how it is’ and know they can’t change everything, so they find realistic ways to help and just do it. My favourite thing about these non-heroes is their perspective of making sense. Helping is not an extravagant act; it is nothing to be commended for or be surprised by. Their refusal to be heroes is not an act of modesty; it’s their reality.

Jeff and the members of Children of Kibera work to provide children in the Kibera slums with opportunities to become educated, while Ken and his volunteers from Eye to Eye continue to build homes for families and individuals in the slums of Nakuru. Despite the fact that they cannot change the world in a day, and regardless of the support (or rather, lack-thereof) from other organizations or the government, they do what they can – not to be the hero, but because it simply makes sense.

Jeff, Ken, and all those on the trip with me this summer – these are the individuals I commend. For knowing that we cannot leave the world to be saved by a hero, but that we, the non-heroes, are the only ones that can do anything at all.

Ashura

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I spent the first week in the highlands of Lesotho- an incredibly mountainous region called Paradise Pass. Basutho hospitality was overwhelming; the scenery was overwhelming; the experience itself took over your entire soul.

The second week I spent in Leribe; a town of about 40,000 people spread out over a great area of land. Here I researched local organizations, reconnected with Abid and the rest of the Student Reach group, and participated in a couple community events. The most cultural of these events was an event called “Grandmothers Day”, at a local community centre run by a Canadian NGO. The centre it self was the first of its kind in the area, and seemed like a popular place for youth and grandmothers alike.

The day itself revolved around grandmothers- grandmothers whose children had been murdered by AIDS and most of whom had been left with up to 4 or 5 children. They had discussions revolving around economics and grief (and I learned how these two are so directly related). Most was in Sotho, but the leader and volunteers spoke fabulous english.

In the large room where we sat with over 30 grandmothers, I noticed a sign on the wall, cut out of magazine letters, like the kind I’d used to make with friends in middle school. It sloppily read: “WHAT DO YOU WANT MOST?”

IT helped me to realize that these grandmothers don’t wish for the impossible- they don’t wish that they hadn’t been burdened with the caring of their own blood, they don’t wish that everything would go back to the way it was before AIDS tore their lives apart. What they hope for is the future and for it to hold health and prosperity for them and their family and their neighbors.

They say that this young generation will be the one to bring change, and that we must look to the young leaders of today. As a young person myself, I’ll be looking far back a generation or two to find my own courage and to remind me that what these people want most is hope.

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For the past few days we have been helping set up a library at a  nearby school, and in the process have gained a new perspective on education and the importance of resources. We sorted, alphabetized, and shelved boxes full of books (among mounds of dust and several odd looking spiders) and were reunited with many childhood classics, and many high school book reports.  I have never been more aware of the importance of books for children, and how much of a blessing it is for a school to have books available for all of its students.  When we first walked into the library it was just a small room filled with empty shelves and dusty boxes.  However it now looks like an actual library with shelves full of books, several different sections, posters on the walls, and places for children to read and study.  Although it is likely that once the library opens the neatness of the room will diminish, and the organization of the shelves will cease to exist, the most important thing is that these kids have several resources for all of their subjects and there are enough books for all of the students.

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We have now been in Lesotho for just over a week and so far its been incredible.  I really had no idea what to expect once we left Kenya, however Lesotho has turned out to be a great learning experience.  It is by far the most unique place that we have been to this summer, for it feels as if we are in the middle of nowhere.  We are almost completely surrounded by mountains and the scenery is breathtaking.  Even looking outside of our windows in the morning still feels surreal to me.  Aside from the fact that I feel like I’m walking inside of the Africa addition of National Geographic, I am also starting to think that maybe I should have packed a few more sweaters.  When we first arrived it was mid afternoon and the sun was shining and the weather was hot as per usual. 

However as night drew near so did the cold.  You would think that since I am from Canada I would be able to deal with the cold, but come winter I often question my sanity  as I trudge through the snow to get to class.  Over the last week however, I have noticed a significant improvement in the weather as I no longer need to wear two pairs of pants to bed.  In fact, i am usually pretty comfortable with a sweatshirt and three blankets.

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For the last few years I have spent quite a bit of time learning about HIV/AIDS and the issues surrounding it. This week I have come into contact with two of the many issues I have been made aware of through this learning, Lesotho and Grandmothers.

I have known for quite some time that the kingdom of Lesotho is one of the hardest hit countries in the world when is comes to HIV/AIDS. After crossing the border from South Africa to Lesotho I immediately, and surprisingly, noticed a change. In the short time I had been here I had already noticed four funeral homes, and I can only assume that this was of course a result of HIV/AIDS. Beyond that though, Lesotho has a very lively and engaging culture like any other. On the surface, with the exception of the funeral homes, it does not appear as though the country is particularly devistated. And as other volunteers I have met here have mentioned, it takes time to connect to the community and hear their stories before one can truly gain an understanding of what is really going on here.

Unfortunately, I know that it would be foolish to believe that I will be able to get a thorough understanding of Lesotho and its struggles with the HIV/AIDS epidemic in just three weeks. That being said, I hope that my short time here will be able to provide me with a greater respect for, if not understanding of, the Basotho people. What I have learnt thus fair is that Lesotho is not going down without a fight. HIV/AIDS awareness appears to be everywhere within Leribe. It is in morning assemblies at high schools, on posters in the grocery store, in books in the library, on the t-shirts of students, and in community centres for youth. There is a spirit here that has yet to be crushed by the pandemic.

Just yesterday we were privileged enough to have the honour of meeting about thirty grandmothers attending a Grandmother’s Day organized by an NGO. On these days Grandmothers from the area meet to support and encourage one another in raising their grandchildren. Yesterday we were present for two lessons. In the first lesson they were taught how to make their own key hole garden using materials from within their community, and in the second lesson they talked about grief and mourning. The women told the stories of how their children had died from HIV/AIDS and then they discussed strategies for dealing with grief and raising their grandchildren. Throughout all of this though, their spirits appeared to be high, and in true Africa form singing and dancing accompanied both lessons. And though we were unable to understand their stories, as they were told in Sesotho, we were able to dance with them, which probably went a lot further than words of condolences and sympathy ever could. Their joy and energy was so infectious that my face hurt from smiling by the end of the dance. I hope that this will not be my last encounter with the spirit of Lesotho and of the women that keep Lesotho alive.

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“Trust Less”

This was the advice I got yesterday, from a woman I honestly did not expect to ever give me this sort of guidance. She is currently organizing a few amazing development projects, has been assisting us throughout our entire trip, and carries an overall, indiscriminate air of compassion. Trust less? I automatically knew that the next words out of her mouth were going to – to put it bluntly – suck. Trust less? From THIS woman? No way.

Unfortunately, she had donated some money to a school in the chilly mountains of Lesotho, for stoves to heat the classrooms. She has yet to see these stoves, has heard nothing about their development and doubtlessly believes they do not, nor will exist. So yes, it sucked. But I refused to wholeheartedly take her advice. I thought to myself about all the experiences I’d had with organizational and logistic complications while working with different NGOs or even businesses, but personally having such a ‘go get ‘em’ attitude; believing in optimism and the importance of trust, I thought it must just have been a dose of bad luck.

It was today that I realized the significance of her wisdom. In talking with a Deputy Principal at a school this afternoon, I learned about the governmental and managerial problems of the local school district policies and structure, giving me yet another one of those “What could possibly motivate you to put such ridiculous and insensible ideas into action?” moments. I just thought to myself, “Really? REALLY?!” And it clicked. “Trust less” made sense.

More and more on this trip, I’m coming across experiences and learning about situations that plainly suck and lack any sort of obvious common sense (I most definitely was not expecting that), and as much as it confuses me, the only thing I can do is learn from them. As much as it hurts to say this, maybe not all people have good intentions. Maybe not all people can think straight. Maybe not all people share my values – and some may even strictly oppose them. But I can’t change anyone, and I refuse to be angry about it; the most I can do is keep on with what I can do – not necessarily what someone else could, and focus on my strengths – not anyone else’s weaknesses.

It was not a dose of bad luck, but merely a dose of reality.

Always,
Ashura

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Aug. 1

Our Kenya adventure will soon be coming to an end so I thought I’d take some time to try and reflect on everything that’s happened.  We have only been here for a short time, however we have experienced so much and I have learned a great deal about myself.  Our very first day in Kenya was defiantly one that was full of emotion and a huge dose of reality.  We met with a group of 30 HIV positive men and women and spent the morning speaking to them and answering any questions that they had.  We were joined by five volunteers and a doctor, all of which are amazing individuals.  We sat and listened to the concerns of the men and women and tried to offer solutions, however there were some problems that simply do not have solutions.  HIV medication is free in Kenya, however there are many factors that influence how effective it is for each person.  One of the concerns of many of the men and women was the issue of food, or lack of.  The medication is supposed to be taken on a full stomach, but many of these individuals do not have enough food and when they do, they always provide for their families before they think of themselves.  Listening to these men and women speak about the many problems associated with HIV was a very eye opening experience.  These individuals are forced to deal with so much more than I can even grasp, and it was a very emotional experience for all of us.  The days that followed were full of many visits to projects, orphanages and various parts of the community which were in need of help.  As well as being a great learning experience, this trip also had a different meaning for me.  Last year when I left Kenya I swore that I would come back someday.  And so for me this trip was very much a trip down memory lane.  It was amazing to be back in Kenya almost exactly a year after leaving, and it was the perfect opportunity for me to reflect on how my life has changed in the last year.  I have grown so much as a person, and have truly found a love for Africa and a passion for humanitarian work.  As sad as it was to leave Bagamoyo, I believe that our week hear in Kenya has truly been an inspirational and eye opening experience and I can’t wait to see where this trip takes us next.

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July 28

I knew that it would be difficult to say goodbye to Bagamoyo, but it ended up being so much worse than I ever expected. In the short time that we had been there we formed unbelievable friendships and had an amazing experience. As the days drew closer to us departing Bagamoyo, I tried my hardest to push the thought aside and enjoy my remaining time. However, as much as I tried to deny that I was leaving, I knew that the most heartbreaking goodbye was on its way. Our last day in Bagamoyo is one that I will never forget. We started off our day by renting bikes and taking a ride led by Dickson to some of the most beautiful parts of Bagamoyo. After the bike ride we had a few more volunteer related activities (including a visit to an incredible baby orphanage) and then the goodbyes began. We spent the majority of our afternoon playing with the kids at IMUMA and postponing our goodbye as much as possible. We explained to all the kids that it was our last day with them and that we would miss them very much. I was pretty good while I said bye to most of the kids, but then I got to Asia. Asia is a beautiful ten year old girl who managed to steal my heart the first time I met her. After explaining to Asia that I couldn’t come back tomorrow she hugged me goodbye and held on for a while. After having her head buried in my stomach and her arms wrapped around my waist, she looked up at me with her eyes full of tears and an expression of pure sadness. Asia was one of the happiest and most energetic kids at IMUMA, and seeing her upset broke my heart. As many times as I bent to wipe her tears and tell her that everything would be ok, more tears appeared. I said bye to her several times but she didn’t respond. She just looked at me, tears streaming down her face, sadness in her eyes. I cried the whole walk home.

As our afternoon of tearful goodbyes came to an end, our last night in Bagamoyo began to unfold. The guys from Mtoto Mchuraji, a local art centre, planned a night of celebration for us that we will never forget. They lit a bonfire and we all danced the night away outside of the art centre. The fire and the singing and the drums and of course the dancing was the perfect way to end what can only be described as one of the greatest experiences of my life. But as the night went on and the fire began to burn out, once more the goodbyes started. We stood in a huddle with our arms tightly wrapped around each other as Dickson spoke to us all. He told us how much he loved us and would miss us, and how much our time together has meant to him. I tried my best to stay strong but I could see that the guys standing on each side of me had tears streaming down their faces, and I couldn’t hold back. As we all cried our hugs got tighter and we all promised each other that would meet again someday. I don’t think I’ll ever fully be able to explain the depth of sadness that I felt at that very moment, however I know that I will never be able to forget it. All of the kids at IMUMA and the guys from Mtoto Mchuraji have permanently found a place in my heart.

I know this blog has been a little on the depressing side, so I’d like to end it on a happier note. We are now in Kenya, and once again we have been welcomed with open arms. We have met some really great volunteers, and done some really great things. And although we only have one week here in Kenya, there is no doubt in my mind that we will have an amazing experience, and create some great memories.

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(The story of my new favourite fairy tale.)

This is what love is. Knowing there is nothing you would ever want to change. Appreciating every word and action; every emotion and event. Taking the truth whole-heartedly and never settling for anything
less.
My heart broke like it has never done before. I pieced together every emotion I felt and had it shattered by a few quick glances. One by one, the pieces are picking themselves up.

My lungs fill with sadness and blood rushes to my head every time I even begin to relive the night.
Unfortunately for me, I?m awesome at reminiscing.
As I walked out of IMUMA, three children each holding onto two of my fingers, my heart filled with a blast of joy and guilt all at the same time. How appreciative these children have become, how close they hold us, how significant they know our work is. How shameful I feel for leaving them alone, how hopeful I am to continue supporting them, and how selfish I feel for wanting to stay and play. I turned to Pinky and told her I couldn?t go; I just wasn?t ready. I don?t even know if I can say I ever really was.
Saidi; a boy about 17. An amazingly talented singer and a simply genuine kid. Never having heard him sing before now, and never having talked to him much before today, I felt badly for not having had
enough time previously, but moreso felt excited that I finally got a chance.
The faces of six very important children have etched themselves into my memory forever. Perhaps because I?ve witnessed their pain, their hope, their sadness, joy, fear, and most significantly – courage.
The six sick children. The four we walked to the clinic every day. A four year old screaming for you from a doctor?s bed really does something to you. So does a one and a half-year old crying into your neck after having had five extremely painful injections. But the joy it brings when each day, you see the infections begin to clear up – it’s inexplicable. The happy walk home – our big family – bananas in hand, skipping down the stoney dirt road back to the child centre.
There?s a look in their eyes that has taught me more than much of what I?d tried so hard to learn on my own.
Nonetheless, the entire IMUMA family has invaded my heart and given me lessons I couldn?t imagine ever forgetting. Juma?s independent nature – extraordinary for a fifteen year old, five year-old Barike?s
incredible bravery, Miki?s energy and crazy Kili?s honest generosity. Every face has its own story, and each its own lesson for me.

The boys at the centre – individuals like none other. There is no one I have ever met like them, and I cannot anticipate ever encountering anyone like them again. Passion, perseverence, hope,
generosity, wisdom, humour, and best of all – happiness – reside in each of their independent and characteristic personalities, yet they cease to impress me with their strength as a single family. Every
dance lesson they teach (check out Matt?s video blog!), every meal they cook, all their work and every project – is created by a collaboration of each member?s incredibly distinct contribution. And you know what? That?s how it should be.
Aside from being our gurus, helpers, volunteers, and translators for the work we were doing, they came to mean so much more than that. Our last night with the boys included fire-eating, jumping through flaming
hoops, and hours of unreal drumming and dancing. It was a show and party put on for us; a night of pure fun, but the most important thing I got out of it was the realization that I had been this happy, this excited, and this impressed all along. The work was never work, and the bad days were always also good. As much as the evening was an extraordinary celebration, it was amazing to be able to say ?This is not the party; the party?s been here all along.?
During a Student Reach – Mtoto Mchuraji huddle towards the end of the night, thank-yous were exchanged, ?come back soon?s were in order, and all our teary-eyed faces grinned, panning the family in
the huddle around us. Only two things that exceeded the amount of sadness in the air that night – the joy in all we?d done in the past three weeks, and hope for the next time we?d be in Bagamoyo. I have
absolutely no doubt I will be back. I know I?ll be in withdrawal from Young Black?s contagious laugh, Kaka Jamesi?s ?shwari? attitude, as well as Kaka Nyola?s crazy dancing. Then there?s Kaka Doye?s ?More fire!?
and Kaka Issah?s wonderful ?Agah! Agah!? singing and dancing I?ll need to see again. I have so much more to learn from Kaka Dickson, and too many long hours of dancing to Kaka Matiga?s amazing drumming.

This is only the beginning of the rest of my life.

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