A report - World Literacy Canada

Thank You This contest would not have been possible without the support and commitment of the teachers, school administrators and everyone involved who promoted this contest in their schools and communities, encouraging students to participate. World Literacy Canada is grateful to our guest judge Kathy Stinson for donating her time and expertise! Thank you to our sponsor, TD, for their continued commitment to this contest and for sharing World Literacy Canada’s values of literacy and education. Our biggest thank you goes to the inspiring young Canadian writers who participated in Write for a Better World. Your imaginative minds will achieve great things in the future and we can’t wait to see how you will change the world!

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Congratulations Congratulations to the winners of World Literacy Canada’s 2015 Write for a Better World contest! World Literacy Canada is proud to promote the efforts of young Canadian writers whose hard work, creativity and awareness of global issues are evident in the incredible stories you will find published in the pages of our 2015 Write for a Better World magazine! Putting yourself in someone else’s shoes encourages us to look beyond our own perspectives. In doing so, we become aware of the issues affecting individuals and communities different from our own. This awareness fosters a sense of responsibility towards others and an appreciation of the diverse experiences being lived by citizens throughout the world. In short, stepping into someone else’s shoes encourages us to be global citizens, and this year’s winning stories truly exemplify the ideals of global citizenship.

Your short stories are a true reflection of the diversity of our country, and the amazing creative potential of our youth! Whether you hail from the Canadian North, South, East or West, live in a big city or small seaside town, your perspectives on global issues and your eagerness to learn, grow, and write inspired us. Among the winning entries was a common theme, that of embracing the fundamental similarities we share with our fellow humans. Their stories demonstrated empathy, awareness and respect for others. World Literacy Canada’s missions for the past 60 years has been to empower women and children through literacy and education. We are proud to see our mandate come to life within the pages of this book, as the winning entries are a true demonstration of the powerful role writing and literacy can play in forging connections between cultures, encouraging respect for others and empowering youth to affect changes in their local and global communities. Enjoy!

The 2015 Write for a Better World Contest was a great success! We received nearly 1,000 entries from every province and territory across Canada, in English, French and braille. We would like to thank each and every participant who invested time, effort and imagination into writing their contest entries.

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Contest Winner NAOMI PANOVKA - GRADE 8, THORNHILL ONTARIO The radio quietly humming in my room was no longer audible. I couldn’t help gasping as I took in my new surroundings; peeling wooden walls, a meticulously crafted rug flooding my eyes with a sea of luminous colors, and a few pieces of furniture appearing too ancient for use. The only recognizable object from my room was the mahogany mirror, exhibiting a golden hue from the sunlight.

They gestured, and I followed them outside.

“Ah, she come now,” came the voice of a woman. I felt my heart jump from my chest as I abruptly turned to face her, trying to look anything but as mortified as I felt.

I turned my head to see a group of boys in the middle of the road, playing soccer, nothing but bare feet against the harsh ground. However, their smiles were brighter than the Kenyan sun, and their happiness was infectious.

“It is okay, my dear,” soothed another woman, smiling warmly at me with twinkling eyes.

“You see the happiness comes from the simple things,” exclaimed the woman.

The two woman clearly spoke broken English, wore tattered dresses, and their intriguingly dark skin confirmed they certainly weren’t from my small town.

I suddenly felt foolish, realizing the envy and selfloathing I felt as I stared into that mirror, when these people had nothing.

“Where am I, what is happening to me?” I couldn’t help my guttural tone of shock. “I was just in my home, I touched my mirror, and now I’m in... “

“You are right,” I said, “I understand.”

“Kenya,” they said, in eerie unison. “That’s impossible, I can’t be transported halfway around the world in a matter of seconds!” “Your envy breaks your sight, the mirror will be your way to happiness,” she explained. 3

Merchants were bartering on the streets, their Swahili language foreign to my ears. The ground was polluted, and smelled putrid. People were riding through the streets on peeling bicycles, carrying Ugali to their families for their next meal. I no longer doubted we were in Kenya.

With that, I walked back into the old room, placed my hand on the mahogany mirror, feeling the same tingling sensation. The mirror was still glowing; my work wasn’t done. I turned off the humming radio I demanded my parents give me for my twelfth birthday, and sent it to Kenya.

Finalists OLIVIA YU - GRADE 8, ANCASTER ONTARIO The ground I stood on was no longer the familiar oak floor of my bedroom, and I was no longer standing on the furry shag rug that was placed in front of my mirror. Instead, my bare feet were pressed against a dusty ground, sandy and dirty and rocky all at once. When I walked, my feet throbbed. There was a heavy wind blowing through my knotted hair, picking up bits of sand crystals and sweeping them around the air in swirls and clouds. Along with the breeze came a foul stench and I had to cover my face with my hands to shield myself from the brewing storm.

the edge of life and death. Their clothes clung to their frail, bony bodies like tattered rags, ripped, torn and full of grime, and their dark, chocolate skin was coated with spots, scars and wounds. To top it off, their bones were pressed against their skin so tight they threatened to burst. And from one quick glance, I knew that they were not like me. They didn’t have the fresh set of clothes that I wear every day, the luxury of eating whatever I wanted and whenever I wanted. But in so many ways, they were like me.

Bits of dirt passed through the gaps in my fingers and a few tiny grains of dust found their way past my lips and into my mouth. I coughed, choking on the dry soil.

We live in the same world. They deserve everything that I have and more. They deserve water, food, clothes, and shelter.

The more I trekked on, in search of a place to hide from the yellow-brown storm, the more I felt I needed water, but I knew I wasn’t in my bedroom anymore and wherever I am now, I won’t be able to find water just anywhere.

They deserve a chance to live.

Just then, I heard voices. Coming from my left. Although I couldn’t understand what they were saying, I made my way towards that direction.

I rushed to my desk, flipped open my laptop and opened Google. ‘Equality.’

Slowly, this world began to dissolve and within seconds I found myself back in the comfort of my bedroom.

As I neared civilization, the sight before my eyes was shocking. The people who stood in front of me looked deadly. Not dangerous, but deathly—unhealthy and on

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CORA USURELU - GRADE 6, WOODBRIDGE ONTARIO My head throbbed and my ears rang as I sat up and took in my surroundings. I appeared to be on a tropical island. How ironic, I thought. I wasn’t able to lose weight with all those diets I tried, and now I was going to starve to death. I had started to stand up when I heard some voices nearby. Fortunately, they were speaking in French; a language I understood. I followed the sound of the voices to a pair of women. I told them I was lost. A woman spoke up. “Welcome to Tahiti,” she said. “My name is Etina. This here is Aata. We are unsure how to help you find your way back, but for now we would like to invite you to Heiva i Tahiti. It is the most important festival of the year. You’ll love it!” I accepted, seeing no other choice. I walked alongside the women until we reached the festival. “Teiki,” Aata called out once we arrived, “Teiki come! We have a visitor!” A tall man waved and approached us.

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He placed a beautiful lei of white flowers around my neck. “They are Tiare Tahiti Flowers. We use them to welcome visitors,” He said. “How lovely,” I thought. “You simply must show her the dancers, Teiki,” said Etina. They led me to a large crowd. “This next group of dancers is made up of the most beautiful women on the island,” I heard a local say. Great, I thought. Once again I would see skinny models that always seemed to mock my fuller body with their tiny waists. I wasn’t overweight, but I was still fat. I was still ugly. I wanted to run, but these people were so nice. It’d seem disrespectful of their culture if I did. So I listened to the pounding drums, and harmonious nasal flutes, as I waited for the dancers to emerge. When they did, I was shocked. These women weren’t skinny as sticks, they had fuller bodies and average weight. They were beautiful regardless. So maybe, so was I.

SARAH MALIK - GRADE 7, KITCHENER ONTARIO Instead I was in a bed that surely wasn’t my own. The legs were falling off and the blanket was tattered. I realized that I was at a poverty stricken reserve in Northern Canada. I checked the calendar perched atop the window ledge. The front page read, May 14th 1943. I could see a huge line outside my window. I guess they had finally collected enough rainwater for the children to take a shower. Each person received less than two minutes to shower so water could be conserved. I went outside and was quickly ushered into line, between the dozens of other children. Behind me was a young girl, about 10 years old. Her skin was painted with scars and her face was framed with matted hair. It was almost my turn to shower. As the line proceeded, I started to get closer to the wooden plank, covering the small tub in which the children bathed. I noticed the girl behind me shaking. I reached out and patted her shoulder gently. “Are you okay?” She blinked at me and nodded her head slowly.

There were only 3 people ahead, when the matron lady came and stood beside me. “Everyone behind this girl can leave. There is not enough water left.” I turned my head to see the young girl about to leave. I ran up to her and she stopped, her eyes watering. “What’s your name?” “Sihu.” She spoke hesitantly. Her eyes had witnessed 100 years of misery and it made me think about how fortunate I was. I had privileges beyond compare and these children didn’t even have so much as clean water. “Take my spot.” I gestured ahead. “ You shower, please.” The girl stared at me shocked. “ Take my spot, I don’t need a shower, I don’t deserve a shower.” I turned to leave, when I looked back, she caught my eye. The girl grinned from ear to ear. Her lips mouthed the word; “Miigwech” I soon learned that meant “thank-you” in the Ojibwe language. As the tingling sensation I feel on my fingertips return once more, indicating my return home I realize that I will no longer return as the same person I was before.

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VIVEKA PIMENTA - GRADE 8, STOUFFVILLE ONTARIO I remember that my first instinct was to scream. I was standing on a dirt road, surrounded by crumbling houses I’d never seen before, alone.

Did he understand that the outrage on my face was for him and the twenty other people here? Everyone in Canada had running water. Why not them?

A boy with a basket took in my suddenly disheveled appearance, and gestured me over. I kept opening and closing my mouth as we walked, but I’d turned mute. The boy led me into a tiny house, and I nearly fell backwards when I saw twenty people staring at me from what looked like the kitchen.

I fell asleep plagued with worry for everyone I cared about, now including Ahote. I woke to Ahote shaking me.

Where are we? Who are you? Where’s my family? My panic was clear, because a woman smiled and brought me to a room with 6 beds. I pointed to one, but she shook her head, pointing to a sleeping bag. I faked a smile, mentally crying. What was happening? The boy slipped in and started talking to me. I realized... I understood him. Magic. I learned that his name was Ahote, he was 12 years old, and that this reserve, and the two other families living here, were all he’d ever known.

The word ‘another’ shook me just as much as the word ‘death’. I didn’t want to see, but I rushed outside. Everyone was standing on a bridge overlooking the most violent river I’d ever seen. From what I pulled from the brokenhearted talk around me, two fifteen-year-old boys had been drinking, and gotten into an aggressive fight resulting in one of them tumbling over the edge. I turned and saw Ahote comforting a sobbing boy on the ground. “It’s my fault,” the boy on the ground kept repeating.

He told me that we were in Canada, on their reserve. A First Nations reserve?

I ran, wiping my tears. I didn’t know where I was going, I needed to get away. They don’t deserve this.

I mimed splashing myself, and he answered with something that I never forgot.

I was hit by a fierce desire to do whatever it’d take to help them see a brighter future. They were human. They deserved it.

“I wish we had cleaner running water here.”

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“There’s been another death.”

JULIANN HUI - GRADE 8, STOUFFVILLE ONTARIO When I opened my eyes, I was in the middle of a damp cotton field. Children scurried by left and right, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, like I didn’t just materialize out of thin air. I was shrouded by a cloud of confusion. Where was I? Reluctantly, my legs moved on their own, one foot in front of the other, past the cotton bushes, and in front of a puddle. I saw my reflection and gasped, however no sound was made. It wasn’t my reflection looking back at me; it was the sullen face of a boy. Who am I? He studied me with a ghost of a smile, and mouthed two syllables, “Rakesh.” It was at that moment when I obtained control, and everything clicked. Trafficked, that’s what I was. I wasn’t in the suburbs of Toronto anymore, but in the cotton fields of Gujarat. Two thousand rupees. That’s all it took to give me buy me a twisted fate, and an inescapable nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from. I jumped when the overseer barked out harsh commands. Although he spoke in a language that was foreign to me, I understood his message loud and clear. I worked on an empty stomach, my nimble fingers moved quickly, picking cotton meticulously.

After countless hours, my fingers ached so much that I had to take a break. I looked around, and studied the other children; it was evident that obedience and fear were embedded into their minds. Not even the slightest trace of a proper upbringing could be found. A wave of guilt washed over me as I realized that while they lived in misery and hardship, I so stupidly assumed that everyone was as fortunate as I am. Suddenly, the overseer appeared once more, now armed with a wooden rod, and the intent of striking me. And so he did. My vision became hazy. It was a carousel of colours that went around and around, spiraling into a tunnel of darkness. When I awoke, I found myself lying in front of a familiar door. The smooth surface of my mirror shattered into a picture frame around me. I almost thought it was a dream. Until I saw the cotton puff that was delicately placed beside me.

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EMILY EITZEN - GRADE 8, CAMBRIDGE ONTARIO I felt shivers run down my spine. I opened my eyes to blinding sunlight above me. Carefully, I moved my hand along the smooth ground beside me. It felt dusty, different.

I reluctantly followed Aliah to the hut where I met her family. Her parents smiled happily at me. I think they were a in awe, seeing someone from an English descent.

I sat up abruptly. What just happened? I was in a village.

“Excuse my parents, they do not speak English too well. Not many do here.”

Sand blew into my eyes as I broke down into tears. I was lost.

Later, a storm began to brew on the horizon. We gathered inside Aliah’s home. The thunder soon passed, just leaving a steady rainfall.

Suddenly, someone tapped my shoulder. I looked up, squinting, through the sunlight. It was a young girl. A lot like myself. She held out her hand.

What happened next was remarkable. The rain poured. Aliah’s family started to laugh hysterically. Her mother cried tears of joy and beamed. Her father spun Kouna around, speaking candid words in their language. I couldn’t help but smile too.

I grabbed it, standing up. “Who are you? Where am I?” I said. “My name is Aliah. You, are in Chitipa, Africa.” the girl exclaimed. “It’s lovely to meet you. What brings you here?” I was still in shock but pulled it together. Maybe Aliah could get me home. “I’m Miah. I don’t know what happened … Can you help me?” I stuttered. “Of course. But first, please join my family and I. We’re celebrating my sister Kouna’s 5th birthday.”

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“We must collect the water. This village is in a drought.. It hasn’t rained this hard in a very long time.” Aliah said excitedly. She grabbed 2 pots and we ran outside. Kouna raced through the rain, splashing in the puddles. I glanced down the village road- it was now filled with many, happy families. They were so thankful to see water. It was like they won the lottery! This joy was something I had never seen before. It warmed my heart. That day changed me forever. When I returned home, I never looked at life the same again. I never realized how greedy I was. How everyone is. We need to be thankful for what we have, because we never know what the future brings.

WILLIAM GAMMON - GRADE 7, BROSSARD QUEBEC All I could see in front of me was a little baby girl that couldn’t be more than two. As she turned to look at me with tears running down her cheek I could see the many scratches and scars that she possessed. She looked as if she was lost or had been abandoned. I had to save this precious little pearl somehow. I went to pick her up and she greeted me with her arms wide open. As we walked across what seemed to be desert I could feel her rough and dry skin. She had to be dehydrated. We had to find water. After an hour of walking in the dust that had been blown up by the wind I was finally able to detect something sticking out from the dunes. I sprinted to it as fast as I could towards what seemed to be an incredibly long fence. I carefully climbed over with her in my arms. Before I even knew it, people surrounded us as they emerged from busted up tents. I tried communicating with them but none of them understood what I was trying to say. When I finally found someone, he

explained to me that this was a refugee camp in Melkadida, Ethiopia which had to be far from my home in Canada. He set us up with a newer tent and a few supplies like a jug of water and a kitchen knife. Since I had never been in conditions this bad I had no idea what to do. At my home all I had to do was set a table. Now I had to find food to put on the table and how to feed this unfortunate girl. However, all I could give her was a half eaten granola bar that I found in my pocket. The next day, as we searched for water and food we saw a commotion up ahead so we quickly turned the corner to find another surprise. On the ground was an older woman with her head down. However, the second she looked up at me her frown turned into a humongous grin. Tears continued to emerge from her eyes but these ones were tears of joy. The second she grabbed the baby I found myself at home. Now, I knew why I had been brought to Ethiopia. Suddenly, my mirror became shimmery once again…

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KASSIA SCOTTI - GRADE 8, LAVAL QUEBEC Something strange was happening to the mirror on the back of my bedroom door. My image looked shimmery, not quite like me. I touched my fingers to the smooth surface and felt a strange tingling. I jerked my hand away. And I no longer at home. Suddenly shapes are starting to reveal themselves, when I smell the worst stench, it fills every crevasse in my senses and I search desperately for a different smell, but all I can smell is dirt and grime and rotting. Where am I?

“Look at me! I’m starving, why won’t you look at me? I’m invisible!” I run a hand through my greasy hair and whip my body around to see so many others, lined against the opposite side of the wall. “We’re invisible.” I whisper to myself.

My clothes are ragged, loose and hanging desperately on to each strand, trying not to rip. There are more holes than I can count, and the baggy shorts I’m wearing fall down to my hipbones. Bones. I’m all bones. My hands fly to my collarbone, which is deep and hollow, and I grasp my dry, dry throat. My mouth is agape as I peer down at the rest of my body, which is frail and weak, and suddenly it’s so hard to stand on my scraped and bruised legs.

The world begins to shake, and I’m in my room again, clean and fresh smelling and the pain has stopped.

A whole new pain stabs me right in the center of my stomach. The pain is like a twisting; a pulling that won’t let go. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for it to finish, but it doesn’t want to end.

You are not alone. You are not invisible. I see you.

My head whips to the side and food stands appear across the walls of the street. My blistered feet stumble forward across the sandy floor. My hands dig into the large pockets of my shirt for money, but all I find are two gaping holes. I look at men and women buying the foods.

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“Does anyone, have any money to spare? I’m so hungry, please!” desperate words rip out of my mouth and I can hardly control what I’m saying. No one even turns in my direction.

I look at the time. I was gone for five minutes. I pull up a page that cares for homeless people and click on a young skinny girl with big dark brown eyes. I write a simple note to her, and run to grab 150 dollars of my savings. I set it aside to donate later, and before I leave I add something to my note.

Love, A friend

SUSANE DANG - GRADE 8, CAMBRIDGE ONTARIO A hot, dry, wind blew, ruffling my hair. I looked around. A lone figure sat on the corner of the road. I walked closer. The person heard me approach, and sat up, shoulders tense. I gasped, and nearly backed away. It was just a girl, a few years younger than me. Sixteen, maybe. But her face. Her left cheek was burned, skin missing in some places. Her other cheek was wet from tears. I didn’t know what to say.

“Azra,” she supplied. “And…yes” her voice quieted. “I wanted to be a writer. When he found out-” Her voice broke. “He poured acid on me.” I watched Azra as tears rolled down her face. I had to say something.

“Uh, are you-”

“Azra, look at me.” She looked. “I am twenty-two years old. I’m not married, nor do I have a boyfriend or anything like that.”

Her mouth moved.

“I am in control of myself. Do you want to be a writer?”

“I’m sorry, what?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Did he send you?” she whispered.

“If you want to be a writer, you do that. I believe in you.”

“Who?” I asked. “Now you just have to believe in yourself.” “I suppose not,” she said. “My husband.” This-this girl had a husband?

Azra had a blank expression on her face, like she couldn’t comprehend what I’d just said. But I saw the spark in her eyes.

She looked at me, seeming to read my thoughts. “It is our five-year anniversary tonight. We have been married since I was twelve.” “And, er,” I said nervously. “Did he do this,” I gestured toward her face. “To you...”

“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t leave. I don’t have any money, and-” I gave her my wallet. “No, I couldn’t,” she started to say, but her hands closed around it. “There’s over a hundred dollars,” I said. “Tell your story.” (continued) 12

(continued) “Thank you, Elise,” she said, reading a license and handing it back with the others. A breeze blew, and I was gone. I wished I had done something great to the world. I picked up a book that was anonymously sent to me.

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This was what it said inside. To Elise, Who believed in me before I believed in myself. Thank you. And I realized I had given the world something beautiful.

What about Global Citizenship? Global citizenship is a way of thinking and acting; it means carrying out your life as empathetic, responsible and inquiring individuals who strives to make the world a better place. Global citizenship involves awareness of and respect for other places, cultures and peoples different from your own. To be a global citizen is to believe in the power of working together to achieve common goals that benefit all of humankind. WHO IS WORLD LITERACY CANADA? World Literacy Canada is a Canadian non-profit organization. Our mission is to empower women and children around the world through literacy and education. We currently focus our efforts in Canada and India. Millions of men, women and children around the world are illiterate, and India is home to nearly 37% of the world’s illiterate population according to a report published by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. Not knowing how to read or write can mean lack of access to employment, the

market, and advancement in society. WLC works with communities, offering literacy classes, scholarships, access to libraries and much more. Through literacy comes knowledge, confidence, independence and empowerment. WHATS NEXT? Stay involved and continue to make a difference! World Literacy Canada runs events and fundraising initiatives throughout the year to support our work at home and abroad. We rely on volunteers and ambassadors to help us raise awareness and funds, and in turn, our volunteers can gain leadership experience, meet fellow philanthropists and contribute towards positive changes in our local and global communities.

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Are you a Global Citizen? DO YOU READ OR WATCH THE NEWS? Reading, watching or listening to the news is one of the best ways to learn about the world around you! You hear about new people and important issues going on in other countries. Sharing what you learn with your friends or discussing it with your parents, gives you the chance to hear other views and opinions that you might not have thought of.

DO YOU OFFER A HELPING HAND WHEN YOU SEE SOMEONE IN NEED? Compassion for fellow human beings is a necessary part of achieving lasting change in the world. If we ignore the struggles of others, we allow their suffering and oppression to continue. We should always take action when we see others in need, both locally and globally.

HAVE YOU EVER WONDERED HOW YOUR LIFE AND EXPERIENCES MIGHT BE DIFFERENT FROM SOMEONE ELSE’S? Putting yourself in someone else’s shoes demonstrate empathy and understanding. It is also important to recognize that we, as Canadians, are extremely privileged to be living in a country with education, resources and freedoms--many other citizens of the world do not.

DO YOU ENJOY LEARNING ABOUT OTHER CULTURES, LANGUAGES, COUNTRIES? It is important to be curious about the world around us. By learning about different people and different cultures, we increase our understanding of the world around us--including what problems people around the world are facing, and how we might work together to solve them!

If you answered “Yes” to any of the above questions, you are a Global Citizen in the making!

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Write for a Better World Workshops World Literacy Canada had the opportunity to hold workshops in schools throughout the Toronto area. We were overwhelmed by the imagination and understanding demonstrated by the students during discussions and planned activities. The principles of global citizenship identified by students in our classroom workshops were mirrored in the entries we received from across Canada, confirming our belief that this outlook is a feeling shared by citizens across the globe! Thank you each of our Write for a Better World workshop students and teachers for your insight and enthusiasm!

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Testimonials “I believe Write for a Better World breaks down the barriers of location and encourages us to think globally through the power of imagination. I feel that lighting the spark of imagination in the way that Write for a Better World does is inspiring and invaluable. Personally speaking, I wish it had been something I could have participated in growing up. I urge all educators, parents and children to participate in this wonderfully engaging and imaginative contest!” - Madeline O’Neill, Manager, Adult Day Program, Woodgreen Community Services

“This is my third year participating in the contest and the benefits are significant and numerous - the opportunity to connect our narrative unit with global citizenship; learning about new countries and cultures; editing for public viewing plus the courage required for students to step forward and enter a contest!...What a glorious opportunity to inspire students during the grey days at end of the winter. By the time the entries are due, spring really has sprung!” - Sandee Sharpe, Junior Educator at Banting and Best P.S.

A special thank you to our judges: Jasmine Gill, Brad Lachowich, Andrew Edgell, Ryan Furlong, Ken Setterington, Saman Jafarian, David Morse, Nikita Sinha, Teresa Toten, Alessandra Fabiano, Gillian Aitken, Rachel Pacione, Betty Kim and guest judge Kathy Stinson.

World Literacy Canada 401 Richmond Street West, Studio 281 Toronto, ON M5V 3A8, Canada

Tel:(416)977-0008 Inquiries: [email protected]

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