Africa's True Treasure

Africa is a continent of great contrast. There is unimaginable beauty in its sweeping landscapes and soft, golden air.. and heartrending poverty evidenced by round-bellied youngsters on roadsides who stoically wait with hand outstretched to each passer-by who might offer sustenance of one sort or another.

Those children whose families can afford uniforms and fees fare better, and are able to attend school. They exit their modest dwellings, white shirts impeccable and heads high, to walk long distances on dusty roads to their classrooms.

Many clutch containers: their first job of the day is to collect the kerosene needed to fuel lamps and cooking stoves.
They eye us curiously as we pass by in our safari trucks, and so often offer a smile that's wider than the sky.

That smile is what I wish for every child, the simple joy of a day with enough to eat, and the chance to build a better life through education. While such things are a given for most children in North America, this is not the case in Sub-Saharan Africa. I've written previously of how AIDS/HIV, corruption and war are crippling families and depriving children of a future.

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It is estimated that fifteen million orphans in Africa struggle daily to get by without parents or support systems.

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Fifteen million...

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These beautiful children are the true treasures of the African continent. I never tire of looking at their eager faces...the expectation of children everywhere that the world will bring them joy and fulfillment.

We must make this a world that offers every child that hope.

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I am not brilliant..I do not know how to stop the government corruption that keeps aid money from getting to the needy..or
how to help forgotten orphans in far-flung villages who have lost their parents and
grandparents to AIDS and poverty..but I know I must do something.
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I went to Africa as a tourist after years of
dreaming I might. I saw beauty that left me breathles, and fell in love with its many joys..but nothing touched my heart so deeply as its children.

Children are our future. Whether here or on the other side of the world, they are our greatest treasure and our richest resource.

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My hope is that every child's face may shine with health and the anticipation of good things to come, no matter where they happen to live.

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Surely that's not too much to ask...is it?
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The Young of Belfast

Though religious conflict was always a part of my childhood in Northern Ireland, it did not erupt into violence and death until after we had emigrated to Canada. From across the sea, I watched in horror as the Troubles escalated and families lost their children, their security and their way of life. I have always been grateful that I did not have to raise my sons in that state of oppression. My heart still breaks for the mothers who did, and who suffered horrendous loss because of it.
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I am not a poet, but was moved to write this piece in 1985 after watching yet another mother grieve for her son, his life now reduced to a headline on the evening news...

The Young of Belfast

Suckled on mistrust, the young of Belfast

learn early to hate.

They know fear from the first nervous clutch

of a mother's arms,

And anger from the stiff, defensive line

of a father's back.

Rage is their heritage; a birthright passed

on from generations

long nurtured on the feast of prejudice.

Through streets divided,

memory dogs their steps with practiced zeal.

Young mouths taunt...

Young hands hurl rocks in a battle that was

promised to them

long before they were born to wage it.

Children fight children

in imitation of hurts both real and unreal,

and childhood games

meld into the adult world of reality.

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More than bodies lie wasted in the struggle.

Dreams fall to ruin

beside innocence early vanquished;

and victory gained

only serves to lock the narrow cells of embittered minds

that shroud themselves in righteousness.

Good soldiers all,

the young of Belfast obey rules they

were not free to choose.

In this war of liberation, they have become

the true wounded...

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The photo above is one I took of the many murals still seen on walls throughout Belfast..grim reminders of a time when violence so easily conquered reason.