Spirit Magazine - Summer 2011 'International Service Trips'

SPIRIT A COMMUNITY MAGAZINE SOUTHRIDGE SCHOOL

Summer 11/ Issue 26

International Service Trips Spirit 26_Final2.indd 1

Inside this Issue Costa Rica . . . . . Pgs 2-3 Ecuador . . . . . . . Pgs 4-5 India . . . . . . . . . Pgs 6-7 Mexico . . . . . . . . Pgs 8-9 Cuba. . . . . . . Pgs 10-11 Kenya . . . . . . Pgs 12-15

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costa rica 2006 The service trip to Costa Rica during the summer of 2006 is one that will not be forgotten by any of the participating parties. Whether you ask the lucky seventeen of us who had the opportunity to take this trip or the people of El Humo whom we helped, the ten days we shared together was a lifechanging experience.

For myself and I’m sure many of the other students, the incredible part of this trip was not the work we were able to accomplish there but rather the people we were fortunate enough to meet. One individual that everyone got to know was Armando, who was from El Humo and helped coordinate our various work projects. Armando was an inspiring story to all of us as he had lost his right arm below the elbow in a machinery accident, yet persevered to do everything possible to aid his community. While getting to know Armando and his story, even with the language barrier, it was easy to see he started each day with a hugely positive attitude that was envied by all. While the case with Armando was particularly extraordinary, all of us met other individuals who demonstrated how to appreciate the little things in life that too many of us take for granted. Whether it was going off to play a game of soccer or going off to work in the sugar cane fields you could be sure all of the locals would have a smile on their face. Witnessing this first hand forced me to conclude that while as much as the trip was designed for us to help with projects in their community, there was no way I could give back what they gave to me in those short ten days.

I know that several students have managed to keep in touch with their hosting families and I can only hope that someday I will have the privilege of going back and further extending my appreciation. John Howorth (Grad 08)

I lived with a family for my two week stay and despite our language barrier I built an amazing bond with all of them. Learning about their culture and their way of life was an amazing experience. I even surprised myself by actually tasting and enjoying some of their local food.

I admired most their sense of family and community and my favourite memory from my trip to Costa Rica was our community banquet. After many days of hard work our families hosted an event for us at their community centre.

We got to meet all of the members of the community and experience how closely knit they all really were. They played Spanish music and attempted to teach us all to dance. We spent the evening laughing and enjoying ourselves, despite a language barrier, and connecting even more with our families.

There were many little kids that could dance far better than any of us. The entire community, from young children to great grandparents, were all dancing under the same roof enjoying the same music. There were even a few songs that we recognized that generated a lot of excitement. The whole night was an amazing experience and I still have pictures with all of the community members and all of the students standing around a Canadian flag after an amazing night of fun. Tessa

MacDougall (Grad 06)

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costa rica 2006

One of my favourite memories from participating in the overseas trips was a soccer game that took place in Costa Rica. After every work day in El Humo, Costa Rica we would all get together with the locals and do something fun.

Sometimes it would be merengue dance lessons, sometimes it would be a hike to the rivers and waterfalls but more often than not we would have a soccer game. On this particular day it had just been raining and the field was covered in mud.

There were only about fifteen of us playing soccer and we decided to mix the teams because whenever it was Canadians versus the Costa Ricans we would get beaten really badly. About ten minutes into the game the rest of the little town was starting to get off work from the banana plantations and from working in the fields. Before we knew it the players on the field had almost tripled. There were Costa Rican players wearing overalls, gum boots, straw hats; there were young people, older people, and toddlers on the field. The little friendly game turned into the whole community stopping whatever they had planned to come and play soccer with the Canadians. Gradually the field got muddier and muddier with the mass amount of traffic and by the end everyone was fighting to stay on their feet and was covered in mud. Only when you couldn’t take a step without slipping and the sun had gone down did the game end. Michelle Russell (Grad 08)

Our service trip to El Humo, Costa Rica in the summer of 2006 was one of the most memorable trips I have had the pleasure to lead.

The trip encompassed so many aspects that allowed the participants to have many different experiences. The first goal of the trip was to complete a service project that had the students paint the community’s church, water towers and soccer locker rooms. The second goal of the trip was to gain an appreciation for the ecology of the area by completing restoration projects in the rain forest. The first project we completed had us cleaning off moss from a historic coffee sorting facility. The second project was trail reconstruction on about 100 metres of trail in the rainforest where many tourists and locals travel to visit the national forest reserve.

There is no one to complete these projects and the students’ work here was invaluable to protect these historic resources.

The final goal of the trip was to meet and interact with the local people in El Humo. From the first banquet we were welcomed into the community with open arms. The students were able to billet with several different families where they spent many of their extra time learning Spanish, playing soccer, and a lot of dancing. Some students are still in contact with their host families. The trip was an overwhelming success and I look forward to leading another service trip in the near future. Dale Kurylyk (Faculty)

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ecuador 2007 and 2010 Ecuador was a beautiful setting in which to enjoy some incredibly generous, kind and enthusiastic people. In the remote village where we spent a large portion of our two week trip only the adult males spoke Spanish, the rest communicating in their own distinct language. Despite this, our interaction was not limited.

One of the most striking displays of this was when the entire community of Chiniguayco brought one donkey and all of the horses that they owned away from their daily jobs and donated them to our use. Our group was led on horseback up the Andes mountains by these giving people, with them walking their entire way up, struggling and pulling the horses up, while we simply sat on their horses. Again, their generosity was displayed when on the last day they prepared a lunch for us which, despite their extremely limited resources, turned into more food than any individual could expect to consume at a buffet. Although it was mostly beans, this is incontestably the most memorable meal of my life. From these instances, and through the fact that the people of Chiniguayco likely did as much work fixing up the community school rooms as our group did, their personalities shone through. These people were some of my favourite aspects from my time in Ecuador.

Holly Rose LaRiviere (Grad 09)

I was fortunate to have the amazing opportunity of spending two weeks in Ecuador last summer with a group of Southridge students and teachers.

In Ecuador we helped members of the small community of Chismaute build the foundation for a school. We hand mixed concrete, moved rocks, dug trenches, made bricks and bent rebar. It was wonderful working directly with the people who would benefit because we could see the immediate impact we were making.

Despite being tired and sunburnt from the strong equator sun, everybody put in lots of effort to get the job done. There were even women carrying heavy rocks with their babies tied to their backs! In spite of all the hard physical work and poor conditions, the Ecuadorians always kept a positive attitude. The people were all so excited for us to be there and very appreciative of our help. We learned to communicate through broken Spanish or English and really bonded. The children were so much fun to play with and were always smiling and laughing. We taught them a few English phrases, and in turn they taught us some Spanish. We also played many games with them. We went there to help change Ecuador, and when we left, Ecuador had changed us. Katrina Photo: Adriana Galesi

Brockman (Grad 11)

Although five years have passed, I remember this image so clearly: looking out from the bus as we drove through the Andes at a rolling landscape that looked like a quilt all of earth tones. There was a lot of agriculture here, at this altitude, mainly potatoes, corn and quinoa. Even their homes, thatch roofed huts made with mud walls, blended into the patchwork landscape.

But, one thing you could easily pick out across the slopes was the people, crouched down working in the fields. They wore such beautifully coloured ponchos in bright teal, hot pink and emerald green. It was like some sequence had been stitched into this quilt.

My prominent visual memory is the same as my prominent emotional memory – the people. The people were vibrant and shy at the same time. They were also very proud and eager to share with us. One parent brought us on a tour of the community, including into his home. There was no electricity, not to mention no skylights or windows for light. Inside it was pitch black. Only the occasional squeak from some guinea pigs gave me a hint that there was some more room over there in the dark. When we emerged, we could see that he was beaming, so happy to share his life with us.

Although the Ecuadorians we got to know in Chiniguayco had very few material possessions, they had pride and dignity, worth my utmost respect. Anna Szymczak (Faculty)

There are so many stories to choose from as these trips often produce lots of laughter, rewarding experiences, hard work and unique stories. One of my favourite experiences occurred on the Ecuador trip 2010. We were taking a lunch break from the building project; most of us had spent the morning working hard clearing earth by shovelling it onto old potato bags while two others would grab different ends of the bag and

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ecuador 2007 and 2010

take the soil to a pile behind the school. The welcome break afforded the Southridge students the opportunity to mix with the students from the school and it was not long before we were involved in a friendly but competitive soccer match on the school’s tattered sports pad. Ecuadorian children are tough soccer players and some are able to drive the ball extremely well. In the heat of the game there was a loud pop and the ball broke into several pieces. The Ecuadorian children looked very disappointed: some stared at the ball while others simply shrugged, picked up their bags and sauntered toward their classrooms. It was not long before we realized that we had broken the school’s only ball. Although Free the Children does not allow gift giving, we bought a new ball at the market later that week and presented it to the school and the soccer games, smiles, laughter and camraderie between Southridge and the Ecuadorians continued. Norman Dods

(Faculty)

A few weekends ago a display board at my children’s school caught my attention, initially due to the familiar Free the Children logo and secondly, due to the map of South America that was centered on the board. As I leaned in I was first dumbfounded and confused. Here were pictures of faces that I instantly recognized. They were not faces of students my kids had gone through school with, but rather, faces of students I met a summer ago while in Ecuador. I needed to know more. Why were their pictures here, part of this display?

Another picture caught my attention and my daughter asked me if that was where I went. “I think so…” slowly emerged from my thoughts and then my lips. Wow! That is where I was, those are the people I met. But what are they doing here, in my child’s school? Those are memories I share with seventeen students and two colleagues, not memories that belong in this school.

After I recalled that summer and the manual work that was done and the people and connections that were made I realized that, through Free the Children, this small community in Chismaute in Ecuador was continuing to be sponsored by an intermediate class at my children’s school. I cannot express the connection I felt that day, seeing a picture

of an almost completed classroom, walls erect, roof intact, and students – familiar faces to me – sitting outside along the cement pad with their rubber boots on and notebooks resting on their laps, such a familiar sight during my fourteen days in their community. Here was the building for which our group had dug trenches for the concrete to be poured into.

The building for which we carried the water, in small buckets, up and down an embankment to be used to make cement.

The building many of us may never see finished, but which the seventeen of us are all connected to. Kerry Clark (Faculty) Travelling to Ecuador this past summer provided me with plenty of amazing sights and experiences that I will never forget but what will always stand out the most in my mind are the personal connections I made with the locals and in particular the very first one I made. We had just arrived in Quito, Ecuador’s capital city, and waiting for us there was a coachstyle bus ready to take us to our hotel for the night. We were introduced to our bus driver, Mauricio; he didn’t speak any English, and I didn’t really think much of it at the time. But as the trip progressed, Mauricio slowly became more and more a part of our group. I remember sitting at the front of the bus as we travelled through Ecuador’s mountainous countryside with my little book of Spanish phrases. Mauricio would help me practice my limited Spanish and in return I would help him with his equally limited English. Mauricio would join us at meals and activities and everyone enjoyed his company.

But more importantly, he even worked with us during our construction of the classroom we had come to build. He did this because he truly believed in what we were doing. We found out near the end of the trip that Mauricio had left his wife and two children for two weeks to be our bus driver. So we all decided to chip in and buy some toys for Mauricio to give to his children, and to that, he gave us a beautifully honest, “gracias”. Gareth Wasylynko (Grad 11)

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india 2008 and 2011 Putting up posters to decorate the empty classroom in India, I was able to make connections and learn a lifelong lesson in the most unexpected place. An old Indian woman, perhaps in her 60s, covered in an old threadbare sari, unlike the vermilion silk saris I have seen on television, timidly approached, hesitant, yet resolved. She paused once or twice, seeming to mutter encouragement to herself, throwing me cursory yet suspicious glances.

I met her with curiosity, unsure of her next actions, debating whether or not I should make the first attempt at a conversation. Her calloused yet strong hands entered my peripheral vision. Overwhelmed with thoughts, I wasn’t sure as to how I should respond. Not a moment too late, the woman’s hands grasped my wrist, softly enveloping my hands.

“Namaste” The simplest word was spoken by the softest voice.

I managed to mutter a simple “hello”. My words were cacophonous and discordant compared to her beautiful and elegant “Namaste.” She tilted her head, as if trying to understand my strange alien language. Unsure of what I was saying, she quickly stooped over, picked up a broken piece of chalk, and began to write. She pointed to the small unrecognizable words once and then to herself. She repeated the same gesture until I finally realized that the word was her name. Silence passed, as she continued to gaze at me. Unsure of what to do, I simply smiled, trying to show her that I was willing to learn, willing to explore the world of Hindi.

In return, her smile illuminated her entire face, partially veiled by her sari. Her two brown eyes seemed to penetrate my very own soul, able to look through me, into my mind. Excitedly, she grabbed my hand, placing her rough hand gingerly over mine, dictating the movements of my hand to the strokes of her name. We began to copy the complicated Hindi letters of her name. Over and over again, the same exercise was repeated. Within the space of a few long minutes for me, we had filled up most of the empty spaces on the blackboard.

She then let go of my hand, liberating it to write her name on its own, in her mother tongue, Hindi. Finally, the space on the blackboard ran out, completely filled with the scrappy replicas of the woman’s name. Turning around, I managed to return a small shy smile, thanking her for a valuable lesson. Annes An

(Current Gr 11)

My memory will forever be engraved with the moment I held the tiniest new born baby in Udaipur, India.

Our Southridge group of teachers and students were herded into a small hut made

from mud, clay, and dung, that was so thick with smoke that it stung our eyes. But we could still see the young woman sitting on the bed – a person we would recognize as a girl.

She was sixteen, and sitting in front of the smoke billowing stove, delicately holding the most precious possession I’d ever seen. The baby was quiet, simply oblivious to the large party that had entered her home. Then the girl beckoned to me.

I sat down beside her and she handed me her little one. I’d never touched something so fragile; I was so nervous that she had bestowed this honour, and responsibility, only on me. I couldn’t believe she was younger than me, and I was the one holding her child. I knew this bundle would become her life’s project: raising this baby, supporting her family, and that she had grown up exponentially faster than I would ever have to.

And for her to have trusted a foreign stranger with her special treasure was such a beautiful demonstration of faith. I truly thank her for it, because it was an incredibly humbling experience, and was one of the many experiences that tied me to that community, and will never let me forget India. Maybe that is why I’m being called back there this summer! Kelsey

Martin (Grad 08)

To Teach, or to Learn?

Having grown up as a child in Africa and spending two months there with my family last year, I was anxious to visit India and compare the two areas. I have often been surprised, when travelling in third world tropical lands, by the amazing similarities in everything from living arrangements to traffic patterns.

More significantly, the warmth of the people is unmistakably greater than that of those in northern, wealthier climes, as are their needs. India did not surprise in this regard.

Lai, the village to which we were headed, was situated some 45 minutes outside Udaipur, in justly famous Rajasthan. As we drove off the highway onto the winding gravel road and ascended into the dry hills, we spotted small huts surrounded by fields devoid of vegetation.

Later we visited one whose two small rooms were home to ten people, and this sans electricity or running water! Whenever we waved, youngsters returned our greetings with broad smiles.

These people are tribal and, almost unbelievably, referred to as “Other Backward Castes” even today in what is “officially” a non-caste society.

Free the Children’s help in this community has several thrusts. A beautiful four-room school dominates the central hill of the village. This, along with the new wells dug throughout the community, is evidence of their fine work. Additionally,

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india 2008 and 2011 What I remember most was living in a very basic environment in the village in India. Alice Kim (Grad

11)

I remember working in the fields with the women. I bent down to pick something up and when I stood up my back was so sore I groaned. The local women laughed at me, but they spend all day every day stooping in the fields and carrying heavy baskets on their heads. Jan Holt (Faculty) We all tried carrying the baskets on our heads, but we were no good at it. Chandrika Manjunath

(Current Gr 11)

a successful micro-credit program provides many industrious women with much-needed assistance. It seemed as if the entire village was out to celebrate our arrival. The bright-eyed children, the quiet men, and the colourfully sari-clad women all honoured us.

Interestingly, our Free the Children leader, herself an Indo-Canadian, refused to let the ladies bow and kiss her feet, later explaining that it was one of the many residues of the caste system.

Our two wonderful weeks in Lai were spent not only helping as we were able, but also learning much from these warm, welcoming people. Twice each day, avoiding the 40 to 45 degree heat of early afternoon, we would drive to the school to build brick walls, haul rocks, mix cement, clear weeds, and plant trees. While some of the students were more motivated by the task at hand, some looked forward to the play times with the beautiful school children. Soccer, tag, and “guy, guy, buckley” (like our duck, duck, goose), as well as just standing around trying to decipher each other’s language were memorable indeed. However much help we were able to offer, it was clear that we were the greater beneficiaries by far. The lessons were numerous, such as: family is important, as is community; technology is an unnecessary ingredient to happiness; joy is unrelated to wealth; education is highly valuable; knowledge of language, land, crops, and animal husbandry is equally valuable; and the West does not have the answer to all of society’s, or life’s for that matter, questions. As in Africa, though the needs of the poor in India are great, so too is their culture and warmth. Steve

It was embarrassing to see a tiny, ten year old girl walking with a basket on her head when we could not even hold it up. Emma

Mittermaier (Current Gr 11)

Holi is a religious spring festival where people of all social strata throw paint (coloured powder) at one another. It was fun! Steve

Burrage (Faculty)

Burrage (Faculty)

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mexico 2008

The Border

The Mexican/American border is the only place in the world where the first world touches the developing world. It is a dry, infertile, seemingly endless piece of land that is protected by unassailable fences and legions of border patrol officers, carrying cameras and guns. You learn very quickly here that identity is everything. While travellers from the first world are free to cross the border whenever they please, travellers from the developing world cannot and, if they do and someone takes a photograph of them, they are quickly sent back to their side of the border.

Three years ago, I was given the opportunity to travel to the Mexican/American border with a small group of Southridge students and a film crew from Free the Children to make a documentary. Whenever I think about this trip, I think about the Mexicans that we saw in Nogales, a Mexican border town, as they stepped off of a large, commercial bus. We were told that they were being deported back to the country of their birth after a day, a month, a year or even a decade, of living illegally in the US. Each person carried a clear, plastic bag that contained everything that they had been allowed to take with them.

While we were in Mexico, we lived in a small border town, called Agua Prieta, and every day, after we finished filming, we would work with organizations that offered food, shelter and comfort to Mexicans, like the ones that we had seen in Nogales, who had recently been returned to the border.

One of the organizations that we worked with was a shelter that

was adjacent to the border. It consisted of a long, narrow corridor, with bright yellow walls, two orderly rows of mismatched chairs, a big jug of fresh water, a refrigerator stocked with burritos and baskets full of handmade socks for tired feet.

Our shifts always started late at night and ended early in the morning. While we were on duty, our only job was to wait and to be willing to offer friendship to anyone who passed by. On the last night that we were there, Erin, one of our Free the Children leaders, and Aquil, our Head Boy, took two chairs outside and, as Erin played her guitar and Aquil kept the beat by banging on the bottom of an empty water jug, I tried to imagine what it would feel like to go through one of the worst experiences in your life and then to be greeted by ten young people from South Surrey, British Columbia who were trying to do everything that they could think of to make you feel loved, appreciated and welcomed back to your own home. As I listened to the music and the laughter drift through those big open doors, I felt like I was sitting in one of the most blessed places on the earth because I was in the company of a group of exceptional young people who were all committed to the common goal of making the world a better place.

Nobody came to the shelter that week but we were given many other opportunities to offer friendship to Mexicans whose lives had just been irrevocably altered. In addition to the shelter, we worked at a local soup kitchen that was run by the Catholic Church. I will never forget the night that Aquil befriended a man who had just been returned to Mexico after living in the US for thirty years. This man had lost absolutely everything: his friends, his family, his property, his money and, when Aquil started to talk to him, he had just lost his dinner because he had been drinking and the women in the kitchen refused to serve him. Perhaps as a result of the lessons learned from the bright, yellow shelter on the border, Aquil decided that he would simply sit beside this man, as a friend.

They sat together on a bench in the courtyard. They spoke a little but, mostly, they just sat together. Eventually, the ladies in the kitchen relented and asked Aquil’s friend to come in and eat with everyone else. Gail Robinson (Faculty) The Arizona/Mexico trip over the spring break of 2008 was not only a total and utter blast, but amazingly enlightening.

The very job that we set out to do was the tool that opened our eyes to the trials and hardships faced by the Mexican migrant workers; the immigrants that pick up their lives and move north of the border, to where they believe they’ll find the answers to their problems. The objective was to make a documentary about these issues as well as explore the Mexican viewpoint of the literal wall the United States is building across the U.S. – Mexico border. In Mexico, we stayed at

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mexico 2008 a community center in a town just across the border, Agua Prieta, which roughly translates into “Dirty Water”.

This was where the real learning began. We met so many people there who showed us that all misconceptions we had before going there were so off. One stereotype I had before going was the idea that all Mexicans living in that type of town wanted to escape across the border. I was so sorely mistaken. They were happy with where and how they lived, and they had no intentions of leaving. During the writing, the filming and the editing we had the chance to volunteer at shelters where the migrant workers go after being deported back into Mexico. It was amazing to see just how badly off they were when they came back, to the point of needing some of the simple necessities: food, water, shelter, etc. All in all, this trip was an amazing experience which I, and I’m sure the rest of the group, wouldn’t trade for anything. Chiraag Gupta (Grad 09)

included getting to know and interviewing a 17-year-old girl named Ana, and a 21-year-old coffee shop worker named Hugo. Ana grew up with a lot of pressure by her father to become a doctor and to help the family. In an effort to get easy money, she was forced to succumb to a life of drugs, alcohol and prostitution by the age of 15. Through the help of CREDA, a local rehabilitation center, Ana has been able to adopt an alternative lifestyle. Hugo’s family runs a fair trade coffee shop called Café Justo. Although a fantastic soccer player with desire to go to school, Hugo has had to help his family with the business. He personally took us through each step, from harvesting the beans to firing, packaging, and selling them. Additional youth we met include Jorje, a local artist and break-dancer promoting anti drug messages, and Ruben Torres, a 17 year old Mexican American who is a semipro BMX biker. All of the people we met and interacted with were an incredible part of our experience there. We learned a lot on the trip, from playing soccer in the dirt streets with the neighbourhood children and sharing meals at the local community center, to filling water tanks in the desert along migrant trails. Mexican migrants send home more than 10 billion dollars annually in remittances. That is Mexico’s second largest source of income second only to oil. Graydon Botsford

(Grad 08)

In the spring of 2008 a group of us travelled to Douglas, Arizona and Agua Prieta, Mexico.

The purpose of our trip was to be involved with the Directors of Change initiative with Free the Children and Leaders Today. During our time there, we explored a variety of issues and documented personal stories of youth living close to the border. My personal involvement

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cuba 2009

Many things are instantly apparent about Cuba.

There is the sun, both vividly yellow and warm; and the air, tinged with the scent of guavas and the ocean. It might take you a while to notice it, but the sky is an impossible blue whose shade will remain in your mind’s eye forever.

There are, too, the jarring realities. Poorly paved roads.

Barefoot children in ragged clothes. People who look at you beseechingly from stone doorways as you walk by.

Yet the most apparent thing about Cuba lies not in its weather or its social conditions, but in its people. They are, without doubt, among the most generous and openhearted on this planet. As a visitor to Cuba three years ago, I was able to discover this firsthand.

Right from my arrival, the smiles that greeted me made it clear I was no longer in North America. My homestay host, a woman named Nina, took one look at me, gave me a hugely affectionate hug that left me gasping for air, and said I was to be her daughter. Every welcome my schoolfellows and I received was like this. We were guests? No, no. We were family!

At the school we were working at, this continued to be true.

The teachers at the school spoke little English, while we spoke little Spanish. Early on in the project, when one of the teachers proudly produced an English-Spanish dictionary she had found, I was touched by her generosity and thoughtfulness, for books are exceedingly difficult to come by in Cuba and terribly expensive. We merrily began looking up words for one another. “Glue” became “pegamento,” and we all dissolved in giggles as we combined charades and broken Spanish to communicate. The open-hearted nature of Cubans manifested itself once more as the teachers we were working with taught us how to dance to the Cuban music they played on the school’s sole stereo on work breaks, cheering us on as we tried to mimic the rhythm that comes so naturally to them.

In our neighbourhood, the Cuban children were just as generous.

One of the children, Rudolfo, offered up his only toy – a battered skipping rope – in his eagerness to watch us attempt his jump rope tricks. He laughed with unconstrained glee as we stumbled constantly, trying to match his agility. Soon, it appeared that every person on the street had come out to watch us play. People were clapping, laughing, shouting out words of encouragement in Spanish. In Cuba, even the smallest children are eager to share their toys and spread the joy.

As I discovered, everyone we worked with in Cuba was eager to share what they had, even though by our standards they had little.

Their character mirrors their land; they are warm as the sunshine, sweet as the guavas, and memorable as the sky. If you ever find yourself in Cuba, remember this: all you’ll need to fit in is a wide smile and an open heart. Rowan Laird (Grad 11) We arrived at our home stays in the city of Santiago in the dead of night, after eight hours flying and a fourteen hour bus ride; we were exhausted and slightly jet lagged, ready for a long sleep.

We all knew the schedule and plan for the next two weeks, and we knew the main purpose of our venture was to work at and help different schools in Santiago. What our group didn’t know that night was that as soon as the Cuban sun came up the next morning, it would light up a world and culture that

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cuba 2009 was rich and vibrant with life.

We were to stay with Cuban families, who would take care of us for the next two weeks, enabling us to really immerse ourselves into the Cuban culture. Not only were the people there exceptionally kind, they welcomed us into their lives with open arms. My home stay family really made the trip for me, especially my Cuban “mom”, Selina. The night we arrived at 2 am she was there, with a big smile, to welcome us to her home. Selina was not a glamorous lady, but she had a huge heart, and really took care of us throughout the two weeks.

I can still remember sitting at the breakfast table with her, neither of us understanding each other’s language, but still being able to thank her through simple phrases and gestures for the elaborate meals she spent all morning making for us.

It was so comforting to be so welcomed into her home, and treated like one of her own. I can remember her bringing us ice cream outside on the balcony on hot afternoons, and making sure our beds were always made, even before we got a chance to do it ourselves. She even took time to watch Cuban TV with us, and tried to explain what was going on, using a bit of French and broken English to try and communicate. The kindness she shared with us was wonderful and made being in a new country and culture so much more enjoyable. I never imagined that my home stay would embrace us so much, and even though there was a language barrier, I could not have had a better connection with Selina. I only hope that one day I will be able to visit her, and to once again enjoy a bowl of ice cream with her on the balcony. Kristine Ramsbottom

(Grad 11)

No such thing as a stranger The bus winds through the maze of streets, slowing down in front of one of the many colourful doorways, each with their own personality and story. Two women sit in the neighbouring doorway, observing the passersby and supervising the children playing in the street. Only the youngest children are out at this time, as all the school-aged children are still in school.

A chubby two-year old grasps his father’s thumbs to maintain his balance as he walks cautiously up and down the narrow sidewalk. As we pull up in front of our home stay, all eyes are on the bus. Once stopped, the children scurry back into the road and continue playing with their makeshift baseball bat and tennis ball while the adults return slowly to their conversations. A wayward ball rolls towards the gutter, in front of us. I pick it up and toss it gently back to the children who are all calling out for the ball. They pass it back quickly, trying to encourage us to join them. Once inside, my roommate and I breathe a sigh of relief. A long day in a hot, stuffy classroom has left us worn out and tired. But, within five minutes of sitting in our room, trying to determine our afternoon plan, the

unspoken conclusion soon becomes clear. We move back downstairs and out the front door, greeted by excited cries as our return is noted.

Though we have never met, we are accepted with a kind of excitement generally reserved for lifelong friends. I notice that some of the older children have returned, and are now out playing volleyball. We quickly join in, with all the children quarrelling playfully about the new teams. Our teams grow bigger and within five minutes there are children sitting on the narrow sidewalks cheering and offering comments. Two girls show up together, shortly after, and quickly join in, each on different teams. Three boys leave and return ten minutes later with another friend. The volleyball game continues, squeals of joy erupting as groups of children try to get a piece of the ball.

The spectators, fellow children, chase the ball, hoping to be the one to pass the ball to one of us strangers.

This complete acceptance, despite a language barrier and perhaps the fact that we had never met before in our lives, took me by surprise. Attempts at communication were made, names were thrown around, but through it all, the only thing in common was the fact that we were all playing volleyball.

Our words were communicated through setting someone up to hit it or passing the ball to someone else to serve, a smile, a thumbs up; getting everybody involved in the game.

As the day turns into evening, the children start to move slowly in the direction of home to awaiting families. The smell of cooking is carried by the calm evening breeze into the streets where the stragglers remain. Goodbyes are shouted to friends, parents call others in, all in a foreign language, alien to us.

The two girls who had come together earlier on waved goodbye as they left. They didn’t get very far before they returned, coming up to us and saying “besos” while pointing at their cheeks. It took me a minute to realize that they wanted kisses before they left. This request took me by surprise, simply because we had only known each other for no more than two hours, and yet it was as if we had known each other our whole lives. Though no words had been spoken between us, there had been a sort of connection. I felt it as we all went our own ways, never to see each other again. Whenever I meet somebody, even those whom I will likely never see again, I think of those little girls, of what they taught me. There is no such thing as a stranger. Valerie Ward (Grad 10)

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kenya 2009 and 2011

Our first Kenya trip has become the stuff of legend. To this day, it is used as the worst-case scenario by Me To We when training new trip facilitators. First of all, it was supposed to be Kenya 2008, but that trip morphed into an amazing trip to India because of the surprising (really!) political unrest in Kenya in December 2007. When we were finally able to reschedule for March 2009, our group was more than keen to get going. Unfortunately, one of our senior students, Trevor Russell, arrived at the airport with a ‘bad cold’ which got progressively worse as we made the arduous journey from Vancouver to Nairobi via London. I remember him standing waiting for the train in Heathrow with his head down, barely coherent. By the time we stumbled into our campsite in the Maasai Mara nearly fifty hours later, he was ready for a long recuperative rest. Over the next few days, though, his ‘cold’ manifested itself as a bad case of pneumonia, necessitating a night visit to the nearest clinic, which was several hours on a bumpy road away. (The shocking conditions of the clinic made a huge impression on Trevor, and we ended up directing our raised funds to the new Free The Children medical clinic which opened this year). Trevor was kind enough to share his affliction with several other members of our trip, and the possibility that we might pass this potentially devastating new bug onto the local population meant that we were quarantined and unable to work at the local elementary school by mid-trip.

Despite our weakened state, we were wowed over the next few days while recovering with stories of a typical Maasai childhood by our guide, Philip. One of our boys noticed that Philip had ugly raised scars on both arms and asked him about it. He related rather casually that those marks were from his peers when they were under ten years old and used to press burning coals into each other’s flesh to increase pain tolerance. This was all in preparation for their upcoming cir-

cumcision at the age of 12, which had to be tolerated without anesthesia or even the slightest twitching – if a young boy does show discomfort, he’d be exiled in shame from the community. This excruciating procedure is followed by a year of living in the wild which only ends when a young man kills his first lion, proving his manhood. Philip’s Maasai friend, Wilson, later related to us that they are the last generation to go through this rite of passage as lion killing is now illegal, and with Free the Children’s support, Maasai are being encouraged to replace this practice with completion of elementary education as proof of readiness for adulthood.

By this time, we needed a stress-reliever, so we spent the next day on safari – again our typical luck was with us, as our vehicle broke down in the parched Mara, and we spent most of the afternoon lying in the sun, exposed to the local fauna.

Fortunately, our Maasai guides could detect lions by smell, and we escaped that adventure unscathed. By the end of our trip we did actually finish building most of a teacher residence at Emorijoi elementary school (although Trevor punctuated his building sessions with vomiting asides…) and we certainly became a tight-knit group that felt we could survive anything.

Despite the challenges, Kenya 2009 was a memorable and successful start to our relationship with the fine people of the Maasai Mara, Kenya. Daryl Weaver (Faculty) In March of 2009, a group of students made the journey to the Maasai Mara of Kenya. We finally arrived at our camp,

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kenya 2009 and 2011 nearly two days after our departure, to be warmly greeted with a song and dance by the Kenyan staff of Free the Children. We were amazed by the kindness and hospitality of the Kenyan people and were yet to meet the entire community of Emori Joi. As we made our way to the Emori Joi Primary School the next morning, we were unsure what to expect. The most vivid memory I have from the trip is stepping off the lorry and walking into a crowd of hundreds of school children welcoming us with a song in Swahili.

They slowly crept closer and closer to us and by the end, were holding our hands and staring at us with their big brown eyes and wide open smiles. The purpose of our trip was to build a teachers’ accommodation; this would prevent teachers from missing school due to flooded roads during the rainy season.

We spent most of our days on the construction site, playing games with the school children, or meeting with members of the community and learning about the local culture. The irony of this trip is that we were there to help the people of Emori Joi, however, they taught us so much more than we could have imagined. Travelling to such an impoverished area was an experience that I will never forget, it allowed us to understand and appreciate different ways of life that are not present in North America. This experience motivated us all to become more involved in the community, and to appreciate how privileged we are in comparison Stephanie Sinitsin

two of the girls very well: Grace and Faith, two nine year old girls in the socials classroom. They grabbed my hand as soon as I walked into the classroom, and pulled me over to a small desk, where all three of us squished into it, and listened to the teacher. I remember us trying to teach the kids about Canada, and the mispronunciation of everybody’s name. For two weeks my name was not Tara, it was Stella, and I got used to it as the two weeks progressed.

Visiting the village market and being able to shop around for tools and blankets was also very fun; while much of our group was very sick with the flu and pneumonia, we were still able to have a lot of fun.

Another one of my favourite memories was the time spent at the camp reflecting on the building of the school and fun we had had with the kids. I still have a journal with all of the experiences I had, from the plane landing in Nairobi until the final days in the beautiful lodge on the last day.

Another wonderful memory for me was being able to help one of the boys at the school to get a prosthetic leg. I called and emailed over fifteen prosthetic providers all over the continent, and finally made enough noise so that one of the companies donated a prosthetic leg to the boy in Kenya.

Going to Kenya was the most incredible experience of my life.

I want to keep going back to see the kids, just so I can keep helping. Tara de Goutiere (Gr 11)

(Grad 10)

One of my favourite memories from the Kenya service trip was meeting the children for the first time. They were extremely trusting and loving kids, who were very smart, and very deserving of the education they were receiving. I remember

On the third day of the Kenya trip, everyone assembled at the dining room for dinner and reflection activity as usual. After stuffing ourselves we heard a joyful singing from a distance and realized that the sound was approaching. A few seconds later, Philip, a Maasai warrior who acted as our guide during the trip, along with the members of the kitchen staff slowly danced his way into the dining room with a humungous cake.

Then I realized that they were celebrating my birthday! They circled around me and handed me a knife. At first, I was confused but when they laid the cake in front of me, I knew what to do. As I slowly lowered the knife towards the cake, they started singing “Kata, Kata, Kata” (Kata is to cut in Swahili) and when I finally sliced through the cake, they broke into a loud cheer and patted me on the back. I was truly amazed at how genuinely they were celebrating my birthday despite the fact that they had only known me for three days. After the crowd had settled down, I thanked Philip from the bottom of my heart for arranging such an unforgettable event. Then, he murmured a few words that will be etched in my mind forever, “We are one in the spirit; we are one in the Lord.” Chris Kim

(Current Gr 11)

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kenya 2009 and 2011 I remember one day, after pick axing and breaking ground for the new dormitories at Kisuruni High School, we got the chance to meet the girls of this school.

We had planned to play soccer, but torrential rain made us scurry inside the cafeteria. We ended up sitting and talking to these girls for three hours which only felt like twenty minutes. This “Meet and Greet” scenario quickly turned into a sing off. Elishea Watts and I began by singing our school song for a small group of four girls.

In return, the head girl of their school encouraged the girls to sing their school song, not only in English but also in Kiswahili. After that came the loud and proud chant of O Canada from our group, which was then echoed by their national anthem, in English and Kiswahili once again. Feeling as if we needed to prove our bilingual abilities, we attempted to sing O Canada in French. However, the girls simply looked at us as if we were speaking gibberish and began to laugh. It was incredible how the simple inclusion of music was able to relate such different students together and create such a magical and memorable afternoon. I discovered later that my friend from Kelowna had been to Kenya just before us, and she and her group dug the foundations of the building that we worked on. Lindsay

ting separated from the group altogether. My first reaction was panic! It didn’t take me long to find that Elishea Watts was also in this with me. So we found each other and stood in a clearing off to the side. What a rush of relief to find out we weren’t each alone. Once off to the side, we tried to spot Mr. Weaver, or another group member. Eventually we started to appreciate the moment for the experience it would be and we both couldn’t help but laugh at what we’d gotten ourselves into. As if our fair skin and American clothing didn’t make us stand out enough, my fair hair sure got their attention. I was a little surprised at first by the hands of strangers that reached out to feel my hair, but looking back that experience is one of my fondest and one I can no doubt have a laugh at. Brylee

Zanatta (Current Gr 10)

Mosher (Grad 11)

In March 2011, along with thirteen other kids and two teachers I headed to Kenya, Africa where we would stay for two weeks and among other things, contribute to building at two different schools. I would recommend the service trip experience to anyone that has the chance!

Looking back it’s hard to choose one story that stands out.

But one day our team had taken a field trip down to the local market on the one day a week that the market is available, so you can imagine the chaos. On my right and left were tables set up offering different selections; there were people all around. Men carrying stunned chickens strapped to their backs, or women with big bags of grain. The whole scene was surreal and overwhelming. Trying my best to stay out of their way I stepped aside to let a crowd go past and ended up get-

Southridge’s mission is to develop graduates who make a difference in the world. This fits very closely with one of Me to We’s core values, which is to empower youth to change the world. The Me to We team here in Kenya have met so many remarkable youth who have come to volunteer in Kenya, had a life-changing experience, and go home and do amazing things to change the world with what they have learned and experienced. Many of these have been Southridge students, and their stories, experiences and actions are truly inspiring.

Volunteer visitors to Kenya not only go back home and change the world in both small, important and large, impactful ways,

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kenya 2009 and 2011 but also influence and empower youth to change the world in the communities and countries welcoming them. In early 2010, I spent three weeks in a community called Sikirar, early in Free The Children’s partnership with the community.

I was the facilitator for a group of young people from Canada, here to school build and participate in cultural activities and exchange. One student on the trip, Scott, formed a special bond with one of the local students at the school named James. James was a young, happy and enthusiastic Grade 4 student. He had his share of difficulties in his life, but every time we were at the school, whether for school building, games time or even a walk, James would be at Scott’s side ready to play, talk and learn. Scott and James talked about their families, their schools, their dreams for the future. Scott had just finished high school, and was starting university in the fall; he loved science and wanted to become a teacher.

James loved science, too. On the last day, it was a teary goodbye between them. Scott went home empowered to do what he could do make a difference for James and the many kids like him that have not yet had the chance to go to primary school. Every subsequent time that I have visited Sikirar, James has found me to ask about Scott and how he is doing; James always wants to send him his greetings. Scott had a profound impact on him. If Scott can finish high school, why can’t he? If Scott is going to be a teacher, why can’t he? Scott is a role model for James in the importance of education in changing the world, and although he is half-way around the world his impact continues.

This is not a unique story. Every time we revisit communities that we have spent time at with a group of volunteers, the story is the very same. Students, teachers and community members alike ask about their friends overseas and always want to send their genuine greetings. The connections and friendships made go beyond borders and cultures, and truly empower both volunteers and local communities to change the world. Emily MacDougall (Grad 04, now Kenya

Leadership Manager, Me to We)

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When I attended Southridge I was privileged enough to be able to take part in three service trips run through the school. In 2006 I painted a church in rural Costa Rica, in 2007 I helped build teachers’ quarters in rural Ecuador, and finally in 2008 I travelled to the state of Rajasthan in India to help build a school. Each of the three trips affected me way past what I was expecting. In Costa Rica I came to appreciate community and adventure through town dance parties and hikes through the rainforest. Ecuador made me appreciate how lucky we are in Canada. In the town where we were building the teachers’ quarters they didn’t have electricity or water. The houses were just one big room consisting of a bed, fire for cooking, and an area for using the bathroom, all while having to dodge guinea pigs scurrying at the sound of movement. India surpassed all my expectations. It wasn’t until I got back from India that I really appreciated its beauty. The country has such a strong history and is so beautiful with all its vibrant colours.

Given the opportunity, I would do any of these trips again. Each country and town was a separate and unique adventure. Even though it has been over five years since my first trip, I still flip through all the pictures on a regular basis and talk to my friends about how much fun each of the trips was. Michelle Russell

(Grad 08)

Music and sports seemed to be the common theme for bringing the communities together.

In Costa Rica everybody had stereo systems, even though they had no money, and they were always dancing to reggae tunes.

Anna Szymczak (Faculty)

The Cubans always had music and even the five year olds were good dancers. Chandrika Manjunath

(Current Gr 11)

I expected people would speak Spanish in Ecuador but they spoke Quechua so we could not understand them. Instead we communicated by teaching them children’s songs, which soon became a sing-off. Rachel Clark (Grad 11) In Kenya I started telling the story of the Lion King but it was only when I started singing that I got a reaction from the crowd and then it became a contest with songs going back and forth between them and me. George Ting

(Grad 09)

Bonding with soccer balls works in all countries. Steven Davis

(Grad 11)

And they always win, even if the field is slanted, like it was in Kenya. Lindsay Mosher (Grad 11) The kids in Costa Rica wearing gumboots did better than the visitors in cleats. Anna Szymczak

(Faculty)

For more information about Southridge School, please contact us at:

T. 604.535.5056 F. 604.535.3676

www.southridge.bc.ca | 2656 160 St., Surrey, BC | 604.535.5056

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Editor Dorothy Podmore Design Steve Culley, mgdc culleycreative Thanks Contributors Photos Trip participants Send us your news at alumninews@southridge.bc.ca Please contact lboudot@southridge.bc.ca with your address

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