Published in the Ontarion: November 13, 2008

By: Abid Virani

Imagine spending months in a small rural community, under the blazing equatorial sun, having to drive hours to the nearest banking machine. Last summer in Africa, I visited my parents' home and volunteered as an English teacher, but my experiences outside of teaching are the ones I remember the most.

I inevitably stumbled into situations where volunteers were needed and embraced those opportunities. Through volunteering, I received countless lessons in humility, kindness and faith, but the underlying tone of my trip came from a basic realization through interactions with children.

It was my second day in Uganda when I was standing atop the utmost tower of a Kampala mosque and admiring the rolling landscape. I climbed down the steep stairs to meet three siblings running in my direction; Elizabeth, the eldest, was the only one able to speak English. After only a few minutes, Elizabeth asked me to come to her home.

I followed her into the worst housing I have ever seen – the slums. Drawing eyes from several people, Elizabeth lead me to meet her family. Their home was one room, 10 by 10 in size, shared by nine people. Throughout the day, I was welcomed by each of them and learned about their lives. The children had dreams of becoming engineers, pilots, photographers.

Elizabeth wanted to become a doctor. Of course, I thought, a girl living in severe poverty wanted to make money, be of a higher class, hold a respected position in society. When I asked why, she responded simply, "Doctors help people. And people need help."

While in Tanzinia, I spent time at IMUMA, an orphan and vulnerable children centre. The name stands for Imani Upendo na Matumaini, meaning faith, love and hope. I arrived just in time to hear the calling for food. Children all came running towards Mama Ashah, a parent who opened her home to any child in need, to get their tidbit of maize and tea. A group of four or five children would fill one plate and sit in a sharing circle.

My eyes wandered to a little boy, perhaps the age of four and visibly malnourished, walking slowly towards Mama Ashah. She noticed him coming and picked up a small plate, filled it with food for one and gave it to him. He weakly took the plate and sat on his own, away from the rest of the children. My body moved instinctively and I quietly sat down next to him, conscious of every move I made.

Ten minutes later, I sat there entertaining myself by doodling in the dirt. And then I was whacked on my shoulder. My mind raced; I was worried I had offended the boy somehow. I looked up to see him holding out his dirty hand filled with food, a simple gesture offering to share.

Although I grew up thousands of miles away from IMUMA, I found a slight parallel between my life and those of the children. There were two wooden boxes sitting in the dirt as toys. When I was growing up, I always loved playing with boxes. Whether it was a spaceship, car or transporting machine from the future, I hated when other people went in my box or moved it.

I'm not sure if the two wooden boxes at IMUMA are ever imagined as anything other than two wooden boxes, though. Still, the children tie strings to them, pull each other around and jump off of them making funny poses mid-air. Although we similarly enjoyed playing with boxes, there was a striking difference that will never leave my mind. While the children were playing on the field, two walked back to play with the wooden boxes. Nobody else was around and they could have had a box each, but they decided to leave one unused and to share the other.

The generations preceding these children have taught them the importance of sharing and caring for others. I don't know if that is the message Western generations have taught us.

The Western generations preceding us have permitted millions of people to fall into poverty. They have allowed 15,000,000 children to be orphaned in sub-Saharan Africa because of a disease that is preventable. They managed to find $800 billion in a week to spark a slow market, but have not found the $180 billion needed to end poverty and stop the transmission of HIV/AIDS.

The Western generations that follow us, our children, will not say this. Our children will say the Western generation preceding them learnt how to share.

If Africa was affluent and the West was struggling, the world would be drastically different. From my experience, I learned they would share. I don't think Africa would have let the gap between rich and poor reach such astronomical levels. I think their values of sharing and caring for others would have resulted in a much healthier global community.

Unfortunately, the world of opposite affluence will likely never exist. Still, I reflect on what I realized each day during my travels; Africa may be able to learn from the West, but the Western world has a few things to learn from Africa.

Published in the Ontarion, October 30, 2008
Written by Abid Virani

There is only one thing more exciting than somebody deciding to change the world – a student deciding to change the world.

Every single day, students engage in and commit themselves to an array of efforts but still, many see students as unconcerned with world events and politics and merely interested in pop culture and materialism.

Voter turnout is often used as evidence to prove apathy amongst young people, but I would not attribute a disappointing turnout to this. In fact, it is possible that our desire to see a responsive and concerned government is why our turnout is so low. When there is a candidate that puts forth innovative solutions to global issues, student turnout will rise.

On this campus though, the incredible amount of political discussion and excitement has proved to me that there is an interest. Hundreds of students worked on campaigns and thousands showed their support by exercising their right to vote. Although many students may not have voted, some shared their opinion by posting signs on their residency doors, encouraging others.

As a first-year student, my eyes have been looking out for the different ways students can get involved. In the month of September alone, I have seen countless incidences of students responding to various situations around the world and have noted how they are very much concerned about what is going on in our society. Last month, donations from Skip-a-Meal went towards supporting 19 local organizations, hundreds of students volunteered in the community through Project Serve, the organic farming centre opened and students contributed immensely to the Who Gives A Buck campaign. Additionally, the driving force in the Masai campaign were the students here at the University who not only lived up to their commitment of raising $100,000, but have continued to stay involved while the campaign prepares to become a national initiative.

As students, we realize that we have the ability to make a difference and are therefore responsible for doing so. Others need to see that we are not a generation of technology addicts and are not obsessed with reality television. As Craig Kielburger has said, "We are the generation that we have been waiting for."
Each generation leaves a legacy on the world, whether it is of being hippies or of winning a war. In our generation, I see a student outcry for sustainability and less strain on the environment. I see students demanding for more accepting and inclusive societies. I see revolutionizing yet simple world-changing ideas introduced by students, like wearing red and white beaded bracelets to save a country from the AIDS virus. I see students yearning for political leaders willing to challenge the status quo. I see students making a commitment to civic consciousness. I see students wearing organic clothing, posting stickers on light switches and using recycling bins. I see student dedication to global citizenship and social responsibility. I see a legacy of bringing hope to a world that so desperately needs it.

I do not see an apathetic student.

I am sitting in an internet cafe in Bagamoyo, Tanzania. This morning was typical, I woke up and got ready for yet another incredible day. There was no disappointment, if anything, it was one of the best.

I went to Mlingutini Primary School quite far away from Bagamoyo and walked into an eager classroom. As us volunteers organized ourselves, a young three year old stumbled into the room and sat next to a young girl, who was easy assumed as an older sibling. When we started the class, the girl, Wa, had her younger brother go outside. I didn't think much of it until recess.

The jumping ropes were spinning in full force, the American football was being thrown with surprisingly good spirals, and the frisbees were slicing the cool air under the beaming sun. The young boy was walking around, no parent in sight. After some time, I learned that both his parents were at work and siblings were in school. Thus, the three year old was left to fend for himself.

He was clearly suffering from malnutrition (physical signs of body shape, etc. were obvious) and after a local volunteer assisted me, we learned that he was also suffering from some sort of severe illness - possibly typhoid. Fortunately, there were multiple volunteers in my class this day so I was able to spend an hour with the boy. He gulped down a water bottle and was much more talkative then. I brought him into the class, feeling sad, upset, even angry that the people responsible for this child were just leaving him alone.

The moment he came into the classroom, I learned something though. I learned the try meaning of community. We often hear in the Western world that a community raises a child in Africa, not just the family. I brought the boy into the classroom and his sister was on the other side, distracted, and unaware. Other children though sat with him and gave him a marker while I gave him paper. He sat, thrilled to be included, and scribbled for quite some time.

When it was time to leave, the boy was crying and trying to race pass his sister to run to me. My heart wrenched as I said, "tutaonana kesho..." It was not enough. We came back to him and all the children crowded around us. Two other volunteers and I said goodbye as we gave him a small piece of candy. As we turned, I was amazed. The other older children did not want candy, did not want attention, but screamed and howled and danced around the young baby distracting him and amusing him while we left. I will forever remember this young boy, the struggles that he will face, and the incredible support he has. As I sit here typing, listening to singing children outside, I realize that not only can Africa learn from the Western world, but the Western world still has much to learn.

While touring through Kampala today, I found myself at the top of a mosque tower. From there, three young girls were waving to me. I waved back and gave a huge smile, it was an exciting moment. Then, the girls started running towards the mosque. I looked at Kaserra and asked, can we go meet them? He said of course and we spiraled our way back down the stairs. We met the girls and, fortunately, one of them spoke quite good English.

Her name was Elizabeth and she was with her two sisters. She was only eleven years old, the others being ten and three. After talking for a few minutes with the girls, we were invited to visit their home. From standing at the top of the tower, I knew that they had come from the direction of the slums. I waited for the nod from the driver and we began to follow Elizabeth and her two sisters.

It was a short yet rather difficult walk, up and down steep hills, past the wild goats, and into a different world. We passed many slums with several people walking out or looking at me and Kaserra. We walked down a long dirt path with slums on both sides until the girls stopped. Elizabeth, with a great smile, looked at me and said this is my mother. The woman turned and gave me a large smile, welcoming me to enter her home. The home was smaller then my bedroom at home, perhaps 8x8. Inside was a couch, some pictures on the wall, a television and two boys. Kaserra and I sat, as there wasn't exactly standing room, and we were joined by the family. The mother, Elizabeth, two younger girls, and the two boys.

We talked for over an hour. The two boys were 20 and 18, both wanting to become engineers. The father was at work (on Sunday) and the two eldest siblings, both girls, were 'away for school'. Elizabeth was unable to hide her smile when she told me about how she hopes to become a doctor. I learned a great deal about the struggles with money and HIV from the family, more then I have learned from reading over the past years in preparation for this trip.

To attend school, they explained to me, cost 47,500 shillings a term. As there are three terms, the cost is nearly 150,000 shillings per year. 1USD is about 1,550 shillings, so a year of school is, to round, about $100. Give or take on the school or level, this is a fair average from my understanding. Elizabeth and the 18 year old boy were in the same level of education, P6 (equivalent to grade 6) and I asked if I could see some of their work. Elizabeth was more then proud to open her book which was covered with check marks and scientific drawings. The most recent page on the boy's book had abbreviations of months in English, he was missing March and October. I helped him finish.

The youngest of the girls sat on my lap and played with my camera for most of the time. Her name was Soniya and was three years old. Kaserra and I drank the water the mother gave us, which was paid for an hour walk away and then boiled when brough to the home and refridgerated. While talking, we jokes as Soniya had my camera glued to her face and was taking pictures, not realizing her hand was covering the lens. The funniest part was that the camera has no view finder!

On the way back to the mosque, and to the car, the children joined us. Elizabeth was walking next to me and asked me if there are primary schools in Canada. I said yes and she asked, if I was there, would they let me go. I said yes and she asked, so will you take me with you? I had no idea how to react so jokingly responded, your mother would not be happy with me. She looked up at me with a big smile, "My mother would be very glad." I knew that she meant her mom would be glad that she had gotten out of this life, away from poverty, into a world of opportunities.

Elizabeth's smile will not leave my mind. Her smile can be seen in each and every picture that was taken with them at their home and during our walk. I have no doubts that she will, one day, be a doctor. She told me, "Doctors help people. And people need help."

Wow. So, I am in Africa. The journey here was long, tiring, but exciting. It wasn't until half way through my flight to Dubai that I thought to myself, "I'm a world away from home." I travelled in peace though, knowing that I was only a phone call away from home. Although I am on my own during this trip, more now then ever do I realize that this is an experience for my friends and family as well.

So, once I landed in Dubai, it got interesting. Security was high and there were thousands of people in every direction. Although I was only in that airport for a couple hours, it was quite memorable and nerveracking. Then, Uganda. As I got off the plane, I started seeing army men, a first in my life. I video taped bits of the ride to the Karmali home, but some things certainly stand out in my mind.

Children carrying bricks, pushing a wheel barrel, and working hard. It was a very heart wrenching drive as one side of the road may be developed, slums were creating a shadow on the other side. In a day, I have already witnessed the painful inbalance that Africa has. While we drove through the city and I saw hundreds of people, I could not help but to think to myself that many of them must be infected with HIV. Still, there is one part of the drive that is sticking out in my mind the most.

Two boys, siblings, one probably a few years older, were carrying what looked like clay from one area to another. They were walking and the older brother was carrying quite a bit more then the younger one, which was understandable as the younger one must have been around 5 or 6 years old. He looked at the younger brother though and yelled something. Instinctively, both of them dropped what they were carrying and the younger starting chasing the older, both showing off their smiles. I wondered to myself, how long have they been out there, it's Saturday. Do they go to school? Or is this what they do each and every day? Even if it is just today that they are doing it, how are they in such good spirits?

There is hope, there is will, and there is the future. These young spirited boys are part of that future. By the size of their smiles, all I can say is that the future must be bright. Until the next time,

Abid

Abid Virani and Pinky Langat have been named to the Guelph Mercury's prestigious Top 40 Under 40 list. The two Board of Director members are cited for their extensive humanitarian and community-based initiatives.

• Guelph Mercury Top 40 Under 40 Profile: Pinky Langat
• Guelph Mercury Top 40 Under 40 Profile: Abid Virani

This was written on December 19th, 2007:

I wrote this once, and then I deleted it. It was too important to just forget, and I am forcing myself to write it again. It's about how, until now, as I plan my trip to Africa, I have been able to sense worry amongst my family. This, I understand. But, I feel like there is something I am missing, a certain understanding I am lacking. Tonight, I think some insight may have been shed.

It was a busy day - School, interview, meeting, shopping, library, and Boston Legal. On my way home from watching Boston Legal at a friends, whose house I wasn't planning on going to tonight, I began my eventful evening. I was driving up Stone, towards Victoria. I saw a guy on the right side of the road burried in blankets, standing around. I looked at him as I drove by and he gazed back at me with wide eyes. I thought about the recent closure of Change Now, the youth shelter in Guelph, and all the issues around it. I then thought about what my parents would say if I picked somebody off the side of the road, or how unsafe it would be to stop. So, I stopped.

I looked back and there were not any cars, so I reversed about 40 feet, silenced the music, and rolled down my window. He approached only after I said hey in an unconfident voice. I was not sure what I was doing, what to say, or what to do. I asked how he was feeling, and he said aright. He then seemed more comfortable, and leaned in closer. My mind raced when I saw his face, the man staring back at me looked to be about my age, perhaps a mere 17 like me. I asked him if I could take him for a coffee or something. He said he was alright. I got a drift from the chilly winter wind and asked him if he was sure. He told me he had a friend coming to pick him up. I offered again because I was unsure if he was being honest. He sincerely said thanks, but said he had to catch the ride. I had no choice but to drive away.

I got home, to see my mom comfortably watching TV, watching a nine year old girl covered in makeup talking about her busy day. I sat in front of my mom, purposely blocking the TV, and explained what just happened. I was hit hard, and saddened. We talked briefly and my mom watched me closely. Then, I got up and told her I'm going to see if he's still there. I asked my mom where the blankets were and she went and grabbed me a blue comforter. As I rushed out the house she gave me a hug and told me to be careful.

I drove quick, worried about how long he might have been outside, and how cold it was. I got stuck at a red light and my hand shook as I waited. I was nervous. I turned onto Stone, and went to where he was. There was nobody there. I continue driving wondering if he maybe walked or was walking but the bare street had nobody for miles. I returned home, with the blanket, glad that he had gotten picked up by a friend. Now, I'm worried about the next night he doesn't get picked up by a friend.

After coming home and talking about Change Now, and how poverty has no geographical restrictions, I learned something. My mom reminded me that I was going to see much much worst next summer in Africa. I heard that hint of worry and felt surprised. I realized that perhaps that part that I do not understand was because it was worry that I didn't know about. The worry is not of safety, health, physical well-being, ability, or even separation. The worry is of my emotional maturity - whether I can survive a summer in Africa. For the first time, I feel scared of what I might see next summer. And, my appreciation for my parents and brother have deepened.

They seem to know something that I don't totally understand, but if tonight was any sort of insight, then I am at a loss of words. They support me in the journey, and the journey started a long time ago. I cannot thank them again, but can only have the same faith they have in me; I can do it, and I will.

Thank you Fy, Mom, and Dad. Thank you to all those who have supported and continue to support me. It means the world!