A New Day

Friday, March 11, 2011

Friday Weather Systems Around the World

I woke up this morning to a world of white. Mother nature had dumped 5cm of snow on our city, with 20+expected before the end of the day. Argh! Enough already!

While disappointing, as a road trip is planned, the radio had worse news. Across the world Mother nature was wreaking much worse havoc. An earthquake measuring 8.9 on a Richter scale that only goes up to 10 hit Japan with a force to spawn tsunamis there and beyond. A nation not a stranger to earthquakes, this is the largest earthquake they have experienced since they began measuring 140 years ago.

When I turned on the radio at 8:30am (est), announcements of school bus cancellations were quickly superseded by evacuation reports from Hawaii, where a tsunami was expected to hit any time. Hundreds of people were killed and missing in Japan with damage probably running into the billions. Hawaii is still on high alert, but looks like it might be spared the worst of it.

I look back out my window at the snow steadily falling and cannot help but think that having to cancel a road trip is a pretty small price to pay. Life in perspective is a pretty heavy thing. My thoughts are with the people in Japan and beyond that are affected by this devastating disaster. Peace to them.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Winter Release

icy heart forgotten

by winter's refusal to

relent to spring

Melt those damn snowflakes already!

I'm craving the warmth within

I'm going to stomp my foot

and hold my breath

until snow melts

and gives way

to just a

little bit

SPRING!

but I am going to link in to OSW in the meantime

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Playing the Enemy: Nelson Mandela and the Game that Made a Nation

Playing the Enemy: Nelson Mandela and the Game that Made a Nation;
by John Carlin
(© John Carlin 2008; Penguin Books, 288 pages)

"One Team, One Country"; the slogan that brought the 1995 Springboks to victory on the rugby field, and more importantly, brought a country back together again, united under a new colourful flag as ONE people. Not an easy feat, and one that took years to bring to fore, but done with a compassion and panache that only one man could manage; Nelson Mandela.

"Playing The Enemy" is a book about rugby, but as the story unfolds, it holds so much more. Not one to follow rugby myself, I wondered if this month's book club pick would hold much interest for me. By the end, I felt like I was there in the stands as the final game was played on June 24, 1995. I was on the edge of my seat rooting for the boks with all my heart, aware that this game was so much bigger than just a mere rugger game. This game, played on the world stage, was a key piece in the defining moment of healing wounded South Africa's national pride. Every breathe in the nation was held and every eye was keenly aware that the game played was more than sport, but in fact symbolic on so many levels. The triumph of the day was ecstatically sweet, but moreso a triumph over old ignorance, mistrust, and hatred.

The final game would not have held such importance though, if not for South Africa's long and sordid history with apartheid. In 1948 laws were put in place to legally separate the races. Black people were restricted in their movement around cities, and in their rights as a whole. As their restrictions mounted, violence escalated and trade embargoes were meted out by nations around the world in protest to the barbaric laws and policies in South Africa. The sanctions against South Africa even went so far as to ban their sports teams on an international field. The Africaans beloved rugby was grounded.

One man watched from a jail cell, as his nation slowly collapsed under the weight of its oppressions. That man was Nelson Mandela.

Nelson Mandela was a high-ranking member of the African National Congress (ANC) when he was arrested in 1962 and convicted of sabotage. He was sent to prison at Robben Island off the coast of Cape Town, along with several other political prisoners, and remained there for the next eighteen of his twenty seven years of imprisonment. In the book, Mandela's tale is picked up in 1985, when he started the negotiations that began the process of liberating himself and his country.

John Carlin skillfully relates the details of Mandela's struggles to bring his country together, united as one. Carlin paints a picture of the embattered humanitarian, learning about his captors and their world. The Africaans people begin as an anomaly, but through mastering their language, and learning more about them as a whole, Mandela recognizes that they are people too, scared and not unlike himself. Through skillful negotiations, he gently builds relationships with the white world, that ultimately leads to breaking down the walls and laws of apartheid.

Well aware before picking up this book that apartheid existed and had ended, what I loved about Carlin's story was his mastery in bringing the human emotion to the story from so many viewpoints. As I poured through the pages, I learned more about the delicate relationships that Mandela crafted, and I found tears in my eyes more than once. So much pain existed in this war-torn country, but Mandela was able to bring the races together as one in a heartfelt victory for the entire nation. He allowed blacks, whites, and all people in between to let go of their hurts and embrace each other as brothers. With Carlin's words, I wept at their hard-won and very deserving victory.

I leave you with the South African national anthem sung at the 1995 rugby game that brought a nation back together again, via the strong figure of Nelson Mandela. Thank you for sharing this story Mr. Carlin. I truly enjoyed it.

Monday, March 7, 2011

A Drop in the Bucket

Somehow I ended up sitting at the head table with all of the teachers, and Head Master. A sea of little black faces looked towards me, listening intently to the speeches being poured forth by teachers, Head Master and Deputy Head-Master. The only white face out there was Brett, almost invisible though he was, swamped by the hordes of little boys that fawned over him with his magical camera slung around his neck once again.

As we walked to school that morning, our entourage of children had grown from one or two, to a large contingency by the time we reached the Mwaya Beach Public School. Children danced and skipped, hooted and hollered, as we walked along. When we neared the building, our group merged with the other students that milled about, and Brett and I found ourselves under the wing of an adult now. The Deputy Head Master at that!

I felt like an honoured guest, as we were treated to a tour of a class room and the main office. The Deputy Head Master had a running commentary of life for the students in his community, as he showed us the sparsely decorated class room. There was a chalk board in the simple rectangular room, but not a chair or desk to be seen. In fact, most of the lessons were done outside in the open air, as it made little difference if they were inside or out, except for on rainy days. Supplies were almost non-existent and the chalkboards could not even sport chalk to illustrate points on a good day. The beleaguered teachers had classes that numbered in the hundreds. How could one person teach effectively to a class of over 300 pupils? And why would they want to, when their pay was poor and usually late?

This was a far cry from the schooling that I had gone through back in Canada. I could not help but think that the teachers there had nothing to complain about in comparison.

A tour of the cramped office was a little better, but still dismal in its breadth. Stacks of books sat on the floor and on shelves, but when compared to the numbers of pupils, it was a far cry from the necessary needs. There were 1096 registered students at Mwaya Beach, and the stacks of books I saw numbered at most close to a hundred; probably less. When the Deputy Head Master learned I was from Canada, he picked up a book and handed it to me with the cover open. My national pride fluttered, as I read that it had been donated by the Canadian government. It would seem that they had sent several text and workbooks. It helped, but looking out at the sea of students, I knew it was just a drop in the bucket.