Monday 3 October 2016

100 children were killed in Allepo....on Friday


An major indicator of a society's decency and morality is how it treat's it's children 

Lesotho: 2014

Genocide is happening in Syria.  One hundred children died in Allepo  on Friday alone, as a result of the conflict.

I can't say much about the Syrian regime or the rebel forces they are fighting or the foreign actors vying for power in the region but the thought of 100 children dying on Friday, in one city, in the epicentre of the conflict, well, it just makes me angry and terribly discouraged about the state of our world.

When I try to imagine being a child in Aleppo or the parents of one of the murdered children, I can't allow myself to focus for too long before my chest tightens up and a deep anxiety floods my brain.  I toss the thoughts out.  Who has time to be traumatized vicariously by thoughts of dying children on the other side of the world?  Really, in my world of navel gazing North Americans, who has time?

When I was in Lesotho in August of 2011, I spent a day thinking about children; watching them, listening to them, studying them.

In Lesotho, there are children everywhere.  Most people live in cinder block houses or thatch roofed huts which are tolerable only for sleep and shelter.  The beautiful mountains of Lesotho draw everyone out into the streets and the fields.  Children are everywhere, playing, walking and laughing.  They are a constant source of light and joy.  Most of the children there are so deprived of the basic necessities of life.  They are poorly clothed.  They lack nutritious food.  Many are orphaned;  but none of that  seems to dampen their ability to bring joy and elicit laughter.  

I watched two children playing outside their tin shack.  One, a girl of about 7, was picking up sticks in the dusty yard while her younger brother crawled in the dirt.  Neither were supervised but they were surrounded by a barbed wire fence and they seemed to be safe.  It was around 9 am and the crowds of neatly uniformed students had long since made their way to school.  This property looked bleak and dark.  I doubt the family that lived their could afford school fees. 

I remember how easy it was to place  the tragedy of the situation aside because joy and innocence permeated the scene and smothered any kind of negative sentiment.  Children under a year are completely absorbed in their environment and take delight from the sheer joy of discovering their own ability to move and explore their surroundings.  This infant had just learned to crawl and the fact that he was crawling in dirt outside a cold shack made no difference to him.  

The children in the darkest parts of our world where human suffering is beyond imagination, are bright lights that pop through the darkness reminding us that joy still exists, that hope is always present and that the world could be a much, much better place if we each took the time to feel when we think of their suffering and then be moved to act. 

How we treat our children is not just a measure of a society's decency and morality but of our own. 


Lesotho 2014 

Let's keep thirty nine of these beauties alive to brighten the world for many years to come.

Click here:  https://www.canadahelps.org/en/charities/bracelet-of-hope/fallingleaves/anne-maries-100km-bike-fundraising-campaign/ 

Thanks

Anne-Marie
Founder Bracelet of Hope
braceletofhope.ca



Sunday 25 September 2016

My Children: all forty of them!




Hi everyone,

I had a very anxiety provoking thought the other day.  Somehow, when Bracelet of Hope’s Foster Home Programme was caring for 10 children, then 20, then 30, I hardly took notice.  Recently, when our numbers expanded to 40, it felt like all of them had jumped on my shoulders, spending the minutes and hours of each day propped up there, reminding me of the value of their lives and just how fragile their survival is.     

My forty children:  these are some of the poorest children in the world; orphaned in a resource poor country where the work of organizations like Bracelet of Hope is vital to their survival.  Over the next several weeks, I will write about their lives from the point of view of Brad Woods, a Guelph- based teacher and storyteller who just returned from Lesotho.  His stories will show that these beautiful children not only survive, but thrive.

I have challenged the board of Bracelet of Hope to raise $30,000 over the next five weeks.  We’re calling it the Falling Leaves Battle of the Board. On October 28th we will compete against each other in various walks, runs and cycles.  I am competing against my longtime friend and fellow cyclist, Dr. Rob Butler. He is stronger, faster and more fit than me but we’ll both get our 53 year old bodies on a bike and cycle 100 km.  Actually, I am not 53 yet but he is.



Make a donation and support us in this great work.
Let’s get this competition started!

Thanks to you all!



Anne-Marie Zajdlik, 
MD CCFP O.Ont, MSM
Founding Director of Bracelet of Hope


Bracelet of Hope
(226) 326-4673


Sunday 15 May 2016

All Baby Boomers should be tested for hepatitis C









Hepatitis C is a common viral infection of the liver
100 million people have hepatitis C worldwide

Anyone who is or has been sexually active is at risk for contracting Hepatitis C

You can have hepatitis C for years before symptoms develop


If people wait for symptoms to develop...
their average life expectancy from the time of diagnosis is

THREE YEARS

Hepatitis C causes liver cancer and cirrhosis of the liver in many patients


New treatments allow for a 97% cure rate after 12 weeks of therapy


We could end Hepatitis C by 2030 if all baby boomers present for testing
(There is no vaccine.  All people at risk should be screened)



See your family doctor or local Public Health Unit and ask to be tested




Sent from the Harvard HIV Update Conference
Boston, MA
May 13, 2016

Sunday 24 April 2016

The Eerily Beautiful Purple Rain

This was originally posted on June 13,2015
I am posting it again in honour of Prince.  He wasn't just an iconic performer, he was a sweet guy.


In the summer of 2011, I travelled to Lesotho with 12 Guelph high school students.  These brilliant kids had been selected from each of their schools to join a group called 'Reach Lesotho'.   The brain child of an equally brilliant young man, Abid Virani, the Reach Lesotho kids worked tirelessly for 18 months educating themselves on international development issues and specifically the difficulties faced by the people of Lesotho.  I had the privilege of getting to know and love these students and the even greater privilege of leading them into this beloved country.

We were all changed by that trip.  Four years later, many of them are now completing their first university degree and heading into professional programs.  I am so proud of each one of them, for who they are and for what they have accomplished.

Reach Lesotho:  Summer of 2011


After every trip to Lesotho, I come home inspired to find unique ways to raise more funds for our programmes there.  I carry home with me the memory of the faces of our foster children, the women who struggle to keep their families alive and the sick who, despite incredible advancements in the treatment of HIV, continue to struggle for survival.  In the fall of 2011, I had the brilliant idea of holding a huge party in my front yard.  Remember my Batman?  The qualities that make my husband face home intruders in his underwear with bat in hand, are the same qualities that make it very difficult for him to relax when 200 people are partying in a huge tent on his front yard.

For nine years now, the internationally renowned blues artist, Steve Strongman and his band, have headed to Guelph to entertain his Guelph fans in a back yard party.  I admit that I am one of Steve's groupies.  His music is magical.  My good friend, Kevin Brown, feels the same way.  Up until 2011, Kevin hosted these back yard parties with all proceeds given to Bracelet of Hope.  Every year, Kevin's friends ( an army of them ) and family ( an army in and of itself ) would pile into his small back yard to enjoy good food, great company and the incredible musical talent of Steve and his band.  And every year, in true Ontario style, it would rain and the party would be moved into Kevin's small living room with Steve and his band belting it out in the corner, the couches moved aside and Kevin's beautiful hard wood floor straining under the weight of our middle aged dancing feet.

In 2011, to preserve that beautiful floor and anticipate the rain, I rented a huge party tent.  The good folks from Royal Rentals ended up donating the tent.  In the week before the event, they erected this monstrous white party tent, hammering pegs deep into the ground just above our weeping tiles, my husband looking on in horror.  He's such a good guy, my batman.  How many husbands would stand by as his crazy wife threatened the integrity of the household septic tank?  The tent was beautiful.  I will never forget driving home for weeks after the event, gasping as I caught the first glimpse of that majestic tent as it filled the space in front of our house.

We live on 11 acres in an old farm house.  The house sits in a small valley.  Even though we sit 300 meters back from the road, the acoustics of the valley heighten the sound of the cars as they whiz past.  As a result, it is not quite the quiet country property my husband hoped it would be.  But, who knew how perfect it would be for a party like this.  The property is not flat.  Not an inch of it anywhere.  Our dirt driveway climbs a hill to the house.  It's a hill.  It is not flat.  The tent was erected on a slope.  It was beautifully perched but obviously tilted.  We filled the tent with tables and chairs and food, a stage and, yes, a dance floor.  Who knew you could rent a dance floor?

About 150 people joined us that night.  My lovely prayer group ladies coordinated all the food.  Kevin's son, Richard Brown owner of Babelfish Bistro in Guelph, donated the best ribs I have ever tasted.  Steve and his band played for hours.  The dance floor was packed with multiple generations of people.   And I mean packed.  I watched.  Steve played his own music.  He also played the covers of songs that many at this party had grown up with.  Each time he played a new song, more people would flock to the dance floor until the dancers seemed to become one massive, moving unit.  They were dancing on a hill which made the unit slowly move toward Steve and the stage.  Every few minutes, the dancing mass would turn and dance back up the slope.  It was hilarious.

By one am, Steve was encouraging the crowd to let him go home.  I ventured into the house to see if my husband had survived the night without having a massive coronary.  He was asleep just as Steve and his band played the last song:  Purple Rain.  The song filled our little valley and echoed off the trees just as a post-midnight mist settled above.  It was so eerily beautiful.  I laid down for a minute, just to soak in the magic of the moment and thought of how blessed I was.  Who gets to be part of such joy?

We raised $26,000 that night for Bracelet of Hope just doing what people do best:  enjoying the company of others and celebrating the privilege of being alive.



Anne-Marie




Sunday 3 April 2016

Sometimes all you can do is stand up; Again and again and again





The last time I posted a blog was September 2015, 7 months ago.  That's a long time in the social media galaxy.  The last four years of my life have been extremely difficult and although I have stood up and dusted myself off repeatedly, another trial or new harsh reality has slammed my fragile equilibrium sending me underground again and again.  Taxing and unrelenting.  At times, this steady stream of difficulties has seemed impossible.  You know things are bad when you stop sharing your hurts with close friends.  If I had a friend that had been slammed this often, I'd take a step back just to avoid the sadness and heaviness; high tail it away from the anxiety of grief and loss......FLEE.  I might even fear that some of the mess would trickle over to my side of the fence.  Best to slowly step back and avoid connecting as much as possible.

Part of my problem is that I have been overwhelmingly blessed for most of my life and it is about time I realized that.  My expectations are, or were, too high:  life will always be good, I will always have what I need to be content and happy, everyone that I love will stay strategically placed in the landscape of my life right where I need them, my future will be bright and sunny.

 All this hardship has actually offended me.  I am offended.  How arrogant is that?  As if somehow I deserved only the best that life had to offer.

I don't deserve that at all.  Life is hard.  The more people you love, the more pain you invite into your future.  The easier your life has been, the less resilience and strength you earn.  All the good stuff, the happiness, the joy, the opportunities, the people, the comfort, they are all gifts.  I am blessed to have them but it's not my right to have them.  I think this might be called, growing up.  At 52, it is about time.  My apologies to all of you whose hardships started early in life, trotting beside you like old companions.  I imagine if you are still here and still smiling those old companions have seasoned and strengthened you.  They have made you sturdy and ready for life in a difficult world.  I want to be just like you.

But, I am not quite ready to embrace my difficulties, yet.  I still wish I could package them all up and send them to an address on a different planet;  but they are mine and they are teaching me.  I am learning to appreciate all the blessings but not hold on to them with tight fists.  I am learning to let strength and courage and resilience settle into my being.   These are pearls that I will hold on to with clenched fists;  fists that I punch into the air in defiance of my weaknesses and the weaknesses in the world around me.


I am not entitled to a good life but I have earned the right and collected the battle worn capabilities to make life better for those whose hardships are far greater than mine.  It's time to get back to that.



Anne-Marie