A writing contest for Canadian students in Grades 5 to 8

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Turning the page on poverty

WorldLiteracyCanada

Congratulations to the winners of World Literacy Canada’s 2014 Write for a Better World contest! World Literacy Canada is proud to promote the work of young Canadian writers whose hard work, creativity and awareness of global issues are evident in the incredible stories you will find published in the pages of our 2014 Write for a Better World magazine!

The act of putting yourself in someone else’s shoes is a powerful one. It encourages us to look beyond our own perspectives and in doing so, we become aware of issues affecting people and communities different from our own. This awareness fosters a sense of responsibility towards others and an appreciation of the diverse experiences being lived by citizens throughout the world. In short, stepping into someone else’s shoes encourages us to be global citizens, and the winning stories of this year’s contest exemplify the ideals of global citizenship.

The 2014 Write for a Better World contest was an enormous success. We received over 1,000 entries from every province and territory across Canada, in both official languages. We would like to thank each and every participant who contributed time, effort and imagination to writing

This contest would not have been possible without the support and commitment of the teachers, librarians and school administrators who promoted this contest to their school communities and encouraged their students to participate. World Literacy is also grateful to our guest judge Kelley Armstrong for donating her time and expertise! Thank you to our sponsors, TD and Little Brown Company for their commitment to this contest and for sharing World Literacy’s values of literacy and education. Our biggest thank you goes to the inspiring young Canadian Authors who participated in Write for a Better World. Your creative minds will achieve great things in the future; as for what happens next in our world... that’s up to you!

their contest entries. Your short stories are a true reflection of the diversity of our country, and the amazing creative potential of our youth! Whether you hail from the big city centres, the small northern towns, the ocean-front villages, or la belle province, your perspectives on global issues and your eagerness to learn, grow, and write inspired us.

Among the winning entries was a common theme of embracing the fundamental similarities we share with our fellow humans, rather than fixating on our differences. Their stories demonstrated empathy, awareness and respect for others: be they children living on another continent, or those right here at home living a very different Canadian experience. World Literacy Canada’s mission for the past 59 years has to been to empower women and children through literacy and education. We are proud to see our mandate come to life within the pages of this book, as the winning entries are a true demonstration of the powerful role writing and literacy can play in forging connections between cultures, encouraging respect for others, and empowering youth to affect changes in their local and global communities. Enjoy!

CONGRATULATIONS!CONGRATULATIONS!

Thank You!Thank You!

Kelley Armstrong

1.

Alicia Myc, 13 years oldEtobicoke, Ontario

Jill Gaudett, 14 years oldWeymouth, Nova Scotia

At first, I told myself it was just a dream. That I would wake up safe and sound in my bed back in Toronto. I couldn’t have been more wrong. That first day was one of the worst. People were speaking in a different language, but somehow I could understand them. There was a man yelling at me to get to work and I started to tell him that I wasn’t from here, but he struck me and told me to follow the rest of the children. Nobody would listen to me when I tried to explain who I was. So, not knowing what else to do, I went to work. My skilled hands moved in a blur, like a hummingbird’s wings. When I was attaching tags to the clothes I made, I learned I was in a Nike clothing factory in Vietnam. The strangest part of my new life was my recurring dream. I was in my old Canadian body in a gray, rectangular room. There were no doors or windows. I couldn’t move, but I felt safe. The third night I dreamt that I met the boy I had switched lives with. We could talk about anything and everything during our lucid dreams.

It’s been a long, sleepless night of strange dreams. Even once I wake up, I think I am still dreaming because I’m not in my own bed. I’m not even myself! It’s no dream. I’ve awakened in another part of the world, as someone from another culture.

I hear soothing music, it sounds like meditation. People are very softly saying “Allah Akbar”.

I’m in a mosque. I don’t have my shoes on. I get up discreetly; I don’t want to disturb the others. I go outside. I’m in a place I’ve never been in before, and no one else speaks English. Hopefully someone is going to come to help me.

The Imam comes out. He speaks English! I tell him that I’ve recently arrived in Qatar with my parents who are on an exchange here. I feel like I’m still in a dream from last night, but instead of dreaming that I was in a mosque, it just so happened that I really was! I asked the Imam if he would help me understand the Muslim culture.

He wants to help me. He asks me what I already know. I think about it. I only know Muslims pray five times daily. I decide I want to learn more about prayers.

The next day the Imam and I go to the madrasa so he can teach me how to perform the (ةسردملا)prayers.

From him, I learned his name (Quan Hao Nguyen), his birthday (May 12th 2000, the same as mine), and his life story (he was kidnapped to work at the factory when he was three). I told him about my old life, mostly about how to behave around my family and friends. I also had to explain video games to him, because he had never seen one before. The whole time we talked, I was jealous of him. He had taken over my life and I was stuck in his miserable one. It just wasn’t fair. Why was I in this dull, difficult life? I was even beaten a few times by the floor manager for nothing more than working a little slowly.

It has been one year since my first night here. Tonight is strange. I’m not dreaming. Today I realized I shouldn’t be jealous. I’m happy to have had the 13 awesome years I did. I have learned more in my year here than most people learn in their lifetime. The most inspiring thing I learned was to be grateful for what you have because it won’t last forever. I should go. I think I’m finally going to wake up.

These are the steps:

1. Make sure the area you are praying on is clean; if not use a cloth or mat. 2. You have to face the Ka’bah (ةبعكلا). That’s toward the center of the mosque. 3. You pray at dawn, immediately after noon, mid-afternoon, sunset, and at night 4. Raise your hands to your ears and say “Allah Akbar”. That means, “God is the greatest”.

Then he shows me the position I have to be in and what I have to say from The Qur’an (نآرقلا).

It will be interesting fitting in with life in Qatar. Everyone dresses differently than we do in Canada. They speak Arabic. I’m already learning about Islam at the mosque, where you don’t wear shoes, and sit on the carpets on the floor, but in Nova Scotia we sit on pews or chairs in church and we can wear shoes. I’d prayed that my parents would bring me with them, and now that they did, I’m going to learn more about the culture of Qatar. Prayers do come true.

3.

Finalists...

2.

Finalists...

Noemie Marcoux, 12 years oldOtterburn Park, Quebec

(English Translation)

,

C’est le matin, sombre et bruyant, le soleil commence à peine à réchauffer mes pieds poussiéreux, tout me semble inconnu. Je ne comprends pas ce qui se passe, mes souvenirs me hantent et me semblent lointains.

J’observe de ma maison en ciment, la beauté de l’architecture et la vue splendide des montagnes lointaines. Je remarque, non loin du lit dur et sale au quelle je me suis réveillée, des épices fraîches suspendues dégageant un arôme extraordinaire. Je ne suis plus la jolie blonde de mes souvenirs, mais bien une femme brune aux longs cheveux noirs vêtue d’une tunique de couleurs vives. Les gens me saluent et me nomme Angelica, étrangement je comprends ce qu’ils disent. À l’extérieur, je vois un insigne indiquant Katmandou! Je réalise donc que je suis au Népal.

Dans les ruelles boueuses, je constate plusieurs temples ornés de statuettes animales divines, sans savoir pourquoi je m’y arrête pour les honorer. Une musique se fait entendre, un homme près de moi, qui se nomme Piero, me regarde et me dit joyeusement « Garuda », c’est la manifestation de Vishnu, l’homme oiseau, protecteur des terres. Tout s’éclaircit dans ma tête, les divinités animales sont reliées à l’hindouisme. Piero semble m’apprécier, peut-être qu’il connaissait la personne dans lequel je me trouve, bref, il me sera d’une grande aide.La manifestation se termine et Piero me dirige vers

des mobylettes. Je décide de me laisser guider par Piero, soudain notre engin percute une vache qui marchait. Ébranlée, je me relève du sol, Piero semble inquiet, il prend ma main et m’embarque dans un autobus. Il me rappelle que la vache est un symbole sacré digne d’une arrestation des autorités. J’ai peur, Piero est à mes côtés et on va vers les montagnes. Tout à coup, un énorme bruit se fit entendre et l’autobus fut anéanti par un glissement de terrain.

Tout est devenu noir. Lorsque je me suis réveillée, tout était différent, j’étais dans un lit blanc d’hôpital entouré de ma mère et d’un médecin, lui expliquant les risques de mon coma. Lorsqu’ils ont réalisé que j’étais réveillée, tout est devenu familier, ma mère, ma mauvaise chute de ski, et mon chez moi le Canada. Certains souvenirs refont surface tels que Piero et le Népal.

Je ne saurai jamais la vérité, mais il est certain que je vais apprécier davantage chacun des moments de ma vie. Un jour, je visiterai le Népal.

It’s morning, gloomy and noisy. The sun is slowly starting to warm my dusty feet. Everything seems strange. I don’t understand what is happening; my memories haunt me and seem distant.

I look around at my cement house, the beauty of the architecture and the splendid view of the distant mountains. I notice, not far from the hard, dirty bed on which I awoke, fresh spices hanging from the ceiling and giving off an extraordinary smell. I am no longer the blonde girl of my memories, but am now a darker girl with long brown hair wearing a brightly coloured tunic. My family greets me and calls me Angelica, and strangely, I understand what they say. Outside, I see a sign reading “Katmandou” and I realise that I must be in Nepal.

Out in the muddy streets, I notice many temples decorated with statues of divine animals. Without knowing why, I stop to honour them. There is music playing, and a man next to me, named Piero, looks over and says joyfully “It is Garuda, the celebration of Vishnu, bird-man, protector of the earth.” Everything becomes clear: the animal gods are part of the Hindu religion. Piero seems friendly, perhaps because he recognises the girl whose life I find myself living. He might be very helpful.

The celebration ends and Piero leads me towards his moped. I decided to let Piero lead the way, but suddenly our vehicle crashes into a cow walking the street. Rattled, I pick myself off of the ground. Piero seems worried, he takes my hand and we get on the bus instead. I remember that the cow is a sacred symbol, important enough to get us arrested! I’m frightened, but Piero is by my side, and the bus heads into the mountains. All of a sudden, we hear an enormous noise, and the bus is annihilated by a landslide.

Everything goes black. When I finally wake, everything is different. I’m in a white hospital bed, accompanied by my mother, and a doctor who is explaining the side effects of my coma. When they realize that I’m awake, everything becomes clear: my terrible ski accident, and my home here in Canada. Certain other memories surface too, including Piero and Nepal.

I’ll never know the truth of what happened, but I’m certain that I will live every moment of my life to the fullest. One day, I’ll return to Nepal.

5.4.

Renee Wong, 13 years oldRichmond, British Columbia

Tiana Roesler, 14 years oldPonoka, Alberta

Lying down flat on my bed, I kept my eyes shut. I was fairly tired and exhausted, but I managed to force myself to wake up. Slowly, I squinted and scanned around the room I was in. I wasn’t in my room with pale cream walls anymore. Instead, I was in a large pale green coloured room with exotic brown wood patterns. Suddenly, I realized that I wasn’t even on a bed! I was sure that I was dreaming, but everything seemed too real. If it was a dream I didn’t want it to end.

A girl around my age walked up to me wearing these strange wooden shoes. As I stared at her funky shoes the girl said “geta.” I was confused by the foreign language she spoke. The girl told me that her name was Yuki and she explained that a geta is a traditional Japanese wooden shoe. I was in Japan! The streets were bright and colourful, and the clothing people wore was very different than styles I saw back at home.The people here were very outgoing and expressed themselves through their wardrobe. I felt like I was underdressed. I was amazed and awestruck as we explored the many wonders of Japan.

I was getting hungry so Yuki brought me to this amazing ramen stand and it was delicious. We walked around the streets and everywhere we went there were people selling street food. Japanese citizens used currency called Yen. Yuki treated me to shopping and food that day, since I didn’t have any Yen. Yuki introduced me to two of her friends Kyra and Ryki.

Next, they took me shopping, and although the styles were a little bit too “bold” for me I decided to try something new. We went to the photo booth at the mall and took some memorable photos. Ryki explained that in Japan girls liked the look of big eyes so they put on this awesome big-eye effect!

That night when Yuki, Kyra, and Ryki and I were saying good-bye to each other, we promised that we’d keep in touch when I returned to Canada. I thanked the three of them for an amazing journey to Japan. But most of all, we all learned a very important lesson: just because we’re culturally different it shouldn’t change anything about our friendship, it’s the relationship in our hearts that counts.

Sweat dampens my forehead. As I reach up to push my long black hair from my eyes, I notice my once pale hands are now brown. I realize I am not alone in the room. It is crowded with people, none of whom I know. None of them pay me any notice. I run to the door and swing it open, hoping for a soft morning breeze to cool me. Instead a musty heat fills the air, although only a few rays of sunlight escape the dark of night to reach my face. India stretches out before my eyes, greater than I had ever imagined.

“Aahana! What are you doing? We must eat so we can harvest the rice.” I swing around to see a woman looking at me. She is holding a bowl. Suddenly hungry, I take my spot at the long table and devour my breakfast.

Harvesting rice is hard work. Standing ankle deep in mud, I painstakingly cut the stalks. This will be our main food supply for the next few months. We will eat no meat because my family is afraid that the animals we are eating are our ancestors, alive once more. I am exhausted by lunch time, and it is a relief to go inside and be sheltered from the sun.

My entire family lives in the same house. This includes my uncles, aunts, grandparents and my brother’s wives. I have only one sister, and she is to be married soon to a man older than her, whom she has only met once. My mother says soon it will be time for me, as well, to be married.

After lunch I walk through the streets. I can sense the unbreakable bonds between family, bonds I wish existed in my part of the world. But these people also have their struggles. A starving woman with a sickly baby walks past, and I want to cry. For the first time I am angry with North America. We have so much, we share so little.

After supper is eaten, I sit alone, reflecting on my day. I met courage and strength, but I also met a brokenness I had not imagined. I do not want to change India, but rather strengthen it, build on the love already in their culture. I am filled with a desire to make the world a better place, and I can start now.

,

7.6.

Kassia Scotti, 13 years oldLaval, Quebec

It’s been a long, sleepless night of strange dreams. Even once I wake up, I think I’m still dreaming, because I’m not in my own bed. I’m not even myself! It’s no dream. I’ve woken in another part of the world, as someone from another culture.

I snap out of my trance and wander out of bed. I’m not dressed in pajamas anymore. Instead I am in a plain pair of shorts and a light washed yellow t-shirt. I’m so perplexed as I sit up and get out of the comfy bed. I walk forward and set a hand on the knob of the door, and wiggle it open. There’s not much to see, so I walk forward through the small house. I get to the front door, and push it open.

The second I step out a huge gust of wind almost knocks me over. Small seeds get stuck in my pale blonde hair, and I pull one out and look at it. It’s a small white feathery looking thing. As it flies out of my hand, I look down and realize they’re all over the floor.

“Hallo,” I hear a light voice say, and I look up to see a pale skinned girl about my height, standing there with the same seeds stuck in her chocolate brown hair.

“Excuse me?” I say, not recognizing the language she spoke to me in. “Oh, you don’t speak dutch” she said in a thick accent. She giggled. “I’m Danique… and you are?”

“Tessa” I respond.

“You are not from here are you?” she smiles at me. “Where is here exactly?”

“Amsterdam of course!” she exclaims

That’s the moment when I finally look at my surroundings. I am standing right next to an arched bridge, under it a gorgeous canal with the same seeds floating delicately on the surface. In the streets, dozens of people on bikes with old styled wheels and baskets pass by.

“Oh my,” I say wonderingly, forgetting the fact I have no idea how I got here. “What are all these seeds!” I burst out with the question on my mind since I’ve stepped out.

“This is what we call, Spring Snow,” I look behind her at the empty trees, and the seeds blowing from the branches, like birds taking flight. “Beautiful, isn’t it Tessa” I nod and lean down, scooping up a small pile of the seeds in my hand, and letting them fly away slowly, like a hundred rose petals. “Would you like me to show you more of our city?” Danique looks down at me, offering me her hand. I take it and she lifts me up, leading me to a rack of parked bikes. “Choose one!” she says, jumping on one the colour of spring grass. I take the one painted red.

We ride off down the street, and as I look back, all I see are the seeds flying outwards from the motion of the wheels, and frontwards, all I see is the hair of my new friend flying backwards, and with the April winds in my face, I feel free. Like one of the seeds flying free in the wind.

Sama Al-Ani, 11 years oldDundas, Ontario

The boat was swaying violently back and forth and water splashed aboard. Only thunder and lightning could be heard and seen beyond the horizon. Almost as suddenly as the storm came, the wind and rain stopped and the clouds broke to let the sun shine again. The boat was still intact and there was no sign of struggle, but all the crew members were gone except for a 12 year old girl named Jane.

Jane was bobbing above the water, gasping to take in some air, until she went under again. She couldn’t take it anymore and fell unconscious.

Jane woke up to find herself surrounded by Palm trees that line the beach shore, swaying in the slight breeze. The ocean was a sight to see with its majestic waves splashing the shore.

Where am I? How did I get here?

“Don’t worry, Jane.” A voice came from behind her; Jane was startled and turned to see a grinning boy, who was new to her. Jane asked, “Oh, how do you know my name?”

He replied “My name is G.C.; and I know that you’re an energetic girl who is eager to discover her own dreams. You are here to explore Casablanca! And I am honored to be your guide”. Jane smiled and replied “Sure!”

“I will take you to Casablanca, the largest city in Morocco. It lies near the Atlantic Ocean and is an oriental city that has Africa’s largest

seaport. Casablanca is an exotic city, a very lively paradise, and has pleasant weather throughout the year. Most of the people here are Muslims; the languages they use are Arabic and French. ” G.C. explained, “I bet you’re hungry, let’s try the delicious Moroccan Cuisine.”

G.C invited Jane to eat lunch at a local restaurant, and he said “Tagine is our famous Moroccan casserole dish. It is beef and vegetable stew in a two-piece cooking pot with a cone-shaped lid.

After the pleasant meal, they continued the tour of the city. They reached the Hassan Mosque II. Jane was astonished by the magnificence of the mosque; it was jutting into the ocean and it seemed to float between the earth and water.

“It took five years for 6 000 artisans to build the mosque using mosaics, stone, and marble. It’s the second largest Mosque in the world.” G.C. explained.

Jane was delighted to visit this wonderful city.

Suddenly, she heard her mom’s voice, “Wake up Jane! We’re almost landing.”

“Huh…we are? Where is G.C.?”

Her mom replied, “Dreaming again, darling?

“Never mind, Mom,” Jane replied “I think I know who he is.” Jane glanced at the book in her hand; The Guide to Casablanca.

9.8.

Evelyn Blakley, 10 years oldSidney, British Columbia

Eliza Young, 12 years oldSaint Johns, Newfoundland and Labrador

It’s been a long, sleepless night of strange dreams. My room, my bed, my cat, where are they? I look into the mirror where my dresser used to be; I see no reflection! I wake to…

….find myseIf in a small village of Vinnytsia in the Ukraine! I am sitting at a table- but I am not alone! As I listen to the many conversations, I realize that my mother, sisters, aunts, female cousins have joined my grandma to carry out a favourite tradition! And I am going to be a part of it!

It is the Easter season. While all the male members of the family are sleeping in their cozy warm beds, the ladies of the house will be preparing the Pysanka, Ukrainian eggs. My grandmother and my mother have been teaching me how to paint Pysanka since I was ten years old. Our family has a secret formula for dyeing the eggs. The colours we use to dye and decorate the eggs come from berries, bark and plants found in my grandma’s garden. By the end of this week we will have decorated 60 eggs.

On Easter Sunday, we take the eggs to church so they can be blessed. After church, we share the eggs with family and friends; this is a symbolic gift of life. If you receive a Ukrainian egg you must display it in your house so everyone can see it. Everyone in our family will receive a Pysanka for Easter. The children will receive the brightly coloured eggs, while my older uncles and my grandpa will receive the darker coloured eggs.

Even some of the animals will receive the Ukraine eggs as a gift. Several eggs are placed in the barn with the cows to help them keep healthy and produce lots of milk. One egg is placed near my aunt’s beehive so the bees will make lots of honey. Two eggs are placed in the chicken coop to help the chickens lay many eggs.

My grandma tells a story of a girl that was given a very special Pysanka; however, it broke into ten pieces. As she picked up the pieces of shell, she accidently stepped on them. Several days later, she was stricken with a horrible disease and she fell asleep for three days. When she awoke …

...I was back in my room, the mirror shattered at my feet!

I’m Afia Jitlal, a teenage girl, with a shack for a home, hardly any food, clean water, or education. I didn’t start off as Afia Jitlal, I started off as Freya Dazell, I was still a teenage girl, but my life was different. I had famous parents, a mansion for a home, and I was considered the most popular girl in school. How did this happen? Well let’s take it back two weeks earlier.

It was a Friday morning in L.A., third period in school. We were learning about different cultures and today we learned about life in Afghanistan. We were told about how most kids don’t have as many privileges in life as we do, and that the Taliban has taken over the country. I look over at my friends and say “Wow that sucks. I’m glad I live here.” Me and my friends chuckle and then we all turn back to look at the teacher. When I turn back I see a figure of an old man, I quickly rub my eyes and he’s gone. That night was full of strange dreams; one included the figure of the old man, another showed the life in Afghanistan.

(The next morning...)

I wake up to find I’m not myself and the bedroom I’m in isn’t mine. I scream in terror and a lady runs in saying “Afia, what’s wrong?” I snap back “That’s not my name, I’m Freya Dazell, teenage girl, famous, a mansion for a home.” The lady gives a little chuckle and says “If only. You’re Afia Jitlal, this is where you live, and I’m your mother. Now quickly, it’s time to get up for breakfast.”

I sit down, disgusted at what I see on my plate. “What is this?” I ask.

“Rice,” my mother answers.

“Ok, where are my knife and fork?”

“There aren’t any, you eat with your hands.”

I start to eat with my hands, my mother slaps my left hand. “What was that for!” I yell.

“You never eat with your left hand; you should know that by now!” my mother says. Later that day I was ordered to go for water. I start to head out the door when my mother screams for me to put my burka on. I quickly do it. I now realize how terrifying it is to live here, as I walked to get the water a Taliban soldier was staring at me the whole time!

Now it has been almost two weeks since I woke up here. I’ve come to appreciate the culture and the challenges here.

The next morning I’m transformed back to Freya. I learned that you don’t need fancy food, designer clothes, and a lot of money to live. I will now appreciate what I have.

11.10.

Maxime Boudreau, 11 years oldDunlop, New Brunswick (English Translation)

Yan, un jeune garçon de 13 ans, loyal et fidèle, aux yeux bleu et cheveux courts d’un noir foncé arrivait de l’école. Une fois dans sa cour quelque chose capte son attention. Il s’avance pour s’apercevoir que c’est une petite statuette de loup, il la prend et part chez lui pour l’examiner.

- C’est l’heure de te coucher Yan!, cria sa mère.

Donc Yan alla se coucher et dormi malgré ses cauchemars. Mais un cauchemar le réveilla, pour qu’il s’aperçoive qu’il n’est plus chez lui mais qu’il est maintenant en pleine forêt. Il n’est plus dans son corps et maintenant il à de longs cheveux noirs, il est beaucoup plus fort, plus grand et habillé en vêtements traditionnels iroquois. Yan aperçu une grande maison de 25 à 30 mètres, devant laquelle étaient installé un homme et une femme mangeant de la sagamité, un plat traditionnel. Il s’approcha alors d’eux pour se présenter.

-Mon nom est Amarok et vous? Mentit Yan bien qu’il aimait mieux être fidèle et loyal.

- Nous avons choisi la voie et le nom de nos ancêtres iroquois, moi c’est Jolan et elle s’est Aiyanna, lui répondis l’homme pointent sa femme.

-Viens donc prendre place pour le goûter, demande alors Jolan.

-Bien sûr avec plaisir, mais ou somme nous? Demande alors Yan.

-Oh! Nous somme à Buffalo, lui répondis alors Aiyanna.

Yan pris alors place autour du feu pétillant sous le prénom d’Amarok.

Le soir après le souper Jolan proposa à Yan de lui apprendre comment chasser à l’arc, content Yan accepta cette offre. Les deux hommes partirent, pendant qu’Aiyana partait à la cueillette. Une fois dans la zone de chasse, les deux hommes entendirent le bruit des branches craquer ils virent ensuite un bœuf s’approcher d’eux. Jolan tira une flèche dans son flanc et la bête tomba à la renverse dans le bruit des branches qui craquent. Yan vue alors un loup qui approchait lentement, il s’approcha du loup qui portait une statuette identique à celle qu’il avait trouvé la veille, Yan prît la statuette et soudainement tout vira au noir. Yan se réveilla alors dans son propre corps et dans sa chambre. Yan était bien content d’être enfin chez soi, il se demandait s’il avait rêvé mais il était quand même déçu, de ne pas avoir dit la vérité à ses amis iroquois à propos de son nom.

Yan, a young 13 year-old boy, loyal and faithful with blue eyes and short, dark, black hair arrived home from school. In his yard, something caught his attention. He walked towards it, and saw that it was a small statue of a wolf. He picked it up and took it home to inspect it.

“Time for bed, Yan!” called his mother.

Yan went to bed and slept, despite the nightmares. One nightmare, however, woke him up, and he realized he was no longer at home, but was now in the middle of a forest. He was no longer in his own body. Now he had long black hair, he was much stronger, much bigger and was wearing traditional Iroquois clothing.

Yan noticed a longhouse 25 or 30 metres away. In front of it he saw a man and a woman eating Sagamité, a traditional meal. He approached them to introduce himself.

“My name is Amarok, what’s yours?” Yan lied, even though he would have prefered to be faithful and honest.

“We have chosen the names and the ways of our Iroquois ancestors: my name is Jolan and hers is Aiyanna,” responded the man, pointing at his wife.

“Come sit down and eat,” continued Jolan.

“Yes, with pleasure! But, where are we?” asked Yan.

“We’re in Buffalo,” responded Aiyanna.

Yan took his place at the glimmering fire, still using the name Amarok.

That night after supper, Jolan suggested that he teach Yan how to hunt, and Yan happily accepted the offer. The two men left, while Aiyanna went to collect the harvest. Out on the hunt, the two men heard the noise of branches cracking and turned to see an ox approaching. Jolan shot an arrow in its flank and the creature fell on its back amid the sound of snapping branches. It was then that Yan saw a wolf approaching him, slowly. Yan walked towards the wolf, who was carrying a statue identical to the one he had found earlier. Yan took the statue in his hand, and suddenly the world went black.

Yan woke up in his own body, in his own bedroom. Yan was relieved to finally be home. He wondered whether he had been dreaming, but he was nonetheless disappointed that he had not even told his Iroquois friends his real name.

13.12.

“Are you a Global Citizen?”

If you answered “Yes” to any of the above questions,

you are a Global Citizen in the making!

“Are you a Global Citizen?” Do you read or watch the news?Reading, watching or listening to the news on the radio is one of the best ways to learn about the world around you! You hear about new people, issues going on in other countries. Sharing what you learn with your friends, or discussing it with your parents, gives you the chance to hear other views and opinions that you might not have thought of.

Have you ever wondered how your life and experiences might be different from someone else’s?Putting yourself in someone else’s shoes demonstrates empathy and understanding. It is also important to recognize that we, as Canadians, are extremely privileged to be living in a country with education, resources and freedoms—many other citizens of the world do not!

Do you offer a helping hand when you see someone in need?Compassion for fellow human beings is a necessary part of achieving lasting change in the world. If we ignore the struggles of others, we allow their suffering and oppression to continue. We should always take action when we see others in need, both locally and globally.

Do you enjoy learning about other cultures, languages, and countries? It is important to be curious about the world around us. By learning about different people and different cultures, we increase our understanding of the world around us—including what problems people around the world are facing, and how we might work together to solve them!

What is Global Citizenship?

What Next?

Who is World Literacy Canada?

What is Global Citizenship?

What Next?

Who is World Literacy Canada?

Global citizenship is a way of thinking and acting; it means carrying out your life as an empathetic, responsible and inquiring individual who strives to make the world a better place. Global citizenship involves awareness of and respect for other places, cultures and peoples different from your own. To be a global citizen is to believe in the power of working together to achieve common goals that benefit all of human kind.

World Literacy Canada is a Canadian non-profit organization. Our mission is to empower women and children around the world through literacy education, we currently focus our efforts inCanada and India. Millions of men, women and children around the world are illiterate, and India is home to nearly 37% of the world’s illiterate population. Not knowing how to read or write can mean lack of access to employment, the market, and advancement in society. WLC works with communities, offering literacy classes, skills training, access to libraries and much more. Through literacy comes knowledge, confidence, independence and empowerment.

Stay involved and continue to make a difference! World Literacy runs events and fundraising initiatives throughout the year to support our work at home and abroad. We rely on volunteers and ambassadors to help us raise awareness and funds and, in turn, our volunteers can gain leadership experience, meet fellow philanthropists and contribute towards positive changes in our local and global communities.

If you answered “Yes” to any of the above questions,

you are a Global Citizen in the making!

15.14.

Write for a Better World workshops!

Write for a Better World workshops!

TestimonialsTestimonials

Throughout the 2013-2014 school year, World Literacy Canada had the opportunity to hold workshops in schools throughout the Toronto area. We were overwhelmed by the imagination and understanding shared by the students the discussions had and the activities they worked on. The principles of global citizenship identified in our classroom workshops were the same that we saw reflected in the entries we received from across Canada, confirming our belief that this outlook is a feeling shared by citizens across the globe!

Thank you to each of our Write for a Better World workshop students and teachers for your insight and enthusiasm!

- Jeff Johnson, Minister of Education, MLA, Athabasca-Sturgeon-Redwater

- Alicia Bindernagel, Write for a Better World 2014 Contest Winner

As a national children’s writing contest, Write for a Better World inspires students to develop their perspectives on the world and their global responsibilities in a creative way. This approach aligns with the vision of Inspiring Education, which identifies the educated Albertan of 2030 as an engaged thinker and ethical citizen with an entrepreneurial spirit.

- Jeff Johnson, Minister of Education, MLA, Athabasca-Sturgeon-Redwater

- Laurie McNeely, Educational Assistant in Ontario

I would like to thank everyone who helped put this contest together for this amazing opportunity. It is an excellent way to help Canada’s youth think about people who don’t have the opportunity for an education like we have, and put themselves in their shoes. It is great that an organization that started out so small, like many other charities and businesses, could grow into something so wonderful and help so many people. Write For a Better World has helped me and many other people realize how much

reading and writing can improve lives everywhere.

- Alicia Bindernagel, Write for a Better World 2014 Contest Winner

I work with a number of students from a variety of grades on literacy skills (...) they thoroughly enjoyed your contest. They are all kids for which literacy is a chore rather than enjoyment. Reading and writing has always been a struggle for them. This contest got them excited and most of them wrote more than they have ever written.

- Laurie McNeely, Educational Assistant in Ontario

17.16.

- Kelley Armstrong, Author

Through storytelling, young people have the opportunity to express their hopes, dreams, fears and concerns in a creative and fulfilling way. World Literacy’s contest inspires and challenges them to do exactly that, and to explore the power of their imaginations.

- Kelley Armstrong, Author

World Literacy Canada401 Richmond Street West, Studio 281Toronto, ON, M5V 3A8, Canada

www.worldlit.ca© 2014 World Literacy Canada - Charitable Registration Number: 11930 4640 RR0001 UA-24799663-1

Tel: (416) 977-0008Inquiries: info@worldlit.ca

A special thank you to our judges:

Gillian Aitken, Emma Anderson,

Alessandra Fabiano, Jasmine Gill,

Laboni Islam, Leah Lorenzo-Faulkner,

Jessica McRandall, Britt Novakowski,

Fiona Penny, Maghen Quadrini, Ashlie

Redden, Ken Setterington, Sara Vanos

and guest judge Kelley Armstrong.