School Work Time

School Work Time

Summer Reading 1

Non-fiction is a realm of writing traditionally associated with dry texts, heavily dependant on data, facts, and altogether too many graphs and spreadsheets. For the most part, while useful as reference material, these tomes of impartial knowledge are seldom read outside of their immediate educational context, and certainly never for anything as audacious as fun.

While the average reader would be hard-pressed to call Stephen Lewis’ Race Against Time “a fun read,” there is an undeniable and alluring piquancy to his prose; harsh language and harsh criticism abounds within these pages, particularly where international bureaucracy is concerned.

“It’s so enraging that they refused to listen,” he writes, of the the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank, “They were so smug, so all-knowing, so incredibly arrogant, so wrong.” The words of a diplomat, yes, but certainly not diplomatic words.

His anger is so bold-faced, so straight-spoken, that it contributes significantly to his success in presenting the argument. Unlike so many other authors, seemingly content to rattle off cold statistics about life expectancy and child mortality rates, Lewis uses powerful words to his utmost advantange— “wrong-headed” and “destructive” are used to describe the policies of the Bank and the Fund, for instance.

His writing is daring in its honesty. It’s no small feat to have stood up to some of the world’s most powerful organizations and lived to tell the tale, original opinions intact. He uses the plain and passionate language that so many would love to say, had they only the courage.

Perhaps that’s the word that best describes Lewis’ prose: courageous.
We can only hope that his bravery pays dividends for the people of Africa.

Race Against Time Paragraph 2

It has often been said that the most effective method of conveying a message is an unexpected one. Characters, in particular, are excellent vessels for this theory: everyone anticipates the beautiful princess, elegant and captive, languishing behind the door that the shining hero is duty-bound to unlock. Should the princess be fat and the hero be foul, we take a step back, aghast. Yet, despite our shock, these heroes satisfy just as well as the standard—it just requires us to tweak our expectations.

While the HIV/AIDS crisis is about as far as one can get from a fairy tale, unexpected heroes abound. Recounting the personal struggles of so many families, Stephen Lewis states that a group of women, traditionally seen as frail, have “emerged as the heroes of Africa.” They take control of situations when no one else “has dared to tread;” they look after “five or ten or fifteen kids;” they feed the hungry and care, as best they can, while their sons and daughters die. They are, of course, the grandmothers.

Lewis feels great respect and affection for these women, listening intently as they recounted their tales of “heart-wrenching trips to the graveyard” to bury their own adult children. He is awed by these frail, old women. Despite all the horrors they have seen, he notes with vigour their “positively supernatural” spunk.

All of this speaks to Lewis’ true commitment to Africa. So many claim their desire to be a hero—to change the world—but they go about it in a traditional way. The typical hero rescues the princess and, if he’s not too busy, tousles the orphan’s hair. It takes a different sort of person to admire the small and seemingly insignificant; to study the minutiae of the situation until the systems make sense; to reap praise upon dying women, supporting the dying themselves.

There’s no glamour in the elderly, no pomp or circumstance, but they remain the heroes nonetheless. Someday the grandmothers of Africa will be able to retire from their post, and live as we expect grandmothers to, but for now, a hero is needed. And when a hero is needed, one will rise, even if they need a cane and a moment to do so.