When we arrived at the Due Drop Event Centre, we were introduced to five sweet people who would play a part in teaching us: Jocey, Andre, Maddie and Abby. First, they took us outside to the Cloud Pillar, Pou Kapua and told us the stories behind Matakerepo and the other Maori Legends skillfully carved onto the pillar: Matakerepo was a blind woman who relied on a third eye and her other senses to do things and Kupe, located at the very top of Pou Kapua, was a great explorer.

Next, we headed inside the building and into a large theater by the name of the Four Winds Theatre. The whole school joined the experienced dancers teaching us a few dances based on the Maori Legends on the pillar and once everyone had gotten the hang of it, we were divided into three groups. Each group had one dancer to lead them and teach them how to perform. Not only were the teachings straightforward and easy to follow, we were given the opportunity to add a move to the dance we were to perform in front of the other groups.

Each group took turns dancing at the front of the theatre while the other two watched.

I had a really fun experience at the Atamira Workshop, creating bonds with the dancers and learning more about Maori Culture. I would love to experience it all over again.

An old and drenched piece of cardboard is the only kind of house I own. My poor son’s stomach is grumbling. He suggested stealing from the bakery across the road once, tempted by the sweet looks and scent of pastries and bread. What kind of father am I… what kind of father lets their child starve? What kind of father lets their child freeze with clothes drenched from heavy rain? I wish I could give him a better life, a life with no war and unlimited food and water surrounded by people he loves. A life where he has clothes that he is comfortable in and can take showers everyday in a warm and cozy home. Suddenly, the thought hits me, I can give him all of this. The only sacrifice that would have to be made is me not being a part of his life, as much as it would hurt to leave him in an orphanage, it’s what is right.

I can relate to Euphrasie Barbier’s qualities and attitudes by showing random acts of kindness even if I don’t benefit from it like how Euphrasie made schools to provide education for those who needed it even though she didn’t have to.    

By Gabby

St Francis was born to a wealthy family in Italy. He was living a good and fortunate life, partying all the time, wearing expensive clothing and was surrounded by wealthy people. Francis had dreamed of being a knight, and when he grew up, he achieved this dream; He was a soldier fighting for Assisi against Perugia. During this war, Francis was imprisoned, this changed his life for the better. In his cell, Francis thought about his life and realised everything he owned meant nothing. After some time, when in a church, St Francis had a vision of Jesus. Jesus said to him “Francis, rebuild my church, it is crumbling.” Francis listened and offered help in the church, however, he soon noticed that Jesus had actually meant he had to change his life. He started by giving up everything he owned, abandoning his old ways and embracing a humble lifestyle. However, he wasn’t alone, with him were others who joined him to help the sick and poor. His actions deliver a message to us, that we should be kind when it’s difficult, to listen with our heart and to choose love over anger.

Daniel explains the writing on the wall to King Belshazzar.If Daniel were to describe my “Writing on the Wall”, I hope it would be that I am a thoughtful person, thinking about others, not just myself, that I have patience and can forgive others when they do things that I’d prefer them not to do, and that I’m gentle and that I can offer help without judging.

The gentle sound of the piano being played and the feeling of my fingers pressing the piano keys lightly felt soothing, I didn’t care how many notes were off-key, I wanted that moment to last forever. Before I knew it,

it was 12, I was one of the few people in the Community Centre -I’m so glad I was. I wrapped up the session, I had nearly perfected the classical piece I was playing, it was also getting quite late, I was supposed to be home by 11. I didn’t want mum to worry, my baby sister probably misses me and dad most likely prepared lunch by now. Just as I was about to make my way out of the building, I felt a vibration, as if the building was moving. I thought nothing of it, really, no one else in my surroundings seemed to care enough as well. But that moment changed the whole course of my life. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor, it rumbled and cracked. Screams of terror were heard everywhere. The once small cracks now spit walls from each other. Thump! Something had fallen, causing my surroundings to go pitch black. Terrified, I tried to get up, little did I know my right arm was pinned to the ground by a pile of rubble. Tugging on my arm just made the situation worse, my skin tore, causing unbearable pain. Dust went all over my face, my eyes, mouth and nose, causing me to cough to a great extent. Just a few minutes ago, everyone seemed to be having a normal day.

Our teacher, Ms George, read us a book “The Curious Incident of the Dog” this term. It was quite an interesting book, the story tells us about a boy, Christopher who has autism, who plays as detective trying to find who murdered Wellington, a poodle who belonged to his neighbor Mrs Shears. Below, I recreated a piece of the story using highly descriptive language from Christopher’s perspective.

I was having another walk. It was 11:30 PM, nearly midnight, one of my favorite times to have a stroll, it’s so quiet and peaceful then. I expected nothing overwhelming, just a casual walk. Everything was going as expected until I reached Mrs Shears’ backyard. In the distance, a pitchfork somehow stood without anything to lean on. I approached what looked like something big and fluffy. It was a dog, Mrs Shears’ dog, Wellington. It made me upset to see such a thing. I like dogs, they’re loyal and obedient. 

The pitchfork stabbed right through the dog and into the dirt he was laying on. I pulled the pitchfork out, the four holes the garden fork made gushed blood. It wasn’t long until the bodily fluid was all over the place. I ran my fingers through the poodle’s black fur. It was soft and warm like a normal dog. I heard a door open, Mrs Shears stood by her door, her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. Her neon yellow toenails stood out from her comfortable outfit, made out of a purple bathrobe and a white towel, wrapped around her head into a towel turban. 

“What did you do to my dog?”she said in increased volume.

“I didn’t kill the dog.” I replied, I don’t tell lies.

I watched her enter her house and slam the door. You could see her silhouette through a window, she picked up a telephone and put it to her ear. 

A few minutes later, while I was holding the poor dog in my arms, I could hear the faint sound of a car driving towards the road I was on. It parked in front of Mrs Shears’ home. Two police officers stepped outside of the car, the man out the from the driver’s side and the women from the door beside. The man approached me with heavy footsteps while the woman escorted Mrs Shears, who was now leaning against her door, back into her house.

“The dog’s dead.” I said to the policeman, holding an A6 size notepad.

“What’s your name?” The Policeman asked.

“Christopher Boone.” I replied.

“Did you kill the dog?”He questioned.

“No, I did not kill the dog.”I responded, I would never lie.

“How old are you, Christopher?”

“I’m 15 and 3 months.”

“Do you know who killed the dog?”

“No,”

“Do you have anything to do with this?”

“No,”

He started asking question after question, faster and faster. I pressed my forehead to the concrete and put my hands at the back of my head while kneeling. The policeman grabbed me by the left arm. Wham! I punched the police on the arm.

“Ow!”

“Don’t you dare try that again, hands behind your back.” he snapped.

I let him handcuff me with no hesitation, this is what I expected the police to do.

“Get in the back,”he growled. 

I followed his instructions, they do this in movies afterall.

We took a few turns and by the time we got to the police stations, it was about 1 AM.

“Get out.”

He took me to the Police Station, it looked small from the outside but it was a busy place.

“Empty your pockets.” a lady with a neat bun commanded after removing the handcuffs I was wearing. I emptied them, a Swiss Army Knife, a piece of thin string, rat food pellets for Toby, my brown and white rat and my bright green front door key. I saw her talking to the policeman who brought me here. 

“Follow me.” The Policeman said.

I was then brought to a jail cube. I liked it there, 2 meters high, 2 meters wide, a perfect cube. 

The Policemen then asked me if I had any family.

“Yes, I have a father, but my mother is dead.”

“Do you know your father’s phone number?”

“He has two, one for home and one for his phone.”

I told him both of them.

It had been quite a long time since I had gotten there. I expected father to come sooner but it wasn’t until then he had come to see me. 

Another man in uniform came to my cube, his nostrils looked very hairy, it made it look like he had mice in his nose, one in each nostril. 

“Your father said you didn’t mean to hit the policeman, is he right when he says so?”He asked.

“I did.” I told him. I didn’t want to be touched.

“Christopher.” Father, standing beside the man said.

“Did you want to hurt him?”

“No, I just didn’t want to be touched,” I didn’t like the way he pulled me.

“Did you kill the dog?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You do know that it’s very wrong to lie to a policeman, am I correct? It can get you in trouble.” 

“I do,”

“So, did you kill the dog?”

“No.” I always tell the truth.

Finally, the Policemen had let me go, I collected my things from the lady at the desk and Dad drove me home in his white car.

What are my responsibilities as a Global Citizen?