Mountains of perspective

It's the smell of urine in the laneway in town, it stays in your nostrils and sticks to your shoes. The pungent aroma follows you for the day, the bad smell you can't shake off. It ruins your morning, even when the smell is gone, your mind tricks you into thinking it is still there.

The introspection starts, do I smell? Can my colleagues smell it? Do they think it is me? Fortunately, my day takes hold, the noxious fumes fade and the torment dissipates.

I wonder is homelessness like the smell of piss that never fades?

They wake up with it, it follows them through their day, it torments the mind. Do they wonder is everyone looking at them and thinking... "Homeless"?

"They" seems so harsh, so distant, we're worlds apart. Hang on, we share the same streets, the same biology and often the same conversations.

I once worked in the type of sandwich shop the Celtic Tiger was reared on. Brioche, focaccia, ciabatta... You know the sort. At the end of each day the wastage was massive. We could take what we wanted and dump what we didn't. One evening I took a few sandwiches for the homeless fella on the way home.

"From where? No thanks!" A man of principles when it came to the kind of sandwich he would eat. Beggars can be choosers it would seem... and why the hell not?!

More recently, at lunchtime, my mood drove me to a slightly, slimmed down version of the "Fat Philly Meal Deal". The crisps and coke didn't make it but the chicken fillet roll and potato wedges did. I strolled shamefully back to work, taking a right turn down a lane I knew was a favourite of the homeless.

"Can you spare some change bud?", I was asked. I mumbled and shuffled on, mimicking the scene played out a million times a day. The weight of guilt and potato wedges consumed me and I turned on my heels. I thrust the wedges in his direction and rather embarrassingly said "You need these more than I do."

In McDonalds one evening. Two young ladies, in the throes of a Thursay night out, chatted aimlessly with another young man. "Where are you off to tonight?", the ladies were asked. "We're not sure, probably to a few bars. How about yourself?" they lofted back with interest. "Back to my dog and the street, I'm homeless."

What can we do for the beggar who chooses, the man whose chips are down, the fella who doesn't look homeless and the thousands for whom the sky is their only roof?

Next weekend, myself and 30 colleagues will attempt to climb the highest peak in each of the four provinces of Ireland, in one weekend. Our goal is to raise at least €15,000 for The Simon communities across Ireland.

Needless to say, I bought my hiking boots yesterday and am relying on my five a side football, tag and occasional gym experiences to get me through this one. This is going to be tough.

We start on Friday with Carrauntoohil, followed by Mweelrea and Slieve Donard on Saturday and the ascent of Lugnaquilla on Sunday.

I don't know what we are doing but I do know there will be aches and pains, wind and rain, cuts and blisters.

We're doing this because we want to make a difference. Hopefully this feat will inspire you to dig deep and give what you can to help solve a problem that impacts way too many people.

Any donation is big and will have a real impact. Click here to help.

We all have our mountains to climb, thankfully our four are physical.

After Africa

From 7 in the morning until 4 in the afternoon the Chifundo Campus is alive with the sound of children. Smiles, laughter, shrieks and yells pierce the air. We could be in any playground in the western world, we're not. We're in the heart of Zomba, one of the poorest places on earth. Broken hose pipes form skipping ropes one minute and impromptu telephones the next as imagination runs wild. The girls clap their hands while singing songs and the boys leave dust in their wake tearing after one another. In the classroom their desire to learn is insatiable, they devour books and do not stop until they understand words like "rustle", "smokey" and "Belfast". They hang on our every word and some now pronounce "thumb" with a strong Wexford accent.

It's winter in Malawi, the clock strikes 6pm and the sun disappears. Cold air replaces the scorching heat of two hours previous. Darkness invades every space. The houses in their villages have no electricity, no heating, no running water... the kids disappear across their threshold where they stay until light returns. Childhood should be full of stimulants and sensory activities as they explore their world, here it's not. "Go inside and read, draw a picture, learn a song" or "Play outside with your brothers and sisters"... worthless statements once the sun goes down on these villages.

There are no psychologists or child experts on hand but it's hard not to wonder what impact this has? A prisoner knows why they are locked up each day, these children suffer the same fate because of the lottery of their circumstance.

We all have potential and generally we are afforded the opportunity to fulfil a large part of it.

Go right back to your earliest memory of school, take a look around the classroom. Pick out your classmates, the uniforms, the pictures on the walls, the coats hung neatly on their pegs, the nature table... Delete everything except the students and keep adding kids until 99 surround you. Bring in a teacher, watch him trip over students, forced to sit on the floor, as he makes his way to the blackboard. He begins his lesson and you strain to see beyond the cluster of heads in front of you, your ears betray you as they ignore the teacher and pick up the constant background noise. This is your reality, day after day you come to primary school.

Secondary school is your goal, to get there you need to achieve 60% in your English exam. Good luck!

The Chifundo Foundation takes some of the poorest children out of this situation and gives them a chance. Your donations send these kids to private schools, where they are taught in smaller groups, by better teachers. Their education will lead them to a job and break the cycle of poverty.

One boy can draw a full skeleton and name all the parts. His father earns €30 a month as a tailor who's regarded as too old fashioned to require his services.

One morning we called the children to class. They came running, all except one, he lay motionless in the shade of the tree. He did not have the energy to move from his perch. No wonder, he hadn't been fed since the previous afternoon.

There were 25 girls in our group, innocent, happy and intelligent. Without education, the dark shadow of prostitution looms large.

There is a boy of 12 who lives with his brother and sister, his parents are dead. His brother and sister are 4 and 6. He missed the first two days of class and on the third turned up in a shirt, trousers and shoes, doing his best.

A wonderful Belfast man set about gathering discarded kids football jerseys. Each day we handed out a new jersey to three deserving recipients, by the end of the two weeks they all had one. Now there are kids wearing football jerseys with Gotze, Alonso, Coutinho and one poor fella with Ibe on the back, daring to dream. Their gratitude was incredible, bowing before us as they received their gift with open arms.

In the morning we taught them English, in the afternoon we played sports with them. The way they stared, they way they listened, the way they marvelled... If nothing else the children of Chifundo know there is something beyond their village and education can get them there.

They don't know your name, what you look like or where you are from but these children know you exist. One day, because of what you have done for them, they will express their gratitude to you in person.

When you strip everything away, circumstance, hardship, geography, disease... children are children. Check out these kids being kids!