One afternoon in Cape Town, I found myself sitting on a bench in the Langa township with a group of 12-year-old boys. We had just finished up some games and projects at Vusa, the after-school rugby academy where we’d been volunteering. As I started to relax, the boys, who were still full of energy, started crowding around me and throwing out questions. They were curious about everything. When I explained the exchange rate (about 18 rand to one U.S. dollar) they looked at each other in disbelief. “How many TVs do you have?” one of them asked. “So you’re rich?” asked another. I paused for a second. I didn’t really know how to respond. I never thought of myself that way, but in that moment, the difference in our worlds was hard to ignore.
Then came questions about college, making money, and what life in the U.S. was like. They responded to my answers by telling me about their daily routines, which included waking up early, helping around the house, going to school, sometimes skipping meals, and working jobs. One boy said he wanted to be a pilot. Another dreamed of becoming a pro rugby player. The way they talked about their goals was so genuine and full of hope, even if the odds felt stacked against them. This moment really inspired me. It hit me then how different our realities were. At home, I had easy access to so many resources, and at the end of the program, I’d be going back to that world. They’d still be there in Langa, doing their best to chase dreams in a place that doesn’t always make it easy.
But I didn’t want to leave them with that divide hanging in the air. So I told them something I really believed, that the world outside their township isn’t something to be afraid of. That it’s huge, and sometimes tough, but it’s full of possibilities too. I told the future pilot to keep learning and keep asking a lot of questions. I told the rugby player to train like he already belonged on the national team. And before I left, I said, “Work hard and come visit me in America. I’ll show you around Duke one day… and no, you can’t come back in my suitcase.” They laughed, but I saw their eyes light up a little. That moment stuck with me. It reminded me how easy it is to live in your own bubble and forget what life looks like on the other side. Now, back in my bubble, I think about those boys often, not just because of their dreams, but because of the way they reminded me to keep perspective. And to never take the opportunity I have for granted.