There are moments from my time in South Africa that I hope will never fade. Some were loud like the sound of children singing “APT” while laughing through a game of musical chairs, the sharp thud of soccer balls bouncing against concrete, or the blaring aux on our bus rides home. Others were quiet like the gentle waves from strangers in the township, or the way community members greeted us with “molo” or “molweni” (hello), even if they didn’t know us. I quickly realized these weren’t just gestures of politeness—they were cultural expressions of dignity, of shared space, of ubuntu (a South African philosophy that means “I am because we are.”). These moments reminded me that we were not tourists passing through, but visitors sharing time, space, and humanity. And with that understanding came a responsibility: to listen deeply, to observe with respect, and to engage with humility.
What stayed with me most was the time we spent with the children—their energy, curiosity, and openness were unlike anything I’d experienced before. From the moment we stepped into each school, we were met with bright eyes and boundless excitement. Every interaction felt alive: the way they asked questions without fear and genuine wonder, the games they showed us how to play, or how they proudly shared pieces of their lives. I found myself constantly learning from them, not just about their culture, but about how to be present, how to find joy in small moments, and how to lead with heart. Their spirit was so contagious. On our last day, we gave the kids paper plates and asked them to draw their favorite memories. Watching them illustrate those moments was unexpectedly emotional. It reminded me that sometimes the most meaningful impact comes not from what you bring, but from simply being there, consistently and with care.
Something I took to heart and felt throughout our time in South Africa was ubuntu— a belief I first heard defined as “I am because we are.” It’s hard to describe fully, but it is a concept summed up in the Xhosa/Zulu phrase “Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu” which means “a person is a person through other people.” I saw it everywhere: in the way children stood up for each other, in how community members looked out for one another, and in how complete strangers treated us with warmth and respect. There was a deep, unspoken understanding that a person’s identity is shaped not just by individual choices, but by their relationships and the responsibilities they bear to others. The more I reflected on it, the more I realized how different this felt from the individualism I’ve grown up around. In South Africa, I felt part of something larger than myself—like my joy, energy, and sense of purpose were not mine alone, but shared, supported, and lifted by those around me. Ubuntu is something I’m still unpacking, and every time I think about it, it reveals something new.
I also hope I never forget how quickly laughter became our shared language. Even when language was a barrier, especially to the little kids, we connected through movement, rhythm, and goofiness. A high-five, a dance move, or a silly face could break the ice in seconds. These moments reminded me that connection doesn’t always come from words—it comes from presence, energy, and trust. The children didn’t care where we came from or what we could offer. They just wanted us to be there. Fully. Honestly. Joyfully.
I didn’t leave South Africa with all the answers. I left with better questions. Questions about how I want to move through the world, how I show up for others, and what it truly means to be part of a community. This experience reminded me that impact isn’t always loud or visible. Sometimes it looks like listening. Sometimes it’s learning how to let go of control. Sometimes it’s just sitting in the sun, surrounded by kids who remind you what joy looks like in its purest form. These are the things I hope I never forget—the quiet lessons, the unexpected connections, and the version of myself that was shaped by all of it.