I lived.

Before starting this YAGM journey, I simply told my friends and my family that I was going to be “serving” for a year in South Africa. I didn’t have all the answers and didn’t know what I would be “doing” everyday; but I was certain that I was going to be serving. It would be a year filled with learning and confusion, year of wonder and frustration, a year of struggle and joys; but a year that I had simplified as a year of “service.”

And it’s not to say that this year I haven’t served. There were times that I felt I was “doing” what I could. But in all these quotations of “doing” and “serving,” I realized that those things were the smallest fraction of what this year has been. My hands weren’t necessarily doing “work,” they were being held by my little neighbors on afternoon walks, or being handed a slice of bread to share by a teacher, or chopping vegetables with a friend in her kitchen as we talked about our day.

I didn’t just serve for a year in South Africa. I lived.

I lived as I woke up every day and showed up, with my hands open.

I lived as kids in my 2-3 year old class progressed in learning to count from 5, to counting to 10. (VERY EXCITING with BIG high fives!!!)

I lived as I learned to redefine what “success” and “busy” meant in my every day to day.

I lived as I witnessed funerals of some of my friends who lost their father, mother, and child.

I lived as the hot summer sun faded into a brisk winter, and T-shirts became layered under warm sweaters and scarfs.

I lived as I learned how to dance like no one is watching from the pros: 3 year olds.

I lived as I cried laughing at stories shared with me between a woman and her daughter who adopted me into their family and home.

I lived as I forgot what my life was like back in the US, and I began to lessen my grip on the things I thought I missed most.

I lived in a conversation of confusion, but was meet with grace and kindness by others who translated and taught me Setswana.

I lived in frustration, as I continued to learn the histories and complexities of Apartheid in South Africa, racism, gender inequality, domestic violence, economic inequality and corrupt institutions.

I lived in quietness, only to be interrupted by giggling and singing in the street from my 4th grade girl neighbors.

I lived in prayer to find stillness, peace, and understanding.

I lived in gratitude, because somehow, each day, someone was there to share a smile.

I walked into my community as a complete stranger, and left it as my home. I made friends, young and old, who taught me more than I’ll ever know and walked alongside me. And it’s not to say every day was easy; I struggled some days, faced difficult loneliness, and I faced a lot of really tough questions. But in all of it, I lived. My community taught me and showed me to live by no longer going through the motions, no longer checking the clock, but by being intentionally present together.

I’ve been out of my community for almost a month now. And it’s been an emotional rollercoaster of goodbyes, see you laters, and reunions. I’m now continually faced with the difficult question of: How was it? But I’m at a loss for words in how it “was.” Because how do you just simplify a year of living?

This year I was invited. This year my hands were held and embraced by others. This year I talked less and listened more. This year I found hope and joy in our broken world. And this year I couldn’t be more grateful to have lived.

Ke a leboga (Thank you)

Modimo a go tlhogonolofatse (God bless you)