I feel extremely lucky to be here. Not only is the view from my room extremely breath taking, but everything in the compound we are staying in has been wonderful- including all the Basotho staff. Despite all of that, today was particularly hard for me. Today was our first real day of service and we spent it painting a few rooms and pillars of a primary school here in Ramabanta. The school is but two small buildings with one room per grade, which I’m told can house up to ninety children a day per grade. It was similar to what I expected to see, but that didn’t make actually seeing it any better. I did enjoy the painting aspect, because I was put in the decoration group and ended up painting a demonstration of a little girl using a pully system. What was difficult is that it was also the first time we interacted with the children of the area. These children were ranging from a few months old all the way up to teenage years and they greeted us with open arms ready to play. They were so happy and energetic even though many of them were wearing shorts with a worn jacket, or long sleeve shirt and either tattered shoes, or none at all, and mind you it’s the middle of winter here. It was easy to get caught up in games of tag, or running to catch the children just to spin them in the air, just like I do with my abundance of little cousins. I had fun with them and exhausted myself in an altitude I am not used to just because their giggles may be some of the purest joy I’ve ever heard.
But then the days work was done, and we had to leave. I tried to give them all hugs, and even had children run up to me while I was cleaning up just so they could say goodbye. It didn’t matter that there was a bit of a language barrier and it didn’t matter that we all looked so much different than them. These children accepted us as apart of the community immediately and it was one of the most difficult goodbyes I’ve ever had. When I left it felt as if I had left my own cousins and the conditions in which they live hit me like a brick wall on the bus ride home, and without wanting to I began to cry. I’m only going to be here a month, and then I get to go back to my own town, and my own king sized bed, with a family I never fail to feel loved and provided by. I wanted to feel guilty, but instead I felt something different. I felt like I wanted to stay longer. I wanted to paint more. I wanted to be able to build more houses. I wanted to give more of me and my abilities. It was hard to come to terms that I won’t be able to do all I want to. These people are so kind, these children so loving; they deserve everything I have and more. I dislike that just because of where I was born or the color of my skin gives me more of an advantage in life. That isn’t how the world should be. The world should be just like these children: so open and loving, ready to accept anyone to be apart of their community.
Also to my family, yes I went to Mass today. And although I didn’t understand a word of it besides “Hallelujah” it was beautiful and the choir was amazing. During the Psalm they sang quietly underneath the verses, while others sang the verses louder, instead of playing an instrument like the organ I’m used to. I love you all so much and miss you. I hope you’re all doing wonderfully.
Love,
Olivia Zink