This is the story of how we begin to remember

The people of South Africa have an unmatched flair for life. Their world is a captivating melody of sights, sounds and smells. Their unfathomable needs are masked by their strong faith and infectious love for one another; a love I have been blessed to witness first hand every single day.

The Kloof parish donates food for 10-12 food parcels each week and Baba Benjie has graciously let me assist him in delivering the parcels to families in the valley.
Every Friday we load up the back of the car, turn the music up and we’re off….deep into the valley. Our first stop: Matta (age 13) and Sma’s (age 21) house then down the road to pick up Andile and Zoleka (both 11).

The four strikingly beautiful Zulu children help us each Friday and I have fallen in love with them at an indecent rate. They have easily become my stand-in cousins. Their giggles are infectious and the more and more time I spend with them the more I realize that despite all the homesickness, all the challenging and exhausting days, just how much I love living in South Africa.

Our journey through the valley takes our car beyond traditional civilization lines, through paths that pedestrians would have a hard time navigating to roads which have no name. We go up wild dirt paths which barely constitute as a roads and down steep inclines to a place unlike any I have ever been before. Abject poverty surrounds us.
As scattered structures woven together with mud and sticks, passion, grief, sweat and tears begin to appear so do little bodies.

Running, racing, battling to be the first to reach our car. Their faces put an explanation behind the powerful pulsing of love in my veins. The red dust which is immeasurable taints everything from the clean clothes on the laundry line to the smirks on the children. Chickens and goats scamper to make room for our car, a luxury that will most likely never be a reality for the faces starting back at me through the glass windows.

Although many wear the duress of their lives in the lines on their faces and their broken hearts on their sleeves an impressive veneer of resiliency encases them. The reality of life is so different than that of my own and I feel so lucky to be afforded the chance to cross the barriers… to reach out and touch those deemed untouchable.

The Gogos, the mothers, the uncles and the babies fill my Friday afternoons, my life and my heart with such love.

I leave the valley at a crossroad of thoughts. Somewhere north of rhyme and reason, just south of details and structure, slightly west of convention and customs and east of old and new. I leave the valley remembering what it is to love, to hold hope so close to the heart and to feel passionate.

I leave the valleys on Fridays full.

Full of understanding that this world will never be what I want it to be, but though kind actions it can be transformed into a world where love flows freely and friendships are not bound by limitations of money, status or skin.


My food parcel route babies....




I do what I do because of theses faces

Under african skies

Dual sunrise and sunset over the Indian Ocean


Sunrise at my house


Sunset at my house



Night time at my house



I mean is this real life?

St. Theresas Salon

Just a typical afternoon at St. Theresas Salon...Shin and I getting our hair done.



Which was nicely followed by MK and I teaching the little guys how to use my camera...Please note how good our hair, outfits and smiles are...



A few kids and 15 minutes later...a bit disheveled


A full camera instructional lesson for 10 boys under the age of 5, lots of photos and 25 minutes later...utter chaos. Literally how we end every single Monday, Tuesday, Thursday at St. Theresas...I mean we look good ya?

Being able to admit your shortcomings is by far one of the most humbling experiences

The last two weeks I have been feeling really discouraged. I have been homesick for awhile and many days work is very challenging, but things really came to a head when I was sick.

The stress of finding a Doctor, feeling guilty for missing work, and feeling like a burden on the community coupled with missing the comforts of home were so overwhelming. I was in pain and more exhausted then I have ever been in my entire life. There were many nights that I came home on the verge of tears and all I wanted to do was go straight to bed.

It took a solid two weeks, medicine, lots of 7pm bedtimes and love from my roommates to begin to feel physically better, but emotionally I still didn’t feel right. I realized that even though my body seemed to be back to normal my heart still hurt.

One of the best things about being a volunteer is the raw aspect of community. Living so closely with others comes with its own wide variety of challenges; it can be frustrating, exasperating, annoying and outright maddening at times, but the sense of love and support is invaluable.

Last week at some point I finally sat down with the girls and through many tears and tissues I told them how unhappy I have felt here. I love them and I love all three of my work sites, but certain aspects of my day to day routine are making life here more challenging… namely my position at 1000 Hills.

1000 Hills is one of the most amazing places I have ever been. Dawn the director is an outstandingly strong, passionate and dedicated woman and role model. She built the center from the ground up and has given her entire life to the care of so many people. Each and every day there I am blessed with smiles and hugs from the Gogos and lots of love from the babies, the one fall back of working there is the days that I am assigned – Monday and Wednesdays.

Tuesday is baby clinic at 1000 Hills and Thursday is general clinic. Even though many people come to the clinic on Monday and Wednesdays, which are my days they are very very slow. I try my best to stay busy and engage those in attendance in conversation and activities, but more often than not I have felt like a burden.

After four months of discerning my options and asking over and over ‘what can I do’ or ‘how can I help’ I made the difficult, yet necessary decision that I needed to change my work schedule. I now work at 1000 Hills only on Mondays. I get frustrated on a daily basis that my initial work schedule didn’t work out. I know I’m not here to be satisfied myself, but at the same time sitting around for hours on end drinking tea was not what I walked myself into either.

Whenever I see the babies precious faces and feel the warmth in their hugs or have a conversation in Zulu with the Gogos at 1000 Hills on Mondays it crushes me. I flit between feeling satisfied with the decision I made and feeling like I disappointed those around me.

I am often nostalgic for the simple comforts that coincide with being somewhere familiar. There are moments every day that I long for people who just get me…who know me…quirks and all. But in the middle of feeling sad I find myself face to face with Becca, Sinéad and Mary-Kate. Without their comfort, support, friendship and love I don’t know where I’d be…

Ya! I know Kwa Ximba...

It is so hard for me to believe that it is actually the middle of May. Despite the mid 80s temperature the early stages of a South African winter are starting to make fleeting appearances. My throat has that pre-strep throat itch it always gets when the cold creeps in. The trees are slowly loosing their leaves and their flowers have vanished. Recently my legs have been outfitted with tights under the daily repertoire of dresses and on more than one occasion I have woken up cuddling with the “just in case” blanket which usually resides on the bottom of my bed…all telltale signs that the colder season is arriving.

And yet here I am, May 19th still in awe at how quickly the time has passed.

I remember at the beginning of the year when we used the early May arrival of the Villanova Nurses and the Malvern High School boys as a distinctive marker in our year. An “in the future” date…something to look forward to… something that seemed so far….something signifying that almost half of our year in South Africa was complete. And here I am, in the midst of it…

Earlier this week I was ask to guide the nurses through a valley tour. As I guided the eight nursing students and two professors through the Kwa Ximba valley I couldn’t help but feel satisfied. I was not only comfortable showing them around the valley, but I actually think I did a really good job.

I was able to identify the typical touristy sights – a traditional Zulu rondoval (round house) situated adjacent to other rectangular houses, the Tuk shops filled with chips and sweets and the tribal courts.

I was also able to point out certain things that you wouldn’t know from just passing through….
- The mountain that my patients refer to as “Sleeping Beauty” (the top of the mountain looks like her horizontal profile)
- I discussed in length the significance of the rondoval house which is where the elderly in the family live as a sign of respect
- We talked about the ineffectiveness of the government toilets which were conveniently placed every few feet, but inconveniently are never emptied
-I was able to field questions they asked about things I didn’t even realize I knew the answers to… such as why the women wear an orange colored mud on their faces (for sunscreen currently, but traditionally to let men know that they were menstruating...see image below)



And I mean how beautiful is she? Shes one of the women on my food parcel route....

It felt good to be able to have an answer for their questions and to feel like a part of the South African culture instead of a visitor.

To a degree certain things in South Africa still seem foreign, but slowly it is becoming my home away from home. A feeling I treasure.

We are all the same

I just finished reading "We Are All the Same" a book about the life and death Of Nkosi Johnson by Jim Wooten.

It is by far one of the most powerful books I have ever read.

Perhaps I am so moved by it because I am a witness to the struggle with AIDS on a daily basis. I can conjure up an image of a male patient Nkosi's age. Or because the places, the nameless roads leading to crowded townships filled with people who do not have proper identification (therefore in the eyes of the government do not exist) are the same dirt paths I find myself on daily.

I think it is the detail with which Wooten employs, exposing the raw nature of that which was and in some regard still is South Africa is not only educational, but utterly authentic. The hurt. The sadness. The confusion. And most importantly the love that is encapsulated within the book echo my exact feelings.

If you haven't read it, read it.
If you have, read it again.
If you want a glimpse into what surrounds me in South Africa, read it.

Part of Nkosi's speech...
"I want people to understand about AIDS- to be careful and respect AIDS- you can't get AIDS if you touch, hug, kiss, hold hands with someone who is infected.

Care for us and accept us- we are all human beings.

We are normal. We have hands. We have feet. We can walk, we can talk, we have needs just like everyone else- don't be afraid of us- we are all the same!"