king with Vernon recently and he
noted that every little thing adds up.
And I remembered learning to read
the word “bounce.” I had a Winnie the Pooh poster hanging in my bedroom, with
text stating, “A hop, a skip, and a bounce.” Cutely illustrated with Tigger and
Piglet, it was my favorite poster. And I was torn up by the fact that I could not read or pronounce the very
last word. At age five, the fate of the world seems to rest on the simplest of
matters. This word was one of those matters. I made a deal with my dad to
figure it out entirely on my own. And so every night (for what felt like
decades but was probably only a few days), I would attempt to pronounce the
word. He’d always laugh and say I was close, almost there, and that I’d better
work on it again tomorrow before tucking me into bed. I wish I had kept track
of every creative pronunciation I came up with for those six letters. When I
finally pronounced the word, I was ecstatic that every wrong pronunciation, or
so I told myself, had finally led to the one we all know well. Back then, it
took a lot of patience to learn how the “ou” fit together with a soft “c” and a
silent “e”–I had to understand each individual letter before I could piece
together the word.
When thinking about this semester
before leaving, I imagined grand and overstated experiences, dramatically
revealing moments, and life-altering understanding. What I’ve found, instead,
is so beautiful because it now seems just the opposite. I’m beginning to
realize it’s those small moments I’m cherishing most.
The fact that I don’t feel urged to
check the clock every other minute (I’m loving Cape Town time). That feeling of victory after Snigdha and I
cooked our first meal (aka tacos) without burning the meat. Those moments I’ve
been greeted with such warm welcome at the office (yes, a hug was mandatory at
our second meeting). Just standing amidst such palpable joy at church in
Gugulethu. Laughing with a native, stand-up comedian on an uncomfortably tight
train ride. Listening to a former prison mate of Nelson Mandela speak about his
country with such glowing pride. Being greeted by a roar of cheering at a
school, simply for being Americans (it leaves a lot to think about). Hearing
that ten families might share one sink in an informal settlement. Noting the
celebration so evident in the voices and photographs of the District Six
Museum–despite the trauma of relocation. Listening to that brilliantly insightful
comment from a peer during class reflection. Then, the breathtaking sunset at Camp’s
Bay (I think it will be impossible to forget the wind-pelted sand). That time
everyone in the pool house suddenly dropped everything to join in on squats to “Baby
Got Back” . . . because why not? Or the
car-ride conversation with Vernon that got me thinking about little things.
These small moments and many more
have informed my larger impressions of Cape Town. And maybe that’s why I’ve
found much of this experience so challenging to summarize into words. It’s been
the small details–as much as pronouncing the word “bounce” took knowing
individual letters.
Everything is still foreign and
exciting, much like life at age five. And part of me still wants to experience
everything, to go and grow and change and do all at once. But I think I will
have to wait to see just how these moments add up. Maybe to the life-altering
experience I came here seeking? But probably to something entirely unique. For now, I’ll try to do what Vernon reminded
me of, and of what my dad tried to teach me years ago. One letter at a time.
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| Sarah (far left) embracing the moment |
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