From Prisons to Prisms: Refracting the Light of Transformative Learning

Sunrise over the Nambiti Reserve

By Sabrina (Biology, '25)

As the sun rose over the Nambiti Reserve this morning, I had a quiet realization that this trip, though ending in hours, will stay with me for a lifetime. The sunrise game drive was a fitting close to a journey that has challenged and changed me. In the silence between animal sightings, I found space to think about everything we have learned not just from books or very (very) long articles, but from real people, real places, and real pain.

We woke up early for a 6:30 am game drive and bundled into ponchos, braving the morning chill. As the day’s first light cut across the reserve, it felt like the land itself was sharing one last reminder of the beauty and resilience that exists here, even amid deep scars.

We spotted familiar faces throughout the drive: zebras, wildebeests, kudus, warthogs, rhinos, giraffes, and cheetahs. But the best of all? An elephant, towering and gentle, emerging from the river with an unhurried grace.

After returning to the lodge, we packed our bags and shared one last breakfast, warm and nourishing like the community we have built on this trip. We hopped back onto the safari trucks which took us to our combie (van), marking the start of our long journey home. Our first stop was Johannesburg Airport. If you ask me, the drive was lovely. But I might have a much different perspective than most, considering I slept all 5 ½ hours of it. We arrived early, so we passed the time by eating dinner at Byte Cafe, wandering around aimlessly, and finally checking in. Once we were through security, we lounged at our gate for another 3 hours trying to brace ourselves for the long flight ahead.

Around 11:00 pm, we boarded our plane, exhausted but full of stories, questions, and the kind of clarity that only comes from lived experiences. After a quick 11 hour flight, we touched down in Amsterdam where we had a 3 hour layover ahead of us.

This course, Resistance and Reconciliation in South Africa, has brought history out of the pages and into our hearts. We walked the streets where protest became a way to demand dignity. We stood in places where the first seeds of democracy were sown, even as inequality still casts a long shadow. We learned how the weight of apartheid endures in the landscape, the economy, and the spirit of communities striving for something better.

I thought I was ready for that history, but seeing the reality of wealth inequity and systemic injustice was more jarring than any textbook could prepare me for. Outside of Cape Town, we saw informal settlements of corrugated metal, homes clustered out of necessity just blocks away from luxury that felt out of reach and out of touch. The policies of apartheid may have ended on paper, but the systems of exclusion they created remain alive in neighborhoods, schools, and the smallest of daily interactions. We witnessed the scars of apartheid in the layout of the cities, in land ownership, in who has access to quality healthcare, to education, to opportunity.

Yet amid that stark reality, I also found hope, bright and unwavering. We met preschoolers whose laughter seemed to rise above the walls of old injustices. Grade schoolers shared dreams of becoming scientists, teachers, and leaders. Young adults in Gap Year programs spoke of their determination to create a future defined by opportunity, not limitation. The communities we met, from Zulu to Xhosa to Basotho, opened their communities and hearts to us, sharing stories of survival and pride. They showed us that transformation does not begin with governments alone, but with small, deliberate acts of care and the courage to imagine something new.

At the Goedgedacht Trust, we saw how real change takes root. We learned how investing in children’s health and education can ripple outward to transform a whole community. In these moments, I understood that the work of resistance and reconciliation is not abstract. It lives in classrooms, clinics, gardens, and the quiet determination to build something better for the next generation.

At Project Gateway in Pietermaritzburg, we witnessed a powerful example of transformation. This Christian non-profit organization turned the old Pietermaritzburg prison—a place once marked by confinement and pain—into a center of hope. Project Gateway’s slogan, “From Darkness into Light,” speaks to their mission of supporting people who face immense challenges by offering practical assistance, community-building, and a sense of dignity and belonging. Seeing how a space once used for oppression is now a beacon of support was deeply moving.

As I leave South Africa, I carry that understanding with me. To be a bearer of hope and love is to stand in solidarity, to listen deeply, and to act with intention. It is a commitment to not look away from the inequities that persist, whether they are across the ocean or in my own backyard.

This trip also came at a powerful time for me, right after graduation. It was more than a final college adventure. It was a bridge into the next chapter of my life. It taught me that the work of justice is not confined to national movements or sweeping policies. It lives in how we show up for one another, how we challenge the systems that divide us, and how we stay present to both the pain and the possibility of the world around us. It taught me how to listen deeply, how to ask better questions, and how to sit with complexity without rushing to fix or explain it away. These are not just academic skills, but life skills.

I leave with questions (difficult ones), about what it means to reconcile, to repair, and to resist injustice in all its forms. How do we address structural inequality here in the US where versions of the same history echo? How do we make space for both grief and action? How do we remain present to pain without becoming numb or overwhelmed?

But I also leave with a deep sense of gratitude for the people who shared their stories, for the classmates and professors who held space for learning and growth, and for the discomfort that pushed me to see beyond my own experience. This trip reminded me that real education is never confined to a classroom. It happens when you show up, when you ask the hard questions, and when you let what you see change you.

As I step forward into whatever comes next, I will carry South Africa’s lessons in my heart. I will remember that change can begin with a single conversation, a single act of listening, a single moment of courage. I will do my best to honor the people and places that welcomed us in by living what I have learned: to center human dignity, to stand for justice, and to believe in the power of small, hopeful acts to create a better world.

[Editor's Note: Happy Birthday, Sabrina!]