Uncharted Journeys

Sixteen

When Rachel was five months old, I began traveling to Nkwenkwezi township with her to help children with literature. I provided books, read to them, and assisted with their reading. Initially, it was just me, without any other volunteers.

My published books were doing well. With my psychology degree and teaching certification, I started teaching and mentoring, guiding others on their path to happiness and fulfillment. I realized that my true calling was not just to write or teach but to inspire and uplift others.

Inspired by my time in Cape Town, I started a local teaching group. It was a small effort, but seeing the children’s eyes light up with understanding made it all worthwhile. I was exactly where I was meant to be, surrounded by the people and beauty that brought me joy.

My teaching group thrived, evolving into a vibrant community of learners. Every week, children gathered in our community establishment, Sifunda Sonke Book Club, eager to dive into the world of books. Sifunda Sonke, meaning “We All Read,” became a sanctuary where dreams were nurtured and imaginations soared.

The decision to leave Johannesburg marked a turning point, guiding us toward a more balanced and fulfilling existence. Sifunda Sonke exceeded my expectations, fostering a love for reading that transformed lives.

I often wished to see one of the children walk into our club one day and say, “Ms. Ivile, do you remember me?” His face would beam with pride as one of our first members to go to university to study literature or pursue any successful path, giving credit for his success to Sifunda Sonke. His words would echo my purpose—inspiring and believing in the potential of every child.

One morning, as I woke up and stood on the balcony, Mike joined me, wrapping his arms around me from behind and kissing my head. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.

“Good morning,” I replied, gazing out at the river. “It’s so peaceful.”

“I know, right? I feel like we’re on vacation every day,” Mike said, holding me close.

“Noah, come see!” I called out to our son, who was already awake and playing with his toys. “The sun is rising over the beach!”

Noah rushed out to join us, rubbing his eyes. “Wow, Mom, it’s so pretty!”

We stood there together, taking in the beauty of the marina, grateful for this little slice of paradise we called home.

As the nights drew to a close, Mike would often sit with me on the couch, his eyes gazing into the distance, lost in thought. I knew that look; it was a sign that he was thinking about his parents, particularly his father.

“Hey, what’s on your mind?” I’d ask, gently rubbing his arm.

He’d sigh, his eyes welling up with tears. “Just thinking about Dad. I miss him so much.”

I’d listen as he shared stories about his father, the memories they made, and the regrets he had. Mike’s love for his father was palpable, and I could see the grief still lingering in his eyes.

“Mike, you need to find peace,” I’d encourage him. “Your father was a happy man, surrounded by his family. He saw us all together, happy and healthy. That’s all he ever wanted.”

Mike would nod, a small smile on his face. “You’re right. I just wish I could have done things differently, spent more time with him.”

I’d take his hand in mine. “You did the best you could, Mike. Your father knew how much you loved him. That’s all that matters. I’m sure he is happy to see how you have grown to love the farm and are trying to improve the business.”