On Thursday, a group of girls came up to the window of our van and started knocking. One girl whom I didn't recognize held up a folded piece of paper and signaled me to come get it. She handed it over and walked away without saying anything.

I started reading it when we got back to the lodge and at first I didn't think it was anything more than a note saying hello. Then I realized it was written by a girl I didn't know who said she had been raped less than a year ago and later found out she was HIV positive.

She was an orphan, she said, who had isolated herself and needed someone to talk to. She told me that other than her counselor at Ubuntu Education Fund, I was the only person she had told. What struck me most was that she was angry with herself. She said that she had pleaded for the man to stop when she should have fought harder.

The letter was written incredibly well, and although we had talked on this trip about the possibility of having someone confess to being HIV positive, I realized how mentally unprepared I was to have it actually happen. Today, while I was peeling an orange, she came up to me and introduced herself. She asked to speak with me after the graduation party for our Grassroot Soccer/Ubuntu Camp. At 2:30 p.m. she approached me again and asked to talk. We walked over to the side of a school building and sat down.

The night before, when I was sitting on the stairs trying to absorb what I had just read, I was thinking about how I should react. Although in shock, I wasn't crying, or surprised. I was just numb. As I sat there shoveling in dry corn flakes, Jessi, our assistant coach, walked past and I realized that I needed to tell someone about this.

As I listened to my voice telling the story to Jessi, it hit me I was panicking. What was I supposed to do when she came to talk to me? What would I say? What worried me most was the thought of crying in front of her. Breaking down and becoming emotional was probably the last thing she wanted.

So back to the school: I expected the girl to start telling her story but realized she had done so in her letter and was waiting for a response. Without thinking, I started to talk. I told her she was brave, incredible and strong. She wasn't going to let this one bad thing ruin her entire life. She was going to come out even stronger than she was.

Her story was inspirational, I continued. I wanted her to know that as much as she wanted me to support her, she had just changed my life as well.

It was a kind of a curse to have this story unfold in front of me, for I realized I would never see certain things the same way again. In a matter of minutes, my outlook on the trip had completely changed. I have now had a personal experience with HIV/AIDS.

Yesterday, Ian warned us that today would be a very long day. Maybe that's why I'm sitting here surprised that the day is already over. Today, after Grassroot Soccer we all went for a walk through the township looking for girls to come to the clinic we were hosting later in the afternoon. Chicka, one of the Grassroot coaches, had us juggle a ball as we walked down the middle of the street. People started coming out of their houses to watch and Siya helped us ask girls if they wanted to come play soccer later. We split up so that a few people could walk on the other side of the street. After crossing to the other side with Jo, Molly, and Siya, a group of six-year-old boys started chasing after us. They ran down the sidewalk some in dress shoes, some in sandals, and others simply barefoot. Even though they were speaking Xhosa, we could still make out the occasional word such as 'American,' or 'United States.'

After recruiting as many girls as possible, we started walking towards the field where our clinic would be. I found myself between two girls who had attended Grassroot earlier in the day. They immediately grabbed my hands and kept walking. After the usual questions, how old are you? Do you have any brothers or sisters? And am I saying this right? (My attempt to pronounce the clicks in Xhosa correctly.) I asked if they had any questions about the United States. This triggered an onslaught of, what's it like? Are there any cute guys? And is it much different from here? Before answering their questions, I asked if anyone ever told them about the U.S., or if they were always the ones being asked questions. They told me people always ask them about their lives but never talk about their own.

After the clinic I started picking up soccer balls and managed to get four into my arms. As I was walking
towards the ball bag, a boy grabbed one from me. He ran off giggling and glancing backwards, checking to see if I would chase after him. I quickly ran after him, dropping one of the balls on the way. I caught up to him and we began an intense game of tug-of-war over the ball. Once the other kids saw us playing they ran over to join in and I was jumped on, tickled, and even bitten.

These kids had a strategy for getting me to fall. First, someone would run behind me and grab one of my ankles. Then, another one would hold my hands together. Last, someone would grab my other ankle and push me from behind. Over and over they would pull me to the ground and sit on me. I kept getting up and trying to run but after taking only a few steps they would trip me and pin me to the ground again. Slowly and somewhat painfully I was making my way across the field towards the bus. I started sprinting to get away and looked back to see a pack of about 12 screaming children chasing after me. Almost there, I thought as I was within 20 feet of the bus. Just as I stopped sprinting I felt someone grab my ankles. A little girl who had looked so innocent during camp was holding my hands together. Before I knew it someone was pushing me from behind. I had just enough time to look up into the bus before slamming into the ground and being dog-piled by all the kids.

Once we arrived at Ndzondelelo High School in Port Elizabeth today, we were led to the soccer field to meet some new girls on what was the first of five days we will spend with Grassroot Soccer girls and coaches.

I always brace myself when meeting new people here. I wonder will they like us? Do they think we won't like them? Maybe they worry we won't understand what they have to say. But these thoughts melted as the girls smiled at us and started shaking our hands.

The girls from D.C. Blast work on a cultural exchange during their first Grassroot Soccer session at Ndzondelelo High School. (Alice Keeney for the Washington Post)

Titi, one of the coaches, asked us to form a circle and play some warm-up games called energizers. As we were playing games such as "Do Like I Do", and "Bona Bona Bona, Eo" I glanced over my shoulder to see a group of about 20 girls watching us. I couldn't tell at first if they were laughing at us, frowning, or smiling. We kept playing until Titi and Courtney, a Grassroots Soccer volunteer, were satisfied that we were energized. [Editor's note: The Blast played against Titi, a 21-year-old center midfielder, and other members of the all-women's City Lads late last week in Port Elizabeth.]

We then entered a classroom lined with wooden desks, about six in each row. Titi, a beautiful woman with an athletic build, buzz haircut and earrings, came to the front of the room and sat down on a chair facing us. She started telling us what Grassroots Soccer calls "a coach's story" about her personal experience with HIV/AIDS.

The first thing she did was look each one of us in the eye. Then she began. When she was about 10, she met a man in Port Elizabeth who taught her to play soccer. He told her she had talent and encouraged her every time he saw her. He was, she said, like a father to her and the only person who encouraged her athleticism.

She lived some distance away from the man, and as she got older she saw him less and less. She heard that he had fallen sick with AIDS and was pushing people away, ashamed of the disease that was killing him.

When she made it back to the township in which he lived, she learned that he had already died.

By the time she was near the end of her story, the room was silent. The AIDS epidemic here was starting to seem real.

And then she said, "But don't be sad."

Anna Rassman with players from a soccer clinic in Cape Town. (Alice Keeney for The Washington Post) Photo Gallery

If I could explain one thing in words, it would be smiling. Weird,right? I've come to realize that we will all be doing that a lot throughout this trip. Smiling for group shots, smiling for candids, smiling because we're happy and smiling just because someone smiles at us.

Today, we took what seemed like a million photos on Table Mountain. When Alice was taking candid photos of us looking out at the view or talking to each other, the smiles were genuine. (After the tenth group shot they started to become a little less relaxed.)

Later, at our soccer clinic, a girl who was in my group named Amelia ran up to me right away, took my hand, smiled at me proudly and explained how she played soccer every day. As Anna and I coached our group, she would run up to me and put her arm around my waist and smile. I found myself smiling constantly. The day before I worried about smiling in pictures and looking good in them. Today at the soccer clinic I didn't think twice about it. I knew I looked happy, I couldn't stop smiling. At the end of the clinic we took a group picture and as the Blast lined up behind the other girls I looked down the line of my teammates and saw that they were all smiling just like I was.

My day had started with my watch beeping at 6:45. As usual it didn't wake me up and Allie was forced to throw a pillow at my head, just like the previous morning. After we all finished praising our hot water bottles (our only source of heat at night), we loaded up the van.

We drove about 20 minutes to the Table Mountain cable car station which was just above the base of the mountain. Looking down you could see the sun rising behind the buildings below. Once we were in the cable car, it took us a little while to figure out whether the platform we were standing on was spinning, or the rim around it was. The cable car rotates as it rises which allows you to take a good look around at one of the most beautiful views I have ever seen.

When we first got to the soccer camp, Tiffany [Roberts, a chaperon and former U.S. National Soccer Team player] called us over to start setting up the activities. We knew ahead of time that we would have to demonstrate each activity in front of the girls and some of us started to worry about performing the drills in front of 100 girls.

I immediately related the clinic to teaching riding lessons. At home I work at a stable near my house teaching riding to kids between the ages of 6 and 12. My friends and I always joke about how many home videos we are in.

Thinking about all those times parents came to watch me teach their kids, and all the pictures, lectures, and video tapings I have been through helped me realize that I had nothing to be nervous about. These were girls just like back home, even if they lived in a different country with different lifestyles. If I can make kids back home laugh, can't I make these girls laugh, too?

[Editor's note: The D.C. Blast went up against a South African women's soccer team near Cape Town on Tuesday night.]

We started to shiver as we got out of the van and started walking toward the field to warm up. It was pretty dark on the field and the lights were on. A player from the other team asked me if I knew how to swim. It took me a second to process why swimming had anything to do with playing soccer but she quickly pointed to the field. Immediately, I knew why she had asked. The field was soaked. Scattered across it were large puddles deep enough to submerge your entire foot and ankle.

Former U.S. National Soccer Team player, Tiffany Roberts, juggles a ball as the sun sets behind her, and the mountains, in Cape Town, South Africa on Wednesday. (Alice Keeney for the Washington Post)

"Yeah I can swim." I ended up saying.

"Good." She replied. "This should be fun."

This team was different from the ones we play in the U.S. The players supported one another in an inspirational way. One girl stood on the side of the field with a horn and when her teammates made a good pass or took a shot, she would blow into it three times and the girls on the sidelines would cheer along with it. They talked a lot to each other as they played, saying things like, "A for effort girls!" and "Keep it up ladies!" I thought, "We never say things like that. Usually we just say things like, "Good job guys!" We also tend to get "Unlucky!" a lot.

Playing in puddles above our ankles was fun, even when everyone's shoes were filled with water and the ball never seemed to move at the right speed. After the game we went into a building on the side of the field to eat and talk to the other team.

At first we sat on one side of the room and the other team sat on the other side. After we sat back down and got our food people began to talk. Only minutes later, people started to get up and walk around the room. Even some of the shyer people on our team were talking and laughing with girls from the other team.

As I'm typing this, I keep getting stuck, trying to put all the events and emotions of today into words. Coaches Jessie Cates-Bristol and Ian Oliver are standing in the doorway trying to help me explain our interaction with the girls from the other team.

The best way to put it is to say that we all assumed our gathering would be similar to that of a middle school dance: the boys on one side of the room, the girls on the other, and everyone glancing around awkwardly, not quite sure what to do. Today, it was the exact opposite. We skipped over all the awkward pauses by getting to know each other on the field. We didn't need to sit there and wonder whether we should get up and talk to someone we didn't know, we just did it.

Back in the van I sat down next to teammate Molly Brune and asked her what she thought about the team we had just met. "Truth is, I was really worried we would stay on opposite sides of the room and not talk," she said.

I had been thinking the same thing. This is a big part of why we're here: to become more open to experiences and meeting new people and to prove all of our false expectations wrong.