Molly and Zizipho (Alice Keeney for the Washington Post)

Of all the Xhosa names I learned to semi-correctly pronounce, Zizipho was the first one I memorized. On the first day of camp, Zizipho came up to me and we started talking. She told me her name and said, "Don't forget my name!" At first we didn't quite know what to say to each other, so we kept on asking each other "Do you remember my name? What's my name?" We ate lunch together and talked about everything from school to boys.

On the second day after we had finished lunch, Zizipho grabbed my hand and started pulling me away. Because the school the camp was at her school, Ndzondelelo, she decided to give me a tour. She pointed out her classrooms and the library and computer lab of 25 computers, both of which were financed and set up by the Ubuntu Education Fund. There are about 740 children in her school. In her class, there are 54 students who all fit in to the same classroom and all have seats. As we walked around, it was clear that she takes a lot of pride in her school. Later Zizipho said, "I'm proud of my school and I love my school." She takes seven classes -- mathematics, physical science, Xhosa, English, life oration (basically health class), history, and geography. Her favorites are mathematics and physical science.

She lives in a house with four rooms, two dining rooms, and a kitchen. She shares the house with two younger brothers ages three and two, grandmothers from both sides, both her parents, her uncle and two "cousin-sisters." I found it very interesting that she calls them her cousin-sisters, but they have lived with her for three years, ever since their mother died from meningitis. Even though the house is tight on room, Zizipho does not mind. When asked if she could live anywhere, she simply said she would live in a town closer to the
beach.

She only really knows one person with AIDS, her neighbor, who was diagnosed with HIV at age 15. She found out that she had HIV from her boyfriend, who had gotten tested. Now, at age 17, it has progressed to AIDS. She has been on ARVs for a year and a half and still is pretty healthy. She still goes out and plays with other kids.
She was already educated about HIV and AIDS at school before she became infected with the virus yet did not heed the advice. Zizipho was very upset when she found out, but always treats her the same as she did before she found out about HIV. She then gave her friend advice: "Eat some vegetables, foods that's healthy." Zizipho said the girl went to Ubuntu for advice. Luckily, her family was very supportive. They were angry but accepting because "she is their child and they love their child."

Zizipho plans to go to university and wants to be a physical scientist. Despite the large amount of poverty in townships, Zizipho said that most of her neighbors and family had gone to or are planning to go to university. However, with high unemployment rates, it is unclear how much a university degree is beneficial in obtaining higher paying jobs or jobs at all. Both of Zizipho's parents went to university, but now her father is unemployed and her mother works at General Tyres. With the combined salaries of Zizipho's mother and uncle, also a worker at General Tyres, there is enough money to save up for university and always have food on the table, as well as other
expenses.

In one of our first conversations, she told me "Sexy Love" by Ne-Yo is her favorite song. After this week, I know that every time I hear that song I will think of Zizipho.

Every year for the past five or six years, I have watched the Fourth of July parade go down my street, had a barbecue, gone to the fireworks with my friends and all that jazz. Today, instead of celebrating American culture, I celebrated Xhosa culture.

On a tour of a market, at a place selling herbs, we were taught about an herb that chases away bad dreams and another that clears out your system. Then there was an herb that you were supposed to put under your tongue if you were ready to propose to somebody or when you walked by somebody whom you wanted to "get with." On another stop, we learned about apartheid and the history of South Africa; at another, we watched a man scrape all the meat off a cow's head.

After finishing up lunch, Molly Brune, center, visits with two girls from Port Elizabeth on Wednesday. (Alice Keeney for the Washington Post)

The time we didn't spend on the tour was spent learning South African songs, games, and words. One of the girls on the New Brighton City Lads team (whom we played against earlier in the trip) started teaching us different clicks of the tongue, prompting massive poor attempts on our part, an extreme amount of laughing, and an ounce of spit out of every mouth.

Next she taught us a tongue twister. I am proud to say that I am the only one who was able to remember the sentence. The sentence, which means something along the lines of a porcupine was at the edge of a cliff and then rolled over on its back and slit its throat, has, by my counting,10 clicks in it.

Being teenage girls, it didn't take long for us to start asking about name-calling and curse words. Among other things, we are now able to say the words egg, foot, knee, brain, butt, head, and you are not right in the mind.

Originally, I thought we would be spending the Fourth of July explaining to South Africans various American traditions and songs. But then I realized that in South Africa, our culture is already everywhere -- in the music, on television, in the restaurants, in the clothes. We are the ones who need to learn about their culture, from their language to their food and rituals.

It's not like we didn't celebrate. Our coach Ian did remember to buy sparklers and we squawked the national anthem together at one point. But as our cake showing two flags demonstrated, this wasn't a day only for American pride

If you asked anybody on our soccer team what she remembers most from Sunday's church service in Richmond, she would say the music.

Of the 11 girls on this trip, only four are practicing Christians. Clare is half Buddhist and half Jewish; the rest of the girls are not religious. This excursion was planned as a cultural experience and it certainly was that.

The D.C. Blast stops in Richmond, Africa, for a church service on Sunday. The church, a predominantly black Anglican church, has a relationship with the Episcopal Diocese of Washington. (Alice Keeney for the Washington Post)

The only instruments the people at church had were essentially blocks that resembled cushions. They were used like drums and two of the women clapped a heavy beat or rhythm with them. Unlike my church, where we have a piano to help us sing and many people still are unable to stay in tune, everybody here was able to harmonize and not a single voice was off key.

The music filled the room, so much so that you couldn't help but sit back and just listen. There were only five hymnals and the old women actually had most of the hymns memorized. This was incredible to me as the only church song I have memorized is "This Little Light of Mine."

The church, a predominantly black Anglican church, has a relationship with the Episcopal Diocese of Washington. Located in a township of Richmond called Poolesville, it is helping to move squatters to a new place with more permanence and better sanitation. The church has also started a house for older women. Jonathan Warner, the man that started the church-to-diocese relationship, is one of the most amazing people I have ever met. As teammate Clare said, "He is my new South African hero."

As we drove up to the church, a man was standing outside ringing a bell to let people know that the service would be starting soon. We sat down but other people did not start coming until about 10 minutes later. The service started with very few people, but by the end there were around 40 South Africans. The congregation seemed to be mostly women and children, as only three or four men other than the priests attended. Jonathan explained that not many people had come because of the cold. I don't blame them. In a building with no heat and only cement walls, some churchgoers even wore blankets to the service.

One of the unique things was that the music was sung and the scriptures read in three different languages - Afrikans, English, and Xhosa (this word is pronounced with a clicking of the tongue on Xh, prompting everybody on our team to end up repeating it at least 10 times because we wanted to be able to say it right). For the sermon, which was short in the interest of time, three of the four priests stood at the pulpit and each repeated the other in a different language. They would occasionally talk over each other, making me wonder if they usually included English or if it was just for us.

During the sermon, the priests stated, "All girls under the age of 16 are required to go to the soccer clinic of our visitors." Because my pastor never makes mandates like this, I found this rather strange and it made me feel almost guilty that they were forcing the girls to go in the name of God.

One thing my teammate Anna and I both noticed about the church was that in all of the pictures of Jesus and his disciples, the people were white. But Jesus is supposed to be the son of God and God is of every color and every race. The program at this church is supposed to instill pride. But, as Anna said, what better way is there to instill pride than to identify your Savior as someone of your own race?

Driving into a township in Port Elizabeth, we were well aware of the high HIV infection rate. On the way in, I saw signs for four or five funeral homes, marking death as one of the biggest industries around. Yet throughout our entire match against the City Lads, a girls' team that includes two South African national team members, the South Africans seemed like they were anything but in mourning.

D.C. Blast players mingle with locals in Port Elizabeth before getting on the bus after their game with the City Lads on Friday. (Alice Keeney for the Washington Post)

We knew that this team would be amazing and we had been complaining how embarrassing it would be to play against it. (Editor's note: The City Lads, an 11-year-old club team, range in age from 14 -28.) But the team's members did not act in a condescending way, even when they realized we were not as good as them. The crowd cheered for every fake and every goal on either team. Kenia once got by three players and after that everybody cheered and whistled every time she received the ball.

We lost, 7 to 1. After the game, some of our girls jokingly were taking off their jerseys as if to trade them. This led us to trade three of our Goals for Girls shirts with their warm-up T-shirts. I felt honored that a team of such amazing soccer players would put on the sweaty jerseys we had just been wearing.

All the little boys who had watched our game then came out on the field. At first it was awkward because they were asking us for the oranges that we were eating. They eventually stopped and instead started dancing to the Stevie Wonder song that was playing on the stereo above.

To the delight of the boys, some of my teammates, including Anna, Rachel, Kenia, Natalie, Jo, and Brooke, started dancing too. Not realizing the boys were looking, Natalie and Rachel broke out some dance moves our coach had taught us like The Sprinkler and The Shopping Cart. The little boys started pointing and laughing at which time Rachel and Natalie became embarrassed. But after recognizing they were the center of attention, they continued dancing to entertain the boys, although using "cooler" moves.

As we were pulling away from the stadium, the boys were shaking and kissing our hands and mobbing the bus. One boy was waving lightly and looking for someone. When he didn't see her, he grabbed his head and jumped up and down as if that would help him see better.

When Jo stood up, he started pointing and waving furiously. As we pulled out, the boys ran with our bus, waving and blowing kisses. Jo exclaimed something along the lines of "We have groupies. Now I can check one more thing off my list of things to do before I die."

As we continued to drive through town, we waved at people in the township and they usually smiled and waved back or gave us a thumbs-up. As we pulled away I remembered what is happening in this community behind the scenes. The thought made me quite uneasy. But at least in a country where the life expectancy is considerably less than the U.S.'s, I have seen people who know how to get a lot of enjoyment out of the activities they do every day.