Chaslen koos

Reflection: City Year South Africa, 2014

Looking back, 2014 feels like a lifetime ago, yet the lessons I learned and the pride I feel remain as vivid as the Highveld winter sunshine. That was the year I traded my comfort zone for a red City Year jacket and a daily commute to Deepkloof, a community I’d only ever seen from the highway. It was the year I served as a tutor and mentor at Bapedi Primary School.

Joining City Year South Africa felt like stepping into the unknown. The mission was clear but daunting: to help bridge the educational gap in underprivileged schools in Gauteng. We were there to be more than just extra hands; we were there to be role models, homework helpers, and champions for children who often needed someone in their corner.

My placement was at Bapedi Primary in Deepkloof. From the first day, the energy of the school was palpable a vibrant, chaotic, and hopeful hum of over 600 children navigating their education in under-resourced circumstances. My job was simple in theory and incredibly complex in practice: build relationships. I worked with small groups of children, focusing on literacy and numeracy, trying to plug the gaps in their foundational knowledge. But the real work was in the breaks between lessons, the high-fives in the hallway, and the quiet conversations with a child who just needed to be heard.

The year was a rollercoaster. There were days of immense frustration, where the systemic challenges felt too big to overcome. There were moments of heartbreak, hearing the personal struggles some of these incredible kids carried on their small shoulders. But for every difficult day, there were ten moments of pure magic: the triumphant smile of a learner who finally cracked a maths problem, the shy “thank you, teacher” after a reading session, the shared laughter during a netball game.

Then came a moment that crystallised the entire experience and became one of the proudest of my life. I was selected to be a Service Leader. It was an unexpected honour. Suddenly, my role evolved from just supporting the learners to also supporting my fellow corps members. I became a team lead, responsible for helping to guide our small cohort of dedicated young people through their own journeys of service. It meant being a sounding board, a motivator, and a link between my team and the broader City Year structure. Leading my peers, who were just as passionate and committed as I was, pushed me to grow in ways I hadn’t anticipated. It taught me about patience, empathy, and the delicate art of leading from the side, rather than the front.

As the year drew to a close, we gathered for our final graduation and awards ceremony. It was an emotional day, filled with a deep sense of accomplishment and the bittersweet feeling of an incredible journey ending. When they called my name for the "Best Pride" award, a wave of emotion washed over me. It felt like the ultimate validation—not of being the best, but of truly embodying the spirit of the organisation. It was recognition that I had worn my grey jacket, and everything it stood for, with my whole heart. That award wasn't just a plaque; it was a symbol of every early morning, every conquered challenge, and every connection made at Bapedi Primary.

My year of service in 2014 wasn't just something I did; it’s a fundamental part of who I am. City Year taught me that leadership isn't about a title, but about showing up consistently. It showed me the profound impact of simply being present for someone. It gave me a pride that isn't loud or boastful, but quiet and deep-rooted—a pride born from hard work, teamwork, and the privilege of serving a community.

The children of Bapedi Primary taught me far more than I could ever have taught them. And as I think back on that year, I realise that while I went there to serve, I left having received the greatest gift of all: a clearer sense of my own purpose.

by Chaslen Koos, Soweto-born Strategist

There’s a specific kind of tired that doesn’t come from a lack of sleep. It’s the tired that settles in your bones when you’ve been fighting for a seat at a table that keeps moving. It’s the exhaustion of trying to build something meaningful while the ground beneath you feels like sand.

As someone born and raised in Soweto, I learned early that strategy isn’t just something you study in a textbook or apply in a boardroom. Strategy is survival. It’s how my grandmother could stretch a single chicken to feed a family of six and still have soup the next day. It’s how we learned to navigate systems that weren’t built for us, turning obstacles into stepping stones just by refusing to stop moving.

If you’re reading this and you feel like you’re on your last nerve, like the "grind" has become a soul-crushing loop, here is my strategy for keeping going. Not just surviving, but moving with purpose.

1. Anchor in Your "Why" (Your Kasi Compass)

When you’re from a place like Soweto, you carry a dual perspective. You see the lack, but you also see the abundance of spirit. You see the struggle, but you also see the innovation on every street corner (someone turning their garage into a spaza shop, a neighbour fixing cars with spare parts and pure genius).

Your "why" can’t be superficial. It can’t just be about money or clout. Those things run out. Your "why" has to be rooted in the people who are counting on you, and the kid you used to be who dreamed of a way out of the dust. When I feel like giving up on a project, I ask myself: Is this just hard, or is this just not aligned with the person I promised myself I would become? Keep that promise.

2. Practice the Art of "Skrrra" (Pivoting, Not Stopping)

In the township, we know that if one plan fails, you don't just go home and cry about it. You skrrra you turn sharply, you find another angle. That’s agility. That’s strategy.

We often think "keeping going" means putting your head down and ploughing through the wall. No. A true strategist knows that sometimes keeping going means stepping back to look at the wall, realizing it’s too thick, and finding the gate to the left. Stopping is not an option, but the route can always change. Don't confuse movement with progress. Sometimes the most strategic move is to pause, reassess, and pivot.

3. Find Your "Taxi Rank" Tribe

You cannot make this journey alone. In Soweto, the taxi rank is chaos, but it’s organized chaos. Everyone has a role. The hooters, the queue marshals, the person selling oranges through the window. They are an ecosystem.

You need an ecosystem. Not just "supporters," but people who will tell you the truth. You need the friend who will let you vent for five minutes and then say, "Okay, but what are you going to do about it?" You need the mentor who sees the potential in your chaos. Keeping going is impossible if you’re an island. Find your rank.

4. Celebrate the "Small" Wins (The Kota Principle)

We get so caught up in the big goal the promotion, the funding, the breakthroughthat we forget to celebrate the steps. In the townships, we can make a feast out of a kota (a hollowed-out loaf of bread filled with chips, vienna, and polony). It’s a simple thing, but it’s a celebration.

Did you finish that difficult chapter? Celebrate. Did you make one new connection this week? Celebrate. Did you just get out of bed on a day when the weight of the world was on your chest? That is a victory. Fuel yourself with these small wins. They are the bread that keeps you going until you get the full meal.

So, here’s to the dreamers who are tired. Here’s to the builders with calloused hands and heavy hearts. Keep going. Not because it’s easy, but because the view from the top is going to look a lot like home full of resilience, rhythm, and relentless hope.

Keep your head up, your strategy sharp, and your spirit unmovable.

· CK