Redemption

South Africa always seems to know how to redeem itself.

I live in a two-story building that holds seven rooms on each floor. The building is painted white with green outlines around the windows and edges. Inside, the kitchen holds pink cabinetware, a refridgerator, a microwave, and a toaster. The living room on the opposite side has three sofas which display a grotesque print of green with black and lime stripes. There are two bathrooms, each with a toilet and a shower. The tiles are blue until you reach the shower, which has chocolate tiles with white lining. Interior decorating...not this university's finest. But it suffices. The water is always really hot and the toilets flush (still can't tell which way the water is spinning because it just shoots down like on an airplane). My room is on the first floor and has a small twin-sized bed (arguably smaller) with a desk, chair, bookcase, sink, and window (with bars). It is cozy and comfortable; nothing too flashy.

Last night, my room was invaded by a cacophony of sounds from the room next door. I thought I had traveled several thousand miles to avoid the booming of bass blasting from a subwoofer. I was wrong. Until 3am, I stared blankly at the ceiling, pondering when the party would end and when I could begin my sleep. I had approached the group several times by that point and quietly told myself that if it happened another night, I would let the respective housing representives know.

This morning, I woke up in a sour mood. Understandably so. I poured myself some breakfast, glanced at my cell phone to check the time and said good morning to the housekeeper. Summoning some courage because I knew I had one clean pair of underwear, I asked the housekeeper where the laundry room was. She said, "I'll do it for you." Shocked and slightly surprised, I initially declined. She insisted and I decided that South Africa had redeemed itself. Later on, she ironed my clothes and I compensated her geniality with a tip. Today was a good day.