Day 9- Delighting in Service: The Heart of it All

In the heart of Hwange, we found that leadership, at its best, is both service and delight. In a world where we adults so often forget to play, to wonder, or to take joy in the work of caring for others, these days reminded us that delight is not the absence of duty—it is what makes duty sacred. To delight in others, to find meaning in lifting them, is an act of courage. As we moved from the laughter of the soccer field to the redemption of the bush to the humility of a village leader, we saw that delight and service are not opposites—they are partners. Each sustains the other, transforming responsibility into grace.

The Field of Play

The morning sun rose over the Ngamo Lions Soccer Academy, spilling light across a field of yellow dust and determination. The young players ran barefoot across the ground, their energy rising like a song. There was no scoreboard, no nets on the back of the goals—just joy. Every pass, every cheer, every cloud of dust felt like a declaration that community can be built through play. Their coaches guided with gentleness and laughter, teaching far more than technique. They modeled leadership that invites rather than instructs—leadership rooted in delight.

“The game is where we come alive,” one coach told us, as the rhythm of feet on soft ground and excited voices filled the air. He spoke not of winning or discipline, but of belonging, and in that moment, the field became more than a game—it became a classroom in the art of joy. The delight was contagious, reminding us that service is not always heavy work. Sometimes, it is the lightness that holds people together. Though Team Khaki (some of our fellows, our DoE and a few of our guides) fought valiantly, we did happen to lose to the most joyful U12 co-ed team we could’ve lost to. Our lungs worked overtime, and our hearts were filled to the brim.

In small groups on our rides out of Ngamo we mused about how rarely as adults we allow ourselves such joy—how leadership, in its pursuit of impact and strategy, too often forgets to play. Here, on this field in rural Zimbabwe, we were reminded that delight is not frivolous. It is what makes connection and community possible. When leaders create spaces for laughter, trust, and shared purpose, they transform service into celebration.

The Guardians of Hwange

From the field, we traveled deeper into Hwange National Park to meet up with the Cobra Rangers—men who once hunted the animals they now protect. They stood tall and calm, their khaki uniforms dusted with the red earth of the savanna. Some had been poachers, driven by hunger, poverty, and desperation. Now, through Imvelo Safari Lodges and the vision of Mark “Butch” Butcher, they had become guardians of white rhinos—living proof that redemption is a form of leadership. Their work is not easy. They patrol through heat and silence, alert to danger, carrying both weapons and hope. Yet there was delight in their eyes—quiet, humble, but unmistakable. “Now, when I see a rhino, I feel peace,” one ranger said softly. His words lingered in the air like a prayer. In that peace was purpose, and in that purpose was joy. They had turned their past into service, and their service into delight.

As a group, we reflected on what it means to lead after failure. How many of us have been given the grace to transform regret into purpose? The Cobra Rangers taught us that service is not only about giving—it is about restoring what was lost, and finding delight in doing so. Leadership, we pondered together, often begins the moment someone chooses to rewrite their story.

The Weight of Care

From Hwange’s wilderness, we traveled down a dusty road to a small village led by a man named Mazai. His name, meaning “rotten egg,” was passed down from his grandfather—a leader remembered for making unpopular decisions for the good of his people. What first sounded like humor revealed something profound: sometimes leadership requires the courage to be misunderstood. Mazai leads 103 households and 643 people. His days are filled with petitions, problems, and needs. “People come to me for everything,” he said, his voice steady. “Social problems, medical issues, even family disputes. You may not always have the skill they need, but you must make them feel cared for.” As he spoke, we could see the weight of his work—but also the quiet delight he took in serving. Through his leadership, the community built wells, a school, and a clinic stocked with medicine. But his pride was never in the projects—it was in the people. “If someone has bad character,” he told us, “it reflects on me as a bad leader.” His care was exacting, his standards high, but his spirit humble. “A leader will rarely hear thank you,” he said, “but will always hear complaints. You must accept this; it is your role in life.”

As a group, we reflected on the paradox of his words. Leadership, we remembered, is not meant to be comfortable—it is meant to be meaningful. To get into the stretch zone to do something for other people. And yet, even here, in the burden of responsibility, there was delight. Not the loud delight of laughter, but the deeper kind—the steady joy of knowing that one’s life has made others’ lives possible.

Reflections on Leadership

As the day drew to a close, the light softened across the savanna, and we began to see the pattern that had connected all three encounters. Delight had taken different forms—the laughter of children at play, the renewal of men who had found purpose, the steady grace of a village leader carrying his people forward. But in each place, delight gave shape to service. It made work feel like love.

We ended our day with a renewed understanding that leadership, when practiced with delight, becomes sustainable. Service without joy and delight becomes duty; joy without service becomes self-centered. But together, they create something enduring—a way of leading that nourishes both the giver and the receiver. For adults, delight is often lost beneath layers of responsibility. Yet here, in the heart of Zimbabwe, we found it again—in the rhythm of a soccer ball, the footsteps of rangers, the steady voice of a man called “rotten egg.” To lead with delight is to lead with presence. And presence, we learned, is the truest form of service.

With gratitude,

Trevor, Marisa, Jarred and Class 54