Carmel Roberts. Image: UWC

As Heritage Month draws to an end, I think about those who came before me.

Standing in my garden, the usual thoughts flood in: work deadlines, study pressures, family responsibilities. I am a wife, a mother, and a struggling student trying to get it all done.

The drive to work starts with the school drop-off. My inquisitive eight-year-old son and I pass an informal settlement every morning. Without fail, he asks, “Mommy, why are those small children walking alone?” Many run across the busy road, rushing to catch a taxi or waiting on the roadside.

Sometimes I soften my answer: “Their moms and dads are at work.” Other days, honesty slips out: “They might not have parents, Benjamin.” His quiet response, “That’s sad, Mommy,” lingers as we arrive and cross the road to the school gate. A tight hug and a loud, “I love you, Ben,” and he’s off.

Back in the car, the rush to work continues through an industrial area. I can’t help but think about the people I pass, many of whom never had the chance to study further, some fighting to keep their children in school.

Arriving on campus, I take a breath. “Carmel,” I remind myself, “your parents and grandparents worked hard to afford you this opportunity.” My parents were teachers and principals. My grandparents were domestic workers. One grandmother mixed cement for the bricks my grandfather laid to build houses; my other grandmother cleaned homes. I don’t even know if they finished school.

So why tell this long story? Because it matters.

As a coloured woman, I often wonder: how did I get here? Fifteen years as a journalist, now a university media officer, a homeowner, wife, mother, and postgraduate student. And yet the guilt runs deep.

Is it because I’m surrounded by students who don’t know where their next meal will come from? Because my work is to tell their stories? Because, as a journalist for 15 years, I stood at the coalface of hardship and yet my path was maybe easier than many my age?

Maybe it’s the pressure: to pass my postgraduate studies, raise a kind and grounded child, and honour my parents’ sacrifices and my grandparents’ dreams. I want my son to know he wasn’t born into riches, but that the world is his oyster.

Perhaps my heritage is the thread that ties it all together. I am because they were. Their hard work shaped who I am, even when I don’t have all the answers.

And perhaps that’s why I find myself here at the University of the Western Cape (UWC). A place that doesn’t just educate, but remembers. UWC was born in resistance and continues to be a space of transformation.

It honours the legacy of people like my grandparents, those whose labour built homes, schools, and communities, even if their names were never written in textbooks.

However, UWC’s commitment to heritage is not only symbolic; it is embedded in action through its Institutional Operating Plan (IOP). The IOP drives the university’s mission to expand access to quality education while advancing research and innovation that uplift the surrounding communities. Across its faculties, UWC staff and students collaborate with local schools and community organisations on projects ranging from health outreach and literacy initiatives to youth development and economic empowerment.

UWC’s research further deepens this reach. From groundbreaking HIV and tuberculosis studies in the Faculty of Community and Health Sciences to water and sanitation research that informs local government policy, the university’s work shapes daily life in the Western Cape and beyond. Projects like the Institute for Microbial Biotechnology and Metagenomics generate global scientific insights and create practical solutions for clean water and sustainable agriculture, which are vital for communities with unequal access to these basics.

This is what makes UWC feel like home. It’s a university that gives voice to the children Benjamin sees on the roadside and the parents working in the factories I pass each morning. It is a place where heritage is not just history; it’s identity and possibility. It’s a daily reminder that education and research are collective efforts, bridging past sacrifice with future hope.

The need for education takes me back to a favourite bedtime story my husband and I often read to Benjamin—Oh, the Places You’ll Go! by Dr Seuss. Its playful message reminds me why learning matters so deeply. “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go.”

That belief is what drives me to complete my second qualification. Education isn’t just about degrees; it’s about opening doors, shaping our own path, and showing Benjamin that growth never stops.

So yes, my heritage is a puzzle I keep piecing together. UWC, guided by its IOP and community-focused research, is one of the pieces that helps make sense, one thought, one generation at a time.