At first glance, the photo looks calm and joyful. Two women are smiling, surrounded by green banana trees, holding freshly harvested crops. Everything appears peaceful. What the photo does not reveal is that just a few minutes before it was taken, my arms were silently questioning every life decision I had ever made.

The amazing woman beside me is Mama Kampundu. That day, she invited me to join her in the field. I assumed it would be one of those gentle visits where we walk slowly, talk about farming, nod thoughtfully, and maybe exchange a few ideas. I could not have been more wrong.
Mama Kampundu stepped into the field with confidence, grabbed the crops, and began harvesting as if it were the simplest task in the world. Her movements were smooth and steady, without any sign of struggle. I followed her closely, trying my best to look professional and capable, reminding myself that I am a CorpsAfrica volunteer and that I could handle this.

Five minutes later, my smile was still intact, but my muscles had completely given up.
Mama Kampundu did not complain, pause, or slow down. She worked with ease, smiling calmly, and occasionally glanced at me with a look that gently said, “My daughter, this is normal.” I was using all my strength, both hands, and full concentration, yet still struggling. That was the moment I truly understood that farming in Ngororero is not just work, but a lifetime of strength, skill, and endurance.
When we finally paused to take the photo, Mama Kampundu looked relaxed, as though she had just returned from a short walk. I smiled for the camera, but inside I was thinking that this experience was farming, fitness training, and life lessons combined into one powerful moment.

Beyond the laughter, that day taught me something meaningful. Mama Kampundu represents the strength, resilience, and determination of so many women in our rural communities. What looks simple on the surface is the result of years of hard work, experience, and deep connection to the land.
I came to Ngororero to Facilitate community development, but Mama Kampundu reminded me that every day in the field is also a classroom. Sometimes we learn by listening, sometimes by observing, and sometimes by working until our hearts feel full.

Thank you, Mama Kampundu, for the laughter, the lesson, and the unexpected workout. Next time, though, please warn me in advance so I can stretch first (just Joking hahaha).