Burambang is a small community in Foni, West Coast Region (WCR), with a population of fewer than three hundred people. The community is home to three ethnic groups, the Jola, Mandinka, and Balanta who live together peacefully. Before my arrival, Burambang was already full of mixed emotions for me: joy and sadness intertwined.
During the volunteer site announcement, I felt so normal when my name was called among those posted to the West Coast Region. I was relieved, thinking that because the region was not too far from Kombo, life there would be easier. Little did I know that vulnerability has nothing to do with distance; it exists wherever people face daily challenges.
When I finally arrived in Burambang, I was welcomed by a man and a woman who later introduced himself as my host father. After exchanging a few words, the deployment team left. My host father helped me carry my belongings to my room, the place I was expected to live for the next ten months.
The moment I stepped inside, my heart sank. The roof had openings that allowed sunlight to hit my eyes directly. I walked to the back of the house and saw a toilet that looked abandoned for years. At that moment, I felt weak as if my soul had left my body. I stood there, frozen, unable to move my legs.
What worried me most was how to spend the first night. I could not leave the house because my luggage was inside, yet I felt unsafe. The doors were broken, and fear filled my heart. My host mother noticed my concern and tried to reassure me. She smiled and said, “Come, look here. People do not steal here. Our doors are always open, and nothing bad happens.”
Despite her comforting words, I felt overwhelmed. My spirit was shaken, but I reminded myself why I was there. I came as a volunteer to make a lasting impact. At that moment, I realized that what mattered most was not how the community made me feel, but how I could make the community feel. I began to observe quietly and ask myself questions.
Why wasn’t my welcome warm?
Why was I welcomed only by my host father?
Where were the rest of the community?
Was there a miscommunication about my arrival date or was I simply not welcome?
These questions stayed with me throughout the day. That evening, the Alkalo and the Village Development Committee Chair came to greet me. After exchanging pleasantries, I made my first request: I wanted to meet the entire community. The Alkalo supported the idea and called for a meeting the next day.
During the meeting, I introduced myself properly as a CorpsAfrica Volunteer. I explained the mission and vision of the organization and made it clear that I was there to stay for ten months not as a visitor, but as part of the community. I asked them to see me as their own.
From that moment, I changed my approach. I began going house to house, sitting with families, sharing meals, chatting, listening, and joining small gatherings. Slowly, everything changed.
That was when I truly understood a powerful lesson: if you want to belong, go where the people are, and they will always find you a seat to sit.
Smiles started to appear wherever I went. Women and children rushed to bring me a chair each time I visited their homes. The community became warmer and more inclusive, and I began to enjoy every sunset in Burambang. What once felt like fear slowly transformed into belonging.
My first month taught me that integration is not about being welcomed, it is about showing up, listening, and walking with the people. Sometimes, belonging begins when you take the first step.
