As I scrolled through my phone gallery one evening, something struck me deeply. Picture after picture, I didn’t just see images; I saw stories, smiles, sweat, and transformation. My gallery is no longer filled with selfies or scenery. It has become a living archive of my service and my community’s journey.

There are kitchen gardens we built under the sun, plate racks made from local materials, eco-friendly stoves that changed how families cook, and vibrant moments from savings group meetings. Each photo reminds me of a time when learning, laughter, and progress came together.

It dawned on me that I no longer save space in my phone for myself. Every remaining megabyte is reserved for the community I serve. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Serving with CorpsAfrica/Rwanda has been the most meaningful chapter of my life so far. I have not only grown as a leader and a listener, but I have also become part of a family far beyond my own.

My gallery tells a story.
A story of service, growth, resilience, and love for people.
And every time I open it, I remember:

I see the day we built a kitchen garden for Mutuyimana Annonciata, caring for her two grandchildren alone. I see the pride in the eyes of young people saving their first 200 Rwandan francs together. I see elders sitting beside us as we shape clay for stoves, sharing their wisdom and reminding us that development rooted in community ownership lasts longer.

There are photos of meetings under trees, tools in our hands, notebooks filled with dreams, and laughter after long workdays. These are not just activities; they are connections between people, purpose, and progress.

Sometimes I think, if someone opened my gallery, they wouldn’t just see what I did. They would understand who I became. Because this service has reshaped me, too.

I have learned to listen more, to lead with humility, and to trust in the power of small, consistent actions. There may be no space left in my phone, but my heart is overflowing with purpose.