I didn’t know how heavy my heart could feel until deployment day.

On December 15th, everything I had prepared for suddenly became real. We were together, yet with every stop, we were slowly being pulled apart. One volunteer after another stepped down into their new communities, and with every goodbye, something inside me tightened. I smiled, I waved, but my heart was quietly shaking.

By the next day, December 16th, the bus felt emptier not just in seats, but in spirit. I kept counting faces, realizing more were missing. When only two of us remained, my hands became cold. When Fatou was finally deployed, I knew… it was just me.

That moment broke me completely.

I cried, not softly, not politely. I cried because I felt exposed. I cried because I was scared. I cried because the people who understood this journey the most were now gone. I remember hearing someone say, “You’ll be fine.” I wanted to believe it, but at that moment, I didn’t.

When we arrived in Tabanding, Upper River Region, I stepped out with tears still sitting in my eyes. The community welcomed me with warmth I didn’t expect. Their voices were gentle. Their smiles were sincere. They kept reassuring me that I was safe, that I was home. I nodded and smiled, even though my heart was still trembling.

Then night came. My first night in Tabanding was the longest night of my life.

The silence was loud. Too loud. I lay there staring into the darkness, listening to sounds I didn’t recognize. My mind kept traveling back to the bus, to the laughter we shared, to the comfort of not being alone. That night, I missed my fellow volunteers deeply. I missed my roommate from PreService Training who could say, “I understand.”

I asked myself questions I was afraid to answer: Why did I choose this?

Am I strong enough?

What if I fail?

Tears rolled quietly down my face. No one saw them. No one wiped them away. It was just me and my thoughts.

But somewhere in that darkness, something inside me refused to give up.

I remembered my purpose. I remembered how far I had come. I reminded myself that courage is not the absence of fear rather it is choosing to stay even when fear is loud. That night, through tears and silence, I found a strength I didn’t know I had.

I slept with a heavy heart, but come morning as I laid on my bed staring into space I felt the strength of my resolve become determination.

This journey started with fear and tears, but it will continue with resilience, growth, and service. Tabanding may have been unknown to me, but I am ready to embrace it fully, bravely, and with an open heart.

This is my story.

This is my beginning.

And I will be fine.