Editor’s Note: Teresa Gray is the executive director and founder of Mobile Medics International, a medical disaster and humanitarian aid non-profit.
The news reports declared that on April 1, seven aid workers from World Central Kitchen were killed in an airstrike in Gaza.
But in my world, what happened is that on April 1, my amazing friend Lalzawmi “Zomi” Frankcom was killed in an airstrike in Gaza.
That’s not to say that the other aid workers were not noteworthy, or that their deaths were not a tragedy.
It means that I went from being deeply saddened and horrified that fellow humanitarian aid workers were lost, to being plunged into a personal nightmare that consumes me with grief and anger.
But for humanitarian aid workers, its often one and the same.
Working in these conditions bonds all of us aid workers in a way that may be hard for others to understand.
I told her, “Hey Zomi, we should probably move.
Editor’s Note: Teresa Gray is the founder and executive director of Mobile Medics International, a nonprofit organization that provides medical disaster relief and humanitarian aid. In 2022, she was also recognized as a CNN Hero. Her opinions are represented in this commentary. See more viewpoints on CNN.
According to news reports, an airstrike in Gaza on April 1 claimed the lives of seven World Central Kitchen relief workers. However, in my reality, an airstrike in Gaza on April 1 claimed the life of my incredible friend Lalzawmi “Zomi” Frankcom.
That is not to argue that the other aid workers weren’t significant or that their passing wasn’t tragic. That means that instead of being shocked and saddened by the loss of my fellow humanitarian aid workers, I’ve been engulfed in a personal nightmare that is causing me to feel grief and rage.
The week before Zomi left for Gaza, I spoke with her. Despite the fact that we both knew she was going, I reminded her that it was risky—something she acknowledged. Because Zomi was a beacon of hope for the hopeless, she went where help was needed, making sure the weak were fed and that others felt loved and cared for.
I worked in humanitarian aid for years before I met Zomi. She worked for World Central Kitchen, which provided food for the same people, and I run an organization that offers emergency medical care.
We used to collaborate frequently while traveling abroad. Eventually, through our years-long collaboration, Zomi and I saw each other so often that we became close friends. I would ask, “Hey Zomi, where are you taking food? Do they need medical as well?” She would reach out and say, “Hey Teresa, where are you doing medical? Do they need food?”.
Loveable, devoted, fierce, and hilarious was Zomi. She was the greatest hugger I have ever met and had this wonderful smile that was always present. When she would pack for her trips overseas, she would almost always forget something. During the night, she would ask, “Hey, when you get here would you bring me socks?” or “Hey my friend, I forgot to pack shampoo, you’re coming to the earthquake, right? Bring me some,” over a Whatsapp message or phone call. “.
We also had a running joke that I would always bring her Alaskan salmon and she would always bring me European chocolate. We agreed to bring those things and meet in Transylvania, the furthest place we could think of, but we never did. Instead, we would always ask each other, “Where’s my salmon?” or “Where’s my chocolate?” when we saw each other.
She called me to mockingly chastise me for leaving her behind when I did end up traveling to Transylvania. Our friendship was unique because of the ridiculous, pointless jokes and discussions we had.
Zomi and I never crossed paths in our respective home countries of Australia and America. We had never met before, except when we were both trying to assist with a disaster in a distant country. The fact that we were all working toward the same goal—helping when we could, where we were, and with what we had—was what mattered.
There are situations when it seems like there is little connection between a person’s personal and professional lives. But for those who provide humanitarian aid, it’s frequently the same thing. For Zomi, the vitality, love, and hope she infused into her work permeated her friendships as well.
I’ll tell you why—because people needed to be helped—because I know some of you are wondering why they were in Gaza at all. Helping others is the reason we are always present, no matter where we are.
Every humanitarian relief effort carries some risk. Each and every one. There are risks whenever there is a crisis that upends people’s lives, such as when food is scarce, babies are ill, or people’s lives have been completely turned upside down. The degree of danger is determined by these factors.
It could be difficult for others to understand, but working in these conditions binds us all together as aid workers. When a calamity strikes, we come together as a tribe, a family, and a community.
We depend on one another, support one another, and collaborate toward a common goal. Moreover, if fortune favors you, you may form an inexplicably fulfilling friendship outside of the workplace. That was me and Zomi.
I am aware of Zomi’s and her colleagues’ experiences and the larger geopolitical implications. And those issues will be handled by people with greater knowledge and experience.
The fact that her identity is preserved throughout the conversation is what matters to me. None of them were anonymous aid workers. These people were incredible.
It is my desire for you to know that Zomi was my friend, that she was loved and appreciated in return, that she would pause her activities to answer your call, and that regardless of the time of day, she would sound ecstatic to hear from you. She cherished her friends and family, always gave her all, brought joy to every space she entered, changed the lives of thousands of people, and worked for WCK because it allowed her to live out her passion. And my love was for her.
One time, while waiting for helicopters to transport us to the sick and hungry, we talked about death in Haiti while seated next to a building that had been damaged by an earthquake. Hey Zomi, we should really move, I told her. We could be killed if this wall collapses upon us during an aftershock. “.
She responded, “Listen Teresa, if I die, make sure you say nice things about me, not true things. ” We both laughed. The problem was that it was the same with Zomi. So, Zomi, here you are. See you in Transylvania — I’ll bring the Alaskan Salmon.
