OPINION: My dear friend was killed in Gaza.This is what I want people to know about her

Editor’s note: Teresa Gray is executive director and founder of Mobile Medics International, a medical disaster and humanitarian relief nonprofit. She was also her CNN Hero of 2022. The views expressed in this commentary are her own. Read more opinions on CNN.

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News reports announced that seven World Central Kitchen relief workers were killed in an airstrike in Gaza on April 1. But what is happening in my world is that on April 1st, my wonderful friend Lalzaumi “Zomi” Francom was killed in an airstrike in Gaza.

This is not to say that other aid workers were not noteworthy or that their deaths were not tragic. It meant that I, deeply saddened and horrified by the loss of my fellow humanitarian workers, descended into a personal nightmare that consumed me with sadness and anger.

I spoke to Zomi a week before she left for Gaza. I reminded her that it was dangerous – something she herself admitted – even though we both knew she was going anyway. Because that’s what Zomi did. She goes where help is needed, she makes sure the vulnerable get food, she makes sure people feel loved and valued, and she sees herself as a source of hope for the hopeless. He appealed to be a light.

Zomi and I met many years ago when we were both doing humanitarian work. I run an organization that provides medical care in crisis situations, and she worked at World Central Kitchen, which provides meals to the same people.

We often worked together in foreign countries. “Hey, Zomi, where are you going to get the food?” I ask. Do they need medical care too? ” she said, holding out her hand. “Hey Teresa, where do you get medical care?” Do they need food? ” Eventually, over the years of collaboration, Zomi and I began to meet frequently and became close friends.

Zomi was fierce, loyal, loving and funny. She always had a great smile and was the best hugger I’ve ever known. When she was preparing for a trip abroad, she always forgot something. In the middle of the night she would get a Whatsapp message or call asking, “Hey, can you bring me some socks when I get here?” “Hey, friend, I forgot my shampoo. There’s going to be an earthquake, right?” Bring some. ”

We also joked that she would always bring chocolate from Europe and I would bring her salmon from Alaska. Neither of us ever did that, but whenever we saw each other we always asked, “Where’s my chocolate?” or “Where’s my salmon?” Then we bring those items and agree to meet in Transylvania, the most remote place we can think of.

When I actually ended up traveling to Transylvania, she called me and jokingly yelled at me for going without her. The silly, insignificant jokes and conversations we had made our friendship special.

I have never met Zomi in her home country of Australia and she has never met me in my home country of America. The only time we ever met each other was in a foreign land and during a disaster where we were trying to help each other. What mattered was that we shared a common purpose. It means helping when you can, wherever you are, and with what you have.

Sometimes there doesn’t seem to be much overlap between what people do for a living and who they are. But for humanitarian aid workers, it’s often exactly the same. For Zomi, the energy, hope and love she brought to her work was also found in her friendships.

I’m sure some of you are wondering, “Why was I in Gaza?” I’ll tell you why. Because people needed to be helped. That’s why we are always there to help people, no matter where they are.

All humanitarian aid operations involve risks. All of them. Risk is measured by severity, but risk is always present when a crisis occurs that disrupts people’s lives, when food runs out, when babies get sick, when people’s lives change forever.

Working in these settings brings all of us aid workers together in ways that may be difficult for others to understand. We become tribes, families, and communities that come together in times of disaster.

We trust each other, help each other and work together towards a common goal. And if you’re lucky, you’ll develop friendships outside of work that will give you fulfillment on a level that’s hard to describe. It was the same with Zomi.

I recognize the larger geopolitical implications of what happened to Zomi and her colleagues. Then someone with more expertise and knowledge deals with those issues.

What’s important to me is that who she is doesn’t get lost in the discussion. There was not a single faceless or nameless aid worker among them. They were wonderful people.

That Zomi was my friend, that she loved and was loved by her, that she would stop whatever she was doing to answer your phone call, that she would stop whatever she was doing to answer your phone call, that she would love to hear from you at any time of the day. I want you to know that he seemed very happy when he heard from me. . She cherished her family and friends, always gave her 100%, lit up every room she entered with a smile, and made a difference in the lives of thousands of people. She worked at WCK because it fulfilled her purpose and she loved her purpose. And I loved her.

We once sat next to an earthquake-damaged building in Haiti, waiting for a helicopter to take us to the starving and sick, and we talked about death. . I told her: “Hey, Zomi, we should probably move. If the aftershocks come, this wall might fall on us and we might die.”

She replied, “Listen, Teresa, when I die, say nice things about me, not the truth.” We both laughed. The problem is, with Zomi, it was exactly the same. Well then, Mr. Zomi, please. See you in Transylvania — we’ll bring you Alaskan salmon.