Asni is not new to me.

Like many of the villages we work with, it is a place we return to again and again. Relationships here are not transactional or one time visits. They are built slowly, intentionally, and with trust. Each return deepens connection, understanding, and accountability.

I am in Morocco as a volunteer with the High Atlas Foundation, sent by my home institution, Algoma University in Ontario, Canada, through the Queen Elizabeth Scholars program. This placement is not observational. It is embedded. It requires responsibility, presence, and accountability to the communities we serve.

This visit, however, was different. This visit was sacred.

Two days before we returned to Asni, we sat together in a community focus group. Women, elders, and community members gathered not just to speak about needs, but to be heard. We talked about food insecurity, long term recovery after the earthquake, dignity, fear of being forgotten, and hope. When the discussion ended, we did something that cannot be measured in reports or metrics. We prayed together. We asked for blessings, opportunity, food in abundance, protection, and remembrance.

Two days later, the answer came.

I received a call from Fatima Zahra, my supervisor at the High Atlas Foundation, an organization that functions as a connective web between communities and non governmental partners. Fatima is my role model, my hope, and my guide. I am her shadow in the field, learning through proximity, presence, and responsibility. She told me that two private donors wished to distribute food parcels in Asni.

This moment mattered deeply because there had been an issue in the past. Previously, private donors had entered the village without permission or coordination with the village guardian. The community was not informed, and despite good intentions, the outcome created harm rather than support. This time was different. Through the High Atlas Foundation, the distribution was coordinated ethically, respectfully, and with community consent. Because of that structure, something large and meaningful was achieved without consequences.

When we returned to Asni, only two days after the prayer, we met Adam Ahmed and Zamran Syed.

Zamran has travelled widely and has always paid attention to poverty. This time, however, he was no longer observing from a distance. He shared that when he sees hardship, he feels gutted, but this experience was different because it was hands on. He spoke about how meaningful it was to combine financial support with direct presence, and how deeply moved he was by the hospitality of the very people receiving aid. The generosity of vulnerable communities offering warmth, food, and kindness in the midst of their own scarcity left a lasting impact on him.

Later that day, he said, “this is a moment that I will cherish for the rest of my life.”
(Zamran Syed, January 30, 2026)

Adam’s role is deeply rooted in trust. He has been entrusted with zakat, the third pillar of Islam, a mandatory annual charitable contribution for those who are able. He spoke openly and humbly about faith, responsibility, and humanity, saying, “I have been entrusted with the zakat. I am not a perfect Muslim, I never met a perfect Muslim, but what we can do is try, try to do good, try to be good, not harm others nor judge their path. Poverty, hunger, disaster, it can happen to any of us, I am honoured to do the work I do.”
(Adam Ahmed, January 30, 2026)

Before the distribution began, there was a quiet but important conversation about intention. Not just who would receive parcels, but how. What it would mean. What kind of energy would be carried into people’s homes? The atmosphere was hopeful, uplifting, and deeply respectful.

At one point, I asked Zamran to help me carry food parcels to one of the families I had visited many times before. Their home sits on the edge of the mountain, accessible only by a narrow dirt path. Since the earthquake, this family has learned to climb this dangerous path daily, adapting to a reality few outsiders ever experience.

Without realizing how demanding the climb would be, Zamran carried the largest bag while I carried ten kilograms of flour on my head. We stopped four times. He was exhausted. I smiled the entire way. We laughed, nervously and genuinely, sharing a moment that blurred every line between helper and human.

While climbing, I asked him what he was feeling. He paused, catching his breath, and said, “I’ve always been able to give financial support as a donor but never have I walked their steps as I did today.” (Zamran, January 30, 2026)

Adam, on the other hand, has always worked in the field. He gathers charity, coordinates logistics, and enters villages not as a visitor, but as someone accountable to the people he serves. His character is determined, focused, and deeply considerate.

We had a priority list of fifty families. During the distribution, we noticed seven additional families waiting quietly, unregistered and overlooked. Without hesitation, Adam sent a van to collect seven more parcels. He was prepared to pay out of pocket if necessary. There was no debate, no delay.

Later, he shared, “I could just pay charity but the real reward is doing the charity and seeing the look on all those people’s faces, that kind of feeling, those eyes, they don’t ever leave you.” (Adam Ahmed, January 30, 2026)

Throughout the day, there were moments that would be considered unprofessional in a Western context. Mothers hugged me. Children held my hands. Tears were shared freely. In Canada, these actions might violate professional boundaries. Here, they are part of ethical presence. On site, professionalism does not mean emotional distance. It means cultural humility, trust, and human connection. These are not clients. These are people.

Our work does not operate on a provider recipient model. It is people healing people.

In that moment, I felt something I later put into words:
“I am no better than anyone and no one is better than me, I heal by healing.”
(Linda Aljohani, January 30, 2026)

My role as a volunteer is not just logistical. It is psychological, spiritual, and relational. I am responsible for ensuring that people accessing support feel safe, advocated for, and respected. Their rights must be protected. Their dignity must be preserved. Their energy must be uplifted. Impact must extend beyond food into mental, spiritual, and future oriented wellbeing.

The work we do in villages like Asni is rooted in long term empowerment, not one time aid. It reflects participatory engagement, collective decision making, and relational accountability principles that guide my broader fieldwork and Critical Advocacy Research.

I remain in contact with the villagers. These are not temporary interactions. They are lasting connections.

I will continue to return.
I will continue to place myself in their footsteps.
I will continue to try to understand each person we support.
And I will continue to do so, even if I have to crawl.

— Linda Aljohani