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

Opinion by Teresa Gray

(CNN) — 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.

I talked to Zomi the week before she was headed to Gaza. I reminded her it was dangerous — something she acknowledged herself — even though we both knew she was going anyway. Because that was what Zomi did; she went where help was needed, making sure the vulnerable got fed, that people felt loved and cared for, and that she was a beacon of hope for the hopeless.

Zomi and I met years ago while we were both working in humanitarian aid. I run an organization that provides medical care in crisis situations, while she worked for World Central Kitchen providing food for those same people.

We would often work together in foreign countries. I’d ask, “Hey Zomi, where are you taking food? Do they need medical as well?” She’d reach out and say, “Hey Teresa, where are you doing medical? Do they need food?” Eventually, through our years-long collaboration, Zomi and I saw each other so often that we became close friends.

Zomi was fierce and loyal and loving and funny. She had this amazing smile that was ever-present and she was the best hugger I’ve ever known. She was constantly forgetting something when she packed for her trips abroad. I would get a Whatsapp message in the middle of the night or a call, where she’d 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.”

We also had a standing joke that she was to always bring me European chocolate and I was to bring her Alaskan salmon. Neither of us ever did, but when we saw each other, we would always ask, “Where’s my chocolate?” or “Where’s my salmon?” We’d then agree to bring those items and meet in Transylvania — the most far-flung place we could think of.

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

I never saw Zomi in her home country of Australia and she never saw me in my home country of America. We only ever saw each other in foreign lands, in the middle of some disaster we were both trying to help with. What mattered was that we shared a common purpose: to help when we could, where we were, with what we had.

Sometimes, what people do for a living and who they are as a person don’t seem to overlap much. But for humanitarian aid workers, its often one and the same. For Zomi, the energy, hope and love she brought to her work was also present in her friendships.

I am sure some people are wondering, “Why were they even in Gaza?” I’ll tell you why — because people needed to be helped. That’s always why we are wherever we are — to help people.

All humanitarian aid missions are dangerous. All of them. The danger is assessed in degrees, but anytime there is a crisis that disrupts people’s lives, when food is short, when babies are sick, when people’s lives have been turned upside down, there are risks.

Working in these conditions bonds all of us aid workers in a way that may be hard for others to understand. We become a tribe, a family and a community that convenes around disaster.

We rely on each other, help each other and work together with a common purpose. And if you’re lucky, you develop a friendship outside of that work that fulfills you on a level that is hard to describe. I had that with Zomi.

I am aware of the bigger geopolitical ramifications of what happened to Zomi and her colleagues. And people with more expertise and knowledge will address those issues.

What is important to me is that who she was does not get lost in the discussion. None of them were faceless, nameless aid workers. They were amazing humans.

I want you to know that Zomi was my friend, that she was loved and loved back, that she would stop what she was doing to take your call, that she would sound so happy to hear from you no matter what time of day it was. She valued her family and friends, gave 100% all the time, lit up every single room she entered with her smile, made a difference in thousands of people’s lives, and worked for WCK because it fulfilled her purpose and she loved her purpose. And I loved her.

We once discussed death in Haiti, sitting beside an earthquake-damaged building waiting for helicopters to take us to the hungry and sick. I told her, “Hey Zomi, we should probably move. If an aftershock comes, this wall could fall on us and kill us.”

She responded, “Listen Teresa, if I die, make sure you say nice things about me, not true things.” We both laughed. The thing is, with Zomi, it was one and the same. So here you go, Zomi. See you in Transylvania — I’ll bring the Alaskan Salmon.

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