“Mountains, Friendship, and the Fire Within”

How a night trek to Garbett Plateau became a metaphor for life, friendship, and resilience.

It wasn’t a classroom, a community, or a conference room that offered me one of the most transformative experiences of my fellowship — it was a dark hillside under a sky full of stars.

We were in the middle of our fellowship training, somewhere between deep learning and deeper uncertainty, when a night trek to Garbett Plateau was planned. At first, I hesitated. Trekking was something I had never done. The idea of climbing a mountain, that too at night, felt both intimidating and absurd. I wasn’t particularly athletic, nor had I ever tested my physical limits. My body was more familiar with field surveys and training sessions than steep inclines and uneven rocks.

But something nudged me to say yes. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the quiet encouragement of my fellow mates. Or maybe I was already beginning to trust the unpredictable flow of this journey.

As the night settled and our trek began, the atmosphere turned surreal. Armed with torches and quiet determination, we made our way up. The silence of the night was broken only by the sounds of our breaths, our footsteps, and the occasional murmur of someone checking in on the person behind them.

It didn’t take long before I began struggling.

The path grew steeper, the air thinner. My breath turned ragged, my legs trembled. My throat was dry and burning. Every step forward felt heavier than the last. I wanted to stop. My body screamed for rest. I remember vividly — a moment where I stood still, convinced I couldn’t go any further. The mountain, the darkness, the fear — they all closed in around me.

And then something extraordinary happened.

Nutan, my co-fellow and dear friend, noticed my struggle. Without hesitation, she reached for my hand and gently but firmly held it.

She looked at me with absolute calm and said, “You can do it, Valli. Just one more step.”

And then another. And another.

She never let go of my hand. She walked with me, not ahead of me. She didn’t pity me or push me. She simply stayed — steady, kind, and reassuring. Her belief in me, in that moment, was more powerful than any training module or motivational quote.

And slowly, step by aching step, I kept going.

At the summit, the view was breathtaking — not because of the landscape (though it was stunning), but because I had made it. I had pushed through every self-doubt, every physical limit I thought I had. And I hadn’t done it alone.

The descent, as morning broke, was like something out of a dream. The first light of dawn filtered through the trees, illuminating a forest soaked in dew and silence. Birds sang as if to celebrate. I walked down quietly, holding on to the feeling that something deep inside me had shifted.

That night trek wasn’t just about reaching a physical destination. It became a metaphor for my entire fellowship journey.

There were moments in the field when I felt exactly like I did on that climb — lost, tired, unsure of how to continue. There were times when I doubted my capacity to connect with communities, to bring about any real change. Times when the isolation of remote villages, the weight of expectations, and the silence around menstruation felt too overwhelming.

But just like on that hill, I always found a hand to hold.

Sometimes it was a friend like Nutan. Sometimes it was a co-fellow on a late-night call. Sometimes it was a stranger in a school who offered chai and a story. And slowly, I realized that I was never really climbing alone.

The words we often heard from the iVolunteer team came back to me with full force that morning:

“Trust the process.”

I had trusted Nutan. I had trusted my team.
And now, I had started trusting myself.

What I carried down from Garbett Plateau wasn’t just the memory of a trek, but a deeper understanding of strength, vulnerability, and community. It taught me:

• That courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it’s just a whisper — “You can do it.”
  
• That real friendship is presence. Not flashy, not loud. Just someone who won’t let go of your hand in the dark.
  
• That transformation is slow. It happens in the struggle, in the breathless moments, in the tears we don’t always show.
  

In every field visit since then — whether navigating menstrual health sessions, designing awareness modules, or walking into unfamiliar schools — I’ve carried this moment with me. It’s become my grounding point. My quiet reminder that the strength I found on that plateau still lives in me.

This fellowship has given me many things — skills, knowledge, stories.
But above all, it gave me people.
And one night, under the stars, it gave me myself.

#FellowshipJourney #NightTrek #GarbettPlateau #TrustTheProcess #InnerStrength #BondingBeyondWords