I did not expect this week to stay with me the way it did.

But let me start from the beginning.

From March 3rd to 9th I was in Bern for the Placement Officer Training. Most of us were European Solidarity Corps volunteers from Service Civil International branches around the world. Some were just at the beginning of their journey in Service Civil International. And “beginning” can mean anything from a single day to a couple of months. While others had been part of the organization for decades. One fact that really stayed with me: some people in that room had joined Service Civil International workcamps before others were even born. Yet none of that distance in age or experience seemed to matter. What really defined the group was something openness, curiosity and a shared willingness to learn from one another.

I knew about this training even before I was accepted as an ESC volunteer. During my interview I was told, “It will likely take place in Switzerland.” Later after I got in, the previous volunteer told me it would be an experience. Something that would shift the way I see volunteering. That is when my curiosity really kicked in. Because if we are being honest a training described as “learning how to use a system and a platform” does not sound like the most exciting thing in the world. I had heard so many good things that I could not wait to find out what made it so special.

I still remember that feeling on my way to the venue. A mix of excitement and quiet anxiety. How would this week go? Who would I meet? What kind of connections would we build? All these were the people I would be working with for the coming year. I hoped it would feel right.
Almost immediately it did.
The moment I walked into the room something softened. Over the next few days I witnessed that subtle almost invisible process. The way unfamiliar faces slowly turn into people you feel safe around.

The first days were about sensing space. Testing humor. Choosing words carefully. Observing more than speaking. There is always that distance at the beginning. Like everyone is present but still slightly behind a wall. Then little by little something shifts.
At the time there were things we could not ignore. Empty chairs in the room. Places that were meant to be filled but were not. Because of war, militarism, closed airspaces. Their absence was present in a quiet but powerful way. For me it made everything feel more meaningful. It made me more aware, more grateful to be more determined to take in as much as I could.

On the first day I understood what that previous volunteer meant. This was not just about learning how to use the system. It was not about sitting in front of a computer for hours.

The learning didn’t feel like “learning” in the traditional sense. It felt like unlearning. Questioning. Rethinking. There were moments when I caught myself realizing how automatic some of my assumptions were. About people, about volunteering, about impact. Conversations around discrimination, privilege and power were not always comfortable. They felt real. Not abstract, not distant. Personal and immediate.

When I came back and tried to talk about this experience I realized something had shifted in me. New interests appeared. Some of my perspectives. Quite fundamental ones. Had changed.

Then there was the part that is harder to put into words. The connection. Music, dancing, silly jokes, random games, a farewell evening, deep conversations and moments of being there together without needing to explain anything. These lighter moments didn’t exist separately from the serious ones. They were part of the same whole. They made everything feel complete.

By the end of the week something had definitely changed. I left with more questions than answers. But also with a clearer understanding of how I want to approach my role: more carefully, more consciously.

And with new people, in my life. People I already know I want to see again.

If I had to describe this experience in one sentence I would say: it did not just teach me how to do things better. It made me reflect on why I do them at all.

– Sabrina Mahar