On Working Together

My dear friend,

The candle has burned fully tonight. It looks almost like a small sculpture; I think I will keep it, later, in the box where I store the things that travelled with me through difficult years. Beside me is a cup of coffee, black as I like it, warm enough to keep me company. The board meeting just ended — hours long, yet I left it with that familiar mix of fatigue and fascination. There is something powerful in watching a group of people think together: a thought that begins in one person’s voice grows stronger in another’s, until it belongs to everyone in the room. Tonight I want to write to you about working together.

That is the quiet beauty of working with others. Alone, we can move fast, but together, we can build something that lasts.

The meeting today was full of contrasts. Economists, humanitarians, legal minds, and communication experts, all speaking from different corners of experience. At first, the discussion sounded fragmented, like instruments tuning separately before a concert. Then, slowly, a rhythm began to emerge. Someone asked a question that reframed everything. Someone else offered a perspective that filled a missing gap. There was disagreement, yes, but also a current of curiosity. It reminded me that collaboration is not about perfect harmony; it is about creating music that feels real.

I have seen this again and again in my life. Teams, groups, communities, they all carry a kind of alchemy. When they work well, they turn difference into depth. A good team is not one that agrees on everything. It is one that knows how to disagree with respect. It is one that knows when to lead and when to listen. It is one where ideas can collide without breaking the people who hold them.

I think back to my team in Afghanistan. The country shifted overnight. The world was watching from a distance, but we were living inside the chaos. The air was thick with tension. Phones kept ringing. People were afraid, but they kept working. I still remember that morning before sunrise, when we gathered in the office. The city outside was silent. Inside, there was stillness, but it was not fear. It was resolve. It was taking action towards one goal. Toward supporting each other and the people we serve.

No one waited for instructions. Everyone moved instinctively. One person checked on staff in remote areas. Another ensured the safety of national colleagues. Someone updated partners, while another coordinated supplies. A young logistics officer worked tirelessly to organize vehicles for evacuation routes, while one of the cleaners quietly made tea for everyone, an act of leadership in its purest form. There were no titles in that room that day, only trust.

That is what teamwork really means. It is not structure; it is instinct. It is not hierarchy; it is shared responsibility. When things fall apart, you discover what people truly carry inside them. Courage. Kindness. Competence. Compassion. We stayed together until the last possible moment, not because we were fearless, but because we trusted each other’s courage more than our own.

Even after we left, the bond stayed alive. We were scattered across borders and time zones, but we kept checking on each other. One found housing for another. Someone shared job openings. Someone else helped with a reference letter. The assignment ended, but the care continued. That is the mark of a real team, when the work ends, but the humanity remains.

I saw the same spirit in Nigeria, in moments that were far less dramatic but just as profound. We had a team under pressure, deadlines impossible to meet, arguments becoming daily guests in our meetings. We were chasing new funding as the budget ran low and the needs grew by the minute. Then one of the youngest staff members, quiet until that day, said, “Let’s go outside.” We stepped out into the heat, stood under a tree, and stayed silent for a few minutes. When we went back inside, the tension was gone. The same people who had been arguing moments before began to listen. That pause changed everything. It reminded me that teams, like people, need to breathe.

The best teams I have known were not perfect. They had conflict, exhaustion, and doubt. But they also had humor, loyalty, and care. They celebrated birthdays in the middle of emergencies. They shared food when rations ran low. They argued about budgets, then laughed about something small an hour later. They carried each other through exhaustion. These teams were not built on efficiency alone. They were built on humanity. They were built as a community.

To work with others is to surrender a little bit of control in exchange for something far greater, connection. It is to understand that collective work may be slower, but what it builds lasts longer. The beauty of collaboration lies not in its speed but in its staying power. What you build with others carries the fingerprints of many and the strength of all.

There were times in my career when I thought leadership meant having the final word. I have since learned that leadership often means holding the silence long enough for truth to appear. It means knowing when to step back so that others can step forward. It means listening for what is not being said. My friend, the most effective leaders I have known are those who make space for others to rise, not those who fill the room with their own voice. In every place I worked—field bases, headquarters, meeting rooms—I found that the most powerful moments were not when someone spoke perfectly, but when someone spoke honestly. Truth builds trust, and trust builds teams. Once trust exists, even imperfection becomes a form of progress. That’s a very important foundation for building teams. Trust.

I have also learned that teams are not only built in meetings or on missions. They are built in the quiet moments between tasks. In sharing tea. In asking someone if they are okay. In remembering details about their families. In laughing at the same small absurdities that only those who live the work can understand. Those moments may never appear in reports, but they are the glue that keeps people standing together when pressure comes.

If you ever find yourself in a team, my friend, remember this: contribution is not measured only by brilliance or expertise. Sometimes your greatest contribution is calm. Sometimes it is kindness. Sometimes it is the question that brings clarity when everyone else is rushing. The best teammates do not always lead from the front; they create the conditions where everyone can lead a little and move together.

You see, working with others is not easy. It demands humility, patience, and courage. It asks you to see others not as obstacles but as mirrors, reflecting back your own strengths and blind spots. It reminds you that growth often arrives disguised as disagreement.

And yet, when it works, there is nothing more powerful. When people move together with trust, intention, and respect, even the heaviest burdens feel lighter. You begin to understand what true strength means, not individual excellence, but collective grace.

The candle is gone now, and only my cup of coffee, and my thoughts remain. The night is quiet, a bit cold, and I think about all the teams I have been part of—the laughter, the tension, the resilience, the long days that turned into something meaningful. If I could send one message to every person who has ever worked beside me, it would be this: thank you. For showing up. For staying human. For believing that we are stronger when we build together.

That is the secret of working with others. You shine further when you share the light.

With gratitude and respect,

Ali Al Mokdad