I still remember the day I got the call. It was 2:17 AM, UK time. Groggy, half-awake, I answered — only to hear my younger cousin crying on the other end. Our grandmother had collapsed at home in Zimbabwe. They needed someone to take her to the clinic, but no one was answering. The local relatives didn’t have fuel. The neighbor’s phone was off. And I was… here. Thousands of miles away. My first instinct was to jump on a plane. My second was to call everyone I knew back home. But by the time someone finally got there, precious hours had passed. She survived, thank God. But that helplessness — that ache of being too far, too late — never left me. That was the night the seed for Diaspora Direct was planted.