Since having children, my wife and I take turns balancing work and childcare, and right now it’s my turn to look after our daughter. I was away for the pregnancy and the first couple of months after her birth, so I made the decision not to spend significant time away until she is older.
Some aid workers can put their careers first and spend chunks of time in the field, but I can’t do this. My career certainly has not developed as fast as it might have done, but this is a price worth paying.
Life is too short to sit in a container in the middle of nowhere and miss your children growing up. It’s a decision I’m extremely happy with.
I also think it’s far more difficult to be the person left behind at home. When you’re on mission, you’re busy and distracted, with very little time to dwell on the fact that it’s heartbreaking to be away from your loved ones.
Despite the challenges, our lifestyle is usually fairly comfortable. You’re well taken care of with meals and accommodation and the cost of living is usually low.
Partying and debauchery is a huge part of the aid world – there are bars everywhere. There’s a certain sense of freedom in war-torn places, so most colleagues think nothing of driving home after a heavy night’s drinking.
It’s worth noting that the Me Too movement was as relevant in the humanitarian sector as it was in other industries, not helped by this sense of living in a lawless and isolated location.
Granted, the humanitarian world has professionalised in the past 50 years. There’s increased safeguarding and accountability. Since the Oxfam scandal – when staff working in Haiti in the wake of the 2010 hurricane hired prostitutes – every organisation has to have their own investigation unit.
My assignment in Ukraine, in 2015-2016, was particularly enjoyable and it’s a country I love. People might think it’s cold and full of factories, but it has this vast and beautiful countryside as well as warm people who welcome you into their homes and ply you with delicious food. These moments provide important respite from the moments of extreme stress and separation.
Isolation is part and parcel of a humanitarian career and working in remote villages in, for instance, Palestine or Congo was challenging. They weren’t as dangerous as, say, Kabul, but there were only two of us working there and that takes its toll after a while.
While the constant fear of getting blown up – I say this flippantly – is terrifying, for me being isolated was harder. In Kabul I lived in a compound with 40 other people and there was always something going on. People dated and fell in love; it’s where I met my partner.
In so many ways, Afghanistan stole my heart. I love the food; Afghans make the best bread. They have this fabulous, welcoming hospitality, but at the same time, there’s this awareness that women are treated terribly, especially since the Taliban takeover, perhaps by those same men who had opened their homes to me. I had female colleagues who would turn up to work with bruises on their faces.
We had to maintain relationships with the Taliban, who were the opposition at the time, to ensure our access and security.
Once I asked a contact if he was sure we would be safe on our journey, as there had been rocket fire the previous day. He replied: “When you came from the airport yesterday, you drove right over an IED (a home-made bomb) and we didn’t set it off. If you were a target, we would have killed you then.”
Reassuring.
Going home after Afghanistan was a different challenge entirely. Burnout is a huge problem in the industry. I was broken, physically and mentally, and I spent 10 days lying on my mother’s sofa before she had to force me up and out.
I was meant to spend 18 months in Palestine but only spent four. I was still completely burnt out. So I took six months off. I went to the beach, did a language course, and slowly started to feel normal.
Since then, I’m able to monitor the signs of stress. I’ve had various therapy sessions which help. One counsellor said I clearly needed adrenaline in my life, probably a common trait in the industry. Most people wouldn’t want to move to a war zone.
Nevertheless, there are thrilling moments being a humanitarian aid worker. Not all assignments end up directly in the thick of it, but plenty do.
In South Sudan, I was caught in a firefight three or four times. Security management is a huge part of our job and my manager in Juba handled one case particularly smoothly. He told me to take cover and contact the local military commander by telephone. It meant the commander knew where we were and may have prompted him to intervene as within half an hour the gunshots had ended and we could move on.
