Okay so maybe the title is a bit misleading—my experience is a little broader than emergencies only. In my career, I’ve been an educator, an engineer, a project manager, a negotiator and a consultant. I’ve travelled all over the world and dealt with all kinds of health issues and emergencies, from minor cuts to global catastrophes. Some of it may seem heroic, but it’s not. It’s a job. I found a career that I was good at it and I stuck with it, and this is where I ended up.
Every step of the way, I had a little more training, I gained a little more experience and I kept studying, until I became a highly skilled humanitarian worker. But fundamentally, I’m interested in the same thing now that interested me at the start of my career—public health. I will always think of myself as a paediatric nurse, first and foremost, because nursing and healthcare are at the heart of everything I do. As far as I’m concerned I’m just a nurse, but that’s not how other people see it.
I spend a lot of time on planes, normally on the way to or from a disaster zone, generally beyond exhausted or focused on what comes next. I am not a big fan of small talk in this situation. I like the twenty-four hours of alone time I get with long-haul, even if it is in cattle class—no emails, no phone calls and no big decisions. I can go almost a full day where the only choice I have to make is between chicken or fish. But if I don’t get my headphones on fast enough, if the person sitting next to me feels like a chat, the conversation that follows is often painfully awkward for me.
‘Where are you headed?’ they ask. My answer is rarely typical. ‘Where is that?’ they want to know, ‘And why are you going there?’
When I explain what I do for a living, a certain type of person tells me they’ve always wanted to do some humanitarian work. How can they get involved? For these people, ‘humanitarian’ is code for a glamorous career where you save a poor African, meet a handsome human rights lawyer and then retire. You live happily ever after, somewhere in Europe, safe in the knowledge that you once spent six months trying to save the world.
Other people say,‘You must see some terrible things!’ and look at me like my dog was just run over. Their expression is a mixture of pity and intrigue, an expression that is asking for details. How horrible is it, exactly? Tell me all the gory details. They want to know how nobly I have suffered, and when I’m done, they want to thank me for doing my job, like a payment for services rendered on their behalf. I hate to disappoint these people, but I really love what I do.
Yes, I’ve seen some terrible things. People are at their most vulnerable in poverty, crisis and conflict. A disaster can knock a community to its knees and do some lasting damage. But I arrive to provide relief, so the first thing I usually experience is gratitude. I see community spirit, resilience and people’s desire to live a good life, despite the horrible things that have happened to them. I see people doing their best when it really counts; caring for each other, lifting each other up and making each other laugh. It’s not all doom and gloom. And anyway, I always remember the funniest stories best.
I laugh a lot when I think about where I have been and the things I have done. Ultimately, that’s why I decided to write this book. I’m not philosophical. I’m no expert on the impact of colonialism on global poverty or the failures of the aid dollar. I don’t lose sleep over the horrible decisions I have been forced to make because I couldn’t save every life and I am not the aid worker that moved to Africa and fell in love with a Zulu warrior only to realise the harsh realities of life in a mud hut. I’m a nurse, I’m a humanitarian, and I had a few good stories to tell. I hope that you enjoyed them.