Preface
I’m often asked, why do I do what I do? What drives me constantly to risk my life in disaster and conflict areas? Some people admire me; others think I’m crazy.
For as long as I can remember I have felt like I was on a ‘mission’. From a very young age I was driven by an unquenchable thirst to serve something greater than myself, but for a long time I didn’t know what, where or how.
My journey as a humanitarian aid worker has not been short of adventure, or misadventure. I have lost a few lives, escaped from a rebel army, narrowly evaded rape, been wrongfully arrested, been held at gunpoint, survived severe altitude sickness and hypothermia. Once I had my face slashed open, and in the absence of medical help had to stitch myself up. Very often I have little or no access to clean running water, reliable electricity, a dependable food supply, a comfy bed, hot showers or safe shelter. All of these things I once took for granted. I don’t now.
The dangers faced by humanitarian aid workers continue to increase. For example, a shocking 30 per cent of aid workers are now deemed to be undercover spies. Governments are hungry to get closer to their ‘targets’ by whatever means, and who gets closest to the heart of these vulnerable communities? We do.
Once, when offered the protection of a heavily armoured 4x4 to travel into the tribal areas of Pakistan, my reflex response was, ‘Do you really want me to die? If I travel in that, it would be like having an arrow pointing at my head ...