Why I chose to work in a humanitarian organization

Why did I choose to work in a Non Profit Organization?

There are many factors that lead me to that decision. The most important of all, I believe, is that there is a big tradition in my family to work for a global NGO. Ever since I can remember, the principles taught at home were not to work hard to profit, but to serve the cause of the bigger organization. Money was never a priority, just something necessary to buy whatever we really needed. And our needs were not to be confused with our wants. There was a clear difference between the two.

My parents worked hard to raise five kids and educate all of us through college. Because of the size of our family we were poorer than my father’s colleagues. However, we were taught not to envy anything other people had. But we were also taught to work to have what we needed or wanted. As soon as I finished high school I worked every single summer to raise the money I needed for college. I worked in construction, sold books, and run other people’s errands while my friends were having nice vacations.

It never occurred to me that I could actually make a lot of money and become a rich person until half way through college, when I took a sabbatical year to work and learn English. I joined a company for six months at a very good timing. This company was growing extremely fast and needed motivated employees who were willing to work twelve to sixteen hours every day. I worked six days a week under that schedule, and money was just pouring in. I made almost seven times my father’s salary at that time. I shortly thought about quitting college and just work hard until I would become rich.

However, observing the lifestyle of my coworkers who had worked for longer time gave me a lot of food for thought. Most of them didn’t have any other goal than sending a check to their families living far away. Some of them didn’t see their children for years. The only thing they did was work and sleep. Talking to them I learned about their dreams and ideas about spending the money. But to be honest, they didn’t have the time to spend the money. They could waste it in things they didn’t really need, but because they had to work so much, didn’t have the time to enjoy the things that they would buy. They usually got expensive clothes and electronics that never used because they spent all their time at work. That life didn’t make sense for me. I was happy that my involvement in that firm was only for six months and I went on to follow my plans, otherwise I think I would had become just like my coworkers, who were not able to enjoy life and could not see the trap they were on.

While working those long hours, I pondered how deceitful that lifestyle was. I asked myself many times what kind of company I would join when I finish my college studies. Before my six months in that company were over, I made a promise to never allow myself to use my fulltime with the sole purpose of making myself or someone else rich. Rather, I would use my time working for something valuable, something that would change the life of as many people as possible. I decided that as long as I had enough money to live, I would do what I loved and would fight the temptation of working in something I didn’t enjoy just because it was better paid.

That’s why I worked hard to get into a NGO. While searching organizations that made an impact in society, I realized that my country was enjoying a good economy, and the government was able to provide help for the poor and relieve whenever a natural disaster struck. But that wasn’t the case in other countries. It was clear to me that more help was needed abroad, and that my time and efforts could be more welcomed in a poorer country.

Why I chose to work abroad

Finally, I’m in Central Asia. It feels good. But why did I come here? Why did I choose to work abroad, far from my home country?

Ever since I can remember I was attracted to distant, mysterious places. At church, I always heard stories of missionaries in far away countries. There were interesting details about danger and specific problems each place had due to its geography: whether it was a rainy island with a stormy ocean, or a dense jungle full of ferocious animals, or hot deserts, or steep and snowy mountains, it always impressed me to learn more about places far away.

Once I learned how to read, I explored through the books we had at home, until one day I found an Atlas of the world, full of information. I learned most of the flags, and then it turned out to be fun to learn the tables with the countries’ names, capitals, area, population, and all kind of figures. I kept the incentive up asking my older siblings to ask me any question from the tables, and I would say the answer. For example, they would read the countries’ names and I would have to say the capitals. Or they would ask if a country was bigger than another, or more populated. Or they would ask me to list all the countries of a continent. It was a challenge for me, and I would keep reading and memorizing information. I learned the names of the tallest mountains, the longest rivers, the biggest lakes and the biggest cities of every continent. Before I was 10 years old, I was a geography wizard.

When my father had a free day, we would all go to the nature. We would go every weekend to a different place if possible. We climbed trees, swam in rivers, run up and down hills, and did anything we thought it was fun. Because of my dad’s job, we moved from one place to other every 3 to 5 years, and we lived in several provinces. So in a city we would enjoy some parks and small lakes, but when we moved to the next city we explored the mountains and rivers that were nearby.

Every year we would travel to my grandparents’ place, several hundred kilometers away, and we had the opportunity to appreciate the countryside. As long as I can remember I liked to travel and visit new places, mainly to see how the landscape looked like.

When I was 13 years old, my parents sent me to a high school with dorms. I lived more than a thousand kilometers apart from my parents, and saw them only twice a year in the winter and summer vacations.

By the time I entered the university (again the same dorm system), my parents had moved to a border country (actually where my dad’s family came from). Teachers and classmates asked me: where are you from (meaning which region, which city)? I had hard times explaining: well, I was born in city A, but moved around here and there, studied high school in city D while my parents lived in city F, and now I came here but my parents have moved to city G. I found out that the answer was too long and boring, so I had to choose one place to name as “my place”. I couldn’t find any, so I concluded I was definitely uprooted. It also didn’t make sense anymore to call my parents’ home my home since I lived far from them for such a long time.

While living in different regions and provinces of my country, I learned different “dialects” or intonations of the same words, the same language. I used a general intonation, so for people it was difficult to guess where I was coming from. They knew I was not local, but couldn’t guess my place of origin. Sometimes, those situations made me feel like a foreigner in my own country.

During high school and college I took part in the choir, and we traveled throughout our country and the neighbor countries. We even traveled to Spain, Italy, the US and Canada. I so liked to travel, and before some of our long trips my father would send me his photo camera so I could take shots of the places we’d visit. The more we traveled, the more I wanted to travel again.

After finishing high school, I worked every summer to pay for the tuition and living expenses of college. I sold books with my friends. We would travel to a city far away, and work hard all the summer. I enjoyed the experiences mostly because it gave me the freedom to choose which new place I would visit.

The college I studied in was the most international one in my country. Lots of students came from different countries. As I made friends with people from other countries I became interested in working abroad. There are many programs about volunteering abroad for a year, so upon finishing my studies, I had already decided that I would try that. I could always return home if I didn’t like the experience.

One of my professors strongly advised me to learn English as a key for the future. I didn’t have the opportunity as some of my friends had of their parents sending them to South Africa, the US or England to learn English for a year. So I decided to stop my college studies to work hard for 6 months and raise enough money to study the other 6 months in the place I could. After a lot of effort I could raise the money to buy the cheapest ticket to: Miami, Florida. It wasn’t the best option, since many people don’t speak English in Miami, however I study hard to tackle the language barrier, because I so wanted not to miss a good opportunity of working abroad because I didn’t know English.

One of the books I read during my stay in Miami was Marco Polo’s adventures and travels. It caught my attention so badly that my passion for travel ignited stronger as ever, this time thinking about Asia.

The last semester of classes back at college during the interview season I canceled the appointments I had with local companies, and actively searched for a volunteer position abroad. After some effort, an opportunity appeared in Central Asia. That was the area I knew the least, with so many new countries after the collapse of the Soviet Union. I went back to the library to learn as much as I could about a place with lots of mountains, nomad people, and herds of camels, vast steppes and hospitable horsemen willing to share their food and tents with visitors.

The visa process took several months. Meanwhile I searched for temporary jobs, and had three interesting longtime offers that tempted me to stay in my country. It was hard to turn them down, but my mind and heart were already in those faraway lands, where the dreams of adventure and seeing new things every day come true.

Arrival

What an interesting discrepancy: while the airport from Europe was better than the airport from the Middle East, the Middle Eastern airline was better than the European one. Better plane, better food, better service. Soon I’ll arrive to the last airport for this trip and will finally be in my destination. I’m just a little worried, because I don’t know the person that will meet me. I have exchanged emails with him, my future boss, but have never seen him. Interestingly enough he is from my country, and studied in the same university I studied, he even was my sister’s classmate! I heard he is a funny person, so I look forward meeting him.

This last segment of the trip was overnight. It’s almost 5 in the morning and we are finally landing. I wanted to arrive during the day to see how the city looks from above, but there were not many options to choose from. Actually, dusk is breaking up and I can see an amazing landscape of gorgeous mountains in the background of the city. A really inspiring view! The airport has a definite Asian construction style and as I take a picture of the main terminal I just happen to have another “I can’t believe this is happening to me” moment.

The visa procedure goes better than expected, I mean, there are no problems other than an understandable delay. Other people doing the same visa procedure look irritated at the local officials and the local rules. But most look acquainted with the procedure, as if they have done it before.

Finally I’m off to get my luggage, and I exit the automatic doors. Almost as automatic as the doors opened, my boss is already waving and saying in a loud voice: “boy, welcome!” in our mother tongue. How did he recognize me so quickly? He came with the secretary/translator, and he quickly explains that before I came out, he was telling her that the only person with a winter jacket will be me. And I’m indeed bringing a big jacket. I left my country in winter, and arrived to the northern hemisphere that is in the middle of the summer. I needed my jacket with me when I left; besides, it takes some space in the luggage, and adds to the weight limit, so I better carry it with me even if it’s summer.

We drive away from the airport, and take the translator home. She still gets a couple of hours of sleep before going to the office. As soon as she leaves the car, my boss switches to our language, desperate to talk to another person besides his wife and kids in his native tongue. We get to know each other very quickly. I’ll stay with them for a few days until my lodging gets resolved. I’ll live with some other foreign volunteers of a sister organization, they teach English in a school, and one of the volunteers is soon going back home. In few days I’ll move in with them.

My boss’s wife offers me a tasty breakfast, after that I take a shower and go to sleep. It’s been a long way, almost 30 hours, and I’m tired. On the other hand, I want to start working and exploring the city as soon as possible. My boss shares his words of wisdom: rest now; you will have plenty of time for work and other things.

I follow his advice. Before going to sleep, they offer me the computer, so I send a short note to my family letting them know that I’m ok and that I already arrived. Dial up connection, weeee, so slow! Anyways it serves its purpose.

I place my head on top of a pillow. Ah, what a good feeling!

Expensive tip

I’m standing in line again, this time in a Middle East airport, for the passport control. I enjoy watching a variety of dressing customs I had not seen before. It’s striking to see people from the Arabic peninsula, Africa, Europe and Asia in the same place. I’m pleased with the experience and really liking my trip. I take my big backpack and start searching for the other terminal, from where my next plane will leave in just few hours. A man sees that I’m lost and comes towards me. He can speak enough English. He explains he can help me. I’m surprised, and don’t resist when he takes my cart with the backpacks and pushes it along the hallway. We take the elevator, walk another long hallway. There are shops selling nice postcards. I think about buying a couple, but I remind myself that I carry only about 100 dollars with me, and that I may need them badly and should not spend a cent before arriving to my destination. We take the elevator again, and there it is my next airline check-in counter!

I thought that South Americans were the kindest of people, especially the ones that live in the country, not those living in the big cities, but Middle Easterners are far kinder! Can it get better than this? I think the first thing I’ll write my friends once I get to my destination will be: “Guys, reality is better than ideal. You had to choose the same path as me. Now you can only envy me.” There’s no way I’m prepared to experience the first big disappointment of my trip.

My first two segments of the long flight had been easy. I managed to get a good sleep during the 14 hour overnight haul from South America to Europe, where I took my second plane towards the Middle East. I enjoyed the order that characterizes the Europeans. There is a noticeable difference compared with South America, and I enjoyed witnessing it. I could see through the plane window the beautiful coast of the Mediterranean and was stunned by the beauty of the islands of the Aegean Sea.

I saw in the passport control lines that many Asians were trying to skip other people, and few Americans were loud about how people should behave in lines. It didn’t look as the Asians cared, they had an “I don’t understand what you just said” face and kept taking places forward, which infuriated some big white people. I was amazed at the difference with what I just saw at the European airport.

Now I’m ready to check-in for my last flight segment. But my “friend” doesn’t seem to be satisfied with just my gratitude for his help, and takes my cart a little around a corner. I ask him what he wants. He replies that the work that he just did costs thirty bucks. WHAT???? Yes, sir, you must pay me. I pushed your cart all this long way. Well, you offered to do it, I didn’t ask. I should mention at this point that my spoken English level is not that great, and I don’t feel comfortable arguing in English. I could certainly convince him in my native language, but I kind of give in seeing his confidence and language skills. It hurts me that I misunderstood his willingness to help.

I try to explain that I have little money only, since I’m a volunteer, and I come from South America, not from Europe or North America. I offer him 5 bucks, thinking that it’s already too much but want to show that I’m willing to negotiate. He refuses to take them, gesticulating as if I offended him badly. I feel really uncomfortable. I try to push the cart towards the check-in counter. I notice that the airline people saw us, I wave at them but they completely ignore me. I conclude they probably know who this guy is and the tricks this kind of people use, and don’t want to get involved. I stay quiet for some time, thinking he may get tired and just leave me. But he is using the situation really well and causing enough noise that makes me feel embarrassed. I always hated public situations. I could handle one on one arguments, but speaking loud in front of others is not my thing, and certainly can’t do it in English in an unfamiliar place.

So I offer him ten bucks. He stays put at thirty, saying that thirty is actually so little that can buy him only a drink in that place. Things are getting worse, people going by can see us, and I want to get so much out of here. But he mentions that the minimum tip is twenty five dollars. Right at that moment it flashes in my mind that it was time to make a real quick move. I hand in a twenty dollars note, grab firmly the cart and walk steadily away from him. I know he won’t follow me because I just gave him a lot of money. But I’m shocked that I gave away maybe my biggest tip ever for something I could have done myself.

I try to convince myself that in other circumstances I could have gotten away without paying him, or giving him just a little, a fairer price for that service. I know this people overcharge way too much, and I’m disappointed with myself not being able to handle the situation. I have an uncomfortable feeling, as if I lost badly to an easy opponent.

In the end, those twenty dollars may not make a relevant impact to my finances, why should I make a big deal about it? I know I shouldn’t stereotype a nationality based on a single sample, but I want to leave this airport as fast as possible. What a contrast with the situation in my country’s airport (see the previous post). Maybe luck is not always going to be on my side. I swear to myself that in the future I’ll pay more attention and will be more careful with strangers.

I can only wonder how much will I grow in the next year, and how many lessons I’ll have to learn.

Overweight

July 2004. It’s winter in South America. I’m at the airport ready to travel to a remote Central Asian country. I’m very excited about starting my professional career in International Development. Thousands of thoughts and dreams cross my mind as I’m standing on the line to check my luggage. Optimism, adventure, expectation of great experiences ahead, lots of people to meet, new things to see, exotic places to photograph. I came to the airport by bus bringing a huge suitcase and my 80 liter backpack. Yes, commuters hated me as I climbed in and got out of the bus. Some didn’t like how much space my stuff took. I left my sister’s apartment with enough time to make it to the airport, calculating to arrive two hours before my flight. My sister had to go to work, so I ate what she had prepared for me, took my bags, left the key in the specific place she told me, and took the bus. Everything is as usual, since I already traveled to Europe and North America before, and I think I know the routine and logistics very well. I did everything with meticulous perfection this time: I packed everything I need, arrived early, I already exchanged all my money (around $100, yes, I’m broke after college), and still had some time to watch the news on one of the airport TVs and go to the restroom. I’m somewhat relaxed.

The young man on the other side of the counter is weighing my luggage. I can’t wait to get on that plane. The line was really long and finally is my turn. He mentions something about visas for my destination country. I reply that I’ll get the visa in the airport upon arrival, and show him the invitation letter. He makes a phone call, and after a few seconds someone comes to him to check the invitation letter. They read together something on the computer, and looks like everything is okay. He finally takes a deep breath, and tells me the news: I have 37 kilograms of overweight, and at 20 Euros/kilo that’s 740 Euros. WHAT???? Or, I could repack my stuff, leave one of the bags and try again, but he wouldn’t take more than 5 kilos over the 23 kilos limit, and I should understand that on the other segments of the flight I could have more trouble. How can it be? I’ve flown few times already, the last time just a couple of years ago, and I’m certain I was allowed 2 suitcases, 30 kilos each! He patiently shows me the section on the ticket that refers to the weight allowance, and I’m shocked to discover that I didn’t prepare that well, how could I miss that? I argue that my ticket is open for a year for an intercontinental flight, how could the airline expect me to buy all the stuff at the destination or charge me so much for taking it with me? I always carried everything with me. I’m not going to a neighbor country, nor for a two week period, but for a whole year! He is really patient and kind. He says that he completely understands my concern, and even agrees with me about the unfair policy, but the rules are the rules and his job is to make sure that the rules are followed, and my options are to pay or to leave one of the bags. He says that actually, he’ll allow me to take 30 kilos. I see that he really has compassion.

Well, paying is not an option, so I quickly begin to think how I’ll do it. I explain that I came alone and can’t just leave a bag on a seat in the airport. The man over the counter tells me that there’s a small shop at the other corner of the floor where they keep luggage for a small amount so I could have someone come to pick it up. He also mentions that the check-in process will close in 30 minutes so I should hurry.

I take my passport and ticket back, save it in my small backpack, put on the big backpack, then the small one on the front, grab the heavy suitcase, and try to go as fast as I can towards the shop where they keep luggage. I explain to the lady the situation, and she says that she can’t do it because no other than I could take the luggage out later. I’m in a hurry and my head is rushing, but I try to keep my diplomatic attitude. I quickly explain the situation and beg her for a solution. I tell her I’m a good person; I’m traveling to a foreign country to be a volunteer and help other people! How could she not trust me? She says that she will do it but will need a confirmation that someone will take the luggage at least 24 hours from now. I ask the lady’s phone number so my sister can call her back about the pickup.

I run to the currency exchange place. They don’t exchange less than a certain limit. I gather all the coins I have left, so I would be able to make a phone call. I go to the shop where you can make calls. I call my sister, but no answer, nobody there, just my sister’s nice voice saying: you called … … leave your message after the beep. I can’t believe it takes so long for the message to end! I quickly tell her that I’m leaving the suitcase for her and that she should come to pick it up, slowly say the phone number of the lady twice, thank her for everything, say good bye and hung up.

I come back to the luggage shop, and tell the lady that everything is arranged. She smiles and counts all my coins. I wanted to take them with me to Asia as souvenirs, maybe to exchange with other collectors, but now that’s not important anymore. I go to a corner of a section where there are almost no people around, set my suitcase wide open, and swap clothes and other stuff between the suitcase and the big backpack. I’m sweating, but since I was very careful while packing, I know exactly where each item that my mind flashes as “less important” is located. I make a recount before closing the luggage, to make sure I’m not missing anything relevant. When ready, I leave the suitcase at the luggage keeper and take the backpack with me.

I run to the check-in counter, with 2 minutes before check-in ends. The young man smiles as if we knew each other for a long time, weights the backpack, and I’m wishing it’s just about 30 kilos. If more, I still have to pay, if less, I’d wonder during the whole flight what else I could have included while repacking. He asks me: did you weigh it somewhere else? No I didn’t. I was too lucky; it indeed was 30 kilos, no more, no less.

He hands me the boarding passes for my 3 segments and wishes me good luck. I thank him wholeheartedly. Somehow I get a premonition that things in a foreign place may not always go as expected and that I should always be prepared for unwanted emergencies. I plug in my headphones, press play, and listen to one of my favorites CDs.

I close my eyes for a few seconds while going up the escalator, and push my mind to continue thinking about my dreams. I choose the shortest line for the passport control. I increase the volume of my Discman, and think that I already have an adventure to talk about right after landing at the destination.

Hello world!

In this blog I’ll write some interesting experiences I had, as well as some random thoughts that I don’t want to forget.

I’m interested in any outdoor sport, although frankly I don’t have the time to practice very often. I also like traveling, so most of the posts will be about hiking and funny experiences in airports, customs, and foreign countries.

I hope you enjoy the blog!