A few weeks ago I found myself, once again, sitting around a table with people whom I had mostly never met, talking about what we all do for a living.
In social settings where I don’t know anyone, I normally lie about my job. Blogger is an easy choice, mainly because it seems to be effective at moving the conversation along. But this time my wife outed me. “He’s a humanitarian aid worker,” she said, which then spawned the inevitable lines of discussion with which I am by now very familiar:
- The emotional affirmation: “Thank you – thank you – for all you do.”
- The know-it-all/conspiratorial pronouncing: “What Nepal really needs ...” or “I just can’t justify giving to an organisation that spends all my money on administration ...”
- The earnest inquisition/consensus-building: “Wouldn’t you say that Haiti was just as much of a disaster before the earthquake?” Or, “how much of my donation really goes to beneficiaries?”
- The clichéd celebrity references to establish subject matter expertise: “Yeah, I know what you mean ... I read the article about Angelina Jolie in Vanity Fair.”
- And my personal favourite, the “your-job-is-so-easy-even-I-can-do-it” expressions of aspiration: “I’ve been thinking about going into disaster response ... you know, I volunteered at an orphanage in X when I was in college.”
Aid workers and industry insiders know that these lines and many others have a way of springing up in conversations and catching us off-guard, so it’s best to be prepared. Here are my tips for getting through those awkward moments when all eyes suddenly turn to us and we find ourselves speaking on behalf of the entire sector, whether we want to or not:
Have your elevator speech ready. Rehearse your lines in advance. Have a 15- to 30-second speech that gives a version of your title in simple language. My title is senior humanitarian adviser – I translate that as international disaster response expert. Include something concrete about what you actually do – “I manage relief operations in the field” – and something that does not sound arrogant and may be a bit boring – “but mainly it’s a lot of email and office work”. With any luck, the group will move on to the wild, mysterious world of the tax attorney seated across from you.
Have your 15-minute speech ready. Sometimes people really do want to discuss your professional world, and it’s either awkward or just not possible to stop short after the elevator speech. In these situations, I have a short list of issues that I can discuss at a scratch-below-the-surface level, while still keeping it light. I have my standard explanations of what I do, along with easy analogies and comparisons to make points in ways that wrap it all up, rather than open it all up.
Have your go-to stories of weird food and crazy driving (or whatever). I have five to seven stories that I rotate or select from when asked. “What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” seems to be a favourite question, so I have my stories of food ready – snake, dog, bugs, different kinds of local alcohol ... My advice here, though, is to not dominate the room – if the entire table turns towards you, tell one obligatory story and then redirect to sports or politics. If you’re standing and mingling, and someone really does want to hear more, then go ahead and drop your most impressive anecdotes.
Keep it general and lightweight. There always seems to be someone who either wants me to spill the dirt on the aid industry (or the organisation that employs me, or the response I was just part of). Similarly, there always seems to be someone who wants to hear about the times I’ve been shot at or seen dead bodies, or whatever other traumatic and gruesome things I may have experienced. I never go there in mixed company, but instead try to keep it general and light.
The same goes for detailed, in-depth theoretical or practical discussions. Obviously it depends on the setting but typically social gatherings are inappropriate for really delving into the details of, say, humanitarian accountability or UN reform. If someone continues to press you, offer to meet elsewhere at another time for a more focused discussion.
It’s not your job to defend aid or set the amateurs straight. Every once in a while there’ll be someone who’s read a book by Easterly or Moyo or Polman, or maybe some scathing article about Ebola or Haiti, and wants to grill me about the fact that aid is entirely broken, helps no one, is utterly beyond repair, or that we’re all a bunch of crooks. If this happens to you, don’t bite. Acknowledge diversity of opinion, share your alternative view in general terms, and remember, the know-it-all down the table may have read a book by an academic or reporter but you’re the one with actual first-hand, inside knowledge. Just nod and shrug. “Yeah, wow ... I’ll have to remember to look up that article.”
More or less the same goes for ones who have just read Three Cups of Tea (or whatever the latest DIY aid tome is these days) and are about to start their own NGO or orphanage. The same also goes for those who are certain that camping skills, a semester of high-school Spanish, and a passionate desire to not work at Walmart prove they’ve been cosmically ordained to do what you do for a living. Just sip your drink and nod indulgently – no point in arguing with the cosmos. If they ask for advice, share the link to devnetjobs.org, Devex jobs, or maybe that career advice piece on WhyDev.
Play your cards right, and with any luck the conversation will move on soon. In another minute or two you can get right back to the soft comfort of quasi-anonymity, and maybe another round of whatever’s on tap. And remember, next time just say you’re a blogger.
“J” has been working in aid for many years. He blogs pseudonymously at aidspeak.wordpress.com and Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like.
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