The NGO Chaos Theory

“It seems like NGO workers are constantly followed by a certain amount of chaos.”

These were the words of an almost perfect stranger, a friend of a friend who had graciously offered me his sofa in Dubai when I had, in desperation, contacted him less than twenty-four hours earlier to ask if I could stay the night. This conclusion, I recognised, had largely been formed through years of experiences with our mutual friend, a fellow Kabul-based NGO type. Yet, somehow, through our first conversation this man, who knew almost nothing about me, had managed to confirm for himself this statement. I sat there wondering whether to be insulted or convicted. Surely I am not followed by chaos … am I?

Perhaps he had reason for his statement. After all, I had just shared with him the story of how it was that I had come to sit cross-legged on his living room floor – a story that included airport strikes, cancelled and delayed flights, plane malfunctions, international calls failing to go through, totally booked hotel rooms in both London and Dubai, taxi drivers getting me lost and a rather dodgy promise of a seat on the flight to Kabul the next day. I hadn’t even mentioned my having booked a rental car at the wrong airport in Washington, DC earlier in my holiday.

“Chaos?” I thought. “I deny it!”

No, just a day in the life of a NGO worker – one who functions in a world where Murphy’s Law rules, a world where complications will always occur at the most inconvenient times and will find the most amusing solutions and a world where laughter and patience are essential tools should one not wish to find their next trip involving a straight jacket and padded walls. I’m sure this is thoroughly normal.

Alas, all this “chaos” did not meet my mother’s prediction of my meeting a tall, dark and handsome number on the connecting flight. I had to settle for several offers by airport staff – the first to sell me a pack of gum for the bargain price of one million Euros with the Granada Airport barman included, the second by a car rental agent at Gatwick to help me book a hotel room for two instead of one (wink wink), and yet another by the passport check man who lamented at what a shame it was I was travelling alone. I suppose this is better than the Afghan passport and baggage checking staff who always feel it is absolutely necessary to know my marital status. The last time I was asked by the Kabul passport checking official first, where I was travelling to and then whether my husband was there, I decided that “there” was a general enough term and said yes. I certainly hope he’s out “there” somewhere. I suppose we’ll just have to wait for the next chaotic travel experience to find out where.