This is a short story about trust, relationship building, and humanitarian access in a highly volatile conflict environment. I try my best to provide a couple of tools—well, let me say it a different way; here I re-emphasize a couple of tools to improve the effectiveness of humanitarian deliverance based on my experience.

Most organizations conduct induction programs for new recruits.
That’s true in my experience. Wherever I worked, the first week, or even the first month, was usually set aside for induction. One of my favorite parts was always the cultural sensitivity session. Every time, I listened with full attention, hoping to understand those unspoken rules and subtle guidelines.

But I noticed something. Most of the seats were empty during that part of the training, especially compared to sessions like First Aid, surviving active shootings, or other more “adventurous” training sessions.

Yet after spending more than six years in conflict zones, one of the most common complaints among us was about difficult stakeholders.

“Oh, that person is rude, or arrogant…”
“No… I don’t want to talk to him.”

These situations are real and very challenging. And they can delay humanitarian programs and projects. Worse, they can seriously damage relationships between organizations and communities.

Let me be clear. My purpose is not to criticize my fellow humanitarian workers. I can’t, because I’m part of that same group. So how do we build smoother relationships with our stakeholders?

I had to learn the hard way.

One of my colleagues was slapped by a soldier at a checkpoint. Another was detained for nearly 12 hours at a military barracks. And this happened to staff from a very high-profile organization. What about other NGOs or INGOs? No different. I personally know of an internationally renowned organization whose vehicle was stopped on the road. All staff were forced to kneel down and pay money to “move forward.”

These stories are not rare. Harassment of aid workers in the field is widespread. Some are reported, many are not.

And you may ask, why are they not reported?
It’s complicated.

Maybe it’s hard to understand, but in the aid world, it happens. Many organizations want to stay ahead in the field, maintain visibility, and secure funding. Reporting incidents can explode into something huge—reaching both local and international media. That, in turn, can damage their image as “key players on the ground” or “well-respected organizations.”

I know it’s messy. I’m not generalizing. This is just my lived experience.

So how can we mitigate this?
How can we work safely and effectively on the ground?

I wanted to point out a few things that are not often openly discussed. Maybe I’d even call them unpopular points. But from my experience, they’re real.

Here’s where we can start:

• Be honest. Say the truth.

Explain your mandate clearly—what you can do, and what you cannot. Say it in black and white. Don’t sugarcoat.
Especially if you’re not distributing materials, don’t say things like “maybe in the future…” or “we’ll try…”

The community won’t hear the word maybe. They’ll expect food, schools, or hospitals in their areas. I’ve seen this happen many times. One short sentence can destroy trust.

• Don’t criticize other organizations.

I’ve seen this often, even from senior staff. When the community complains about another NGO not delivering as they promised, don’t join in.
You likely only know half the story. Don’t try to build your relationship by putting others down. It shows your inability to act professionally.

• Don’t impose your values or politics.

This is basic. Read the room. Respect the culture.
Your values might not align with theirs, so step back when needed. This is not the place for an Oxford-style debate. You’re not here to debate with the community. You’re here to listen, understand, and support. Use your diplomatic skills to the max.

• It’s about them, not you.

Fieldwork isn’t the stage for you to show off your fancy gear. Maybe others will disagree, but in my view, keep your shiny stuff in the office. You don’t need to flash your gadgets in the field.
I’m guilty too. At the beginning of my career, I wore crisp white shirts, which were normal for my old office job. But fieldwork, especially in a warzone like Darfur, is a different world.

Living in a conflict zone is not just a job—it’s a lifestyle. How you talk, dress, and behave matters.

I could go on and on, but I think I’ve said what I needed to say.

Let me end this post with a quote from Abdulla, a youth leader from Al Genina, Darfur:

“Most of them are so high class, we can’t talk to them openly. They look at us like we’re beggars. They come here to show off their phones and perfumes. Ok… let it be.”

It hurts to hear things like that.

Again, I’m not here to criticize anyone. I just want to share what I’ve experienced.
Maybe there’s something here you can reflect on—something that might help you avoid the mistakes we’ve all made and do better.

I believe that by avoiding those mistakes, we can be more productive in our work and be closer to the community. Then we can protect each other and do our best.

So, trust building is very important, and I can’t emphasize that enough.
Only through trust can we have relationships, access, and protection.

I’m talking about humanitarian workers in the field.
Believe me, the community has saved and protected me many, many times.

This article is a tribute to all of them.