Another day in paradise : front line stories from by Carol Bergman

By Carol Bergman

One other Day in Paradise is an anthology of first-person tales by way of overseas relief employees. Written through lively relief employees and spanning the new spots of the globe from Afghanistan to Cambodia, Rwanda to Vietnam and Ecuador to Bosnia, those tales inform it love it rather is at the flooring. overlaying common catastrophe, struggle and all-too-fragile peace, those tales open an uncensored window onto the lives of relief employees and the triumphs and tragedies of the folks they are attempting to assist

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Another day in paradise : front line stories from international aid workers

One other Day in Paradise is an anthology of first-person tales by way of overseas reduction staff. Written through lively reduction staff and spanning the new spots of the globe from Afghanistan to Cambodia, Rwanda to Vietnam and Ecuador to Bosnia, those tales inform it love it particularly is at the flooring. protecting typical catastrophe, battle and all-too-fragile peace, those tales open an uncensored window onto the lives of relief employees and the triumphs and tragedies of the folk they are attempting to aid

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Sample text

I stayed at my kitchen table, glued to reports speculating that Qaddafi hadn’t survived, that some of his family were dead. I understood then that we—Americans in Chad—had become potential targets, marks for revenge. Perhaps we had been all along, but I hadn’t felt it until that moment. It wouldn’t take much to pick one of us off. We were advised to vary our routes, to stay alert, as if it could make a difference. I saw more of François when possible. He spent a lot of time in the field working on irrigation projects, sometimes weeks on end.

Images of Grandmother scooping floodwater from her house tormented me. I was afraid for her because I knew she was in great danger, like most inhabitants of the delta. The burden of knowing too much about this familiar landscape and its people takes a toll on my mental state. My head starts to ache as I brace myself for our landing. I AWAKE TO the distant cries of roosters, disoriented until I hear street hawkers hollering, “Banh Mi! ” Oh, yes, Saigon, and it is October. But where did the roosters come from?

François, however, wanted to stay. Though Chad had left me with a rattled sense of mortality, he remained unflappable. In roughly the same two-year period, François had discovered that he could stick with it and I’d discovered that I couldn’t. In the first of what would be many concessions between us, François agreed to come to the United States. We moved to a small apartment in Philadelphia and married. He was interested in getting his MBA. While he did business-school applications, I slept, read, took a few business courses, and generally procrastinated about my professional future.

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