More Favorite Drivers of UNICEF : John and the Dirty Business Card by Rob Carr

Thinking back on Mohammed—the driver who shaped our CPD and drove us with such care—my mind drifted back to John. (he and I pictured here in 1987)

John was a driver for a WASH project I worked on in Liberia as a US Peace Corps Volunteer and DANIDA consultant, a full decade before I joined UNICEF. I vividly recall the day he was transferred from the central Ministry to our project in the southeastern county of Grand Gedeh. It was 1986; the country was reeling from a failed coup d'état, and we were forced to bring in new staff after several of our drivers fled due to threats on their lives.

John arrived with an infectious smile and a bounce in his step. He was more than just a skilled driver; he was a true friend who never hesitated to get his hands dirty during hand pump repairs. Most importantly, he used humor to lighten our moods, providing a much-needed reprieve from the post-coup tension. After four years of working together, John was one of the people I missed most when I eventually moved on.

Fast forward ten years to 1997. Liberia had been consumed by a brutal civil war for eight years. Since leaving in 1989, I had completed a master’s degree in the US, worked with an NGO in Iraq, and finally joined UNICEF. By 1996, I was working with EMOPS at HQ. Because of my history with the country, I was sent back to UNICEF Liberia to help draft the Consolidated Appeal (CAP).

On my first day, I traveled from the UN compound to the UNICEF office—a heavily guarded fortress in what was then a very "messy" Monrovia. As I was settling into my temporary office, the receptionist popped in with strange news: someone was at the gate asking for me by name. In a war zone, people are incredibly resourceful, but I was still baffled.

I went to the security gate and found a throng of people pressing against the razor wire and iron grates. A stern security guard handed me a business card. It was worn thin and smudged with the distinct red dust of Liberia. The print was faded, but as I focused on it, my heart sank. It was my very first business card from ten years prior, given to me by the Danish engineering firm I joined after the Peace Corps. I still remember how proud I felt receiving that stack of cards; here was one of them, a decade later, appearing like a ghost.

I asked the guard who had presented it. He reached into the crowd and pulled out a man whose face was etched with worry.

It was John.

His look of concern instantly vanished, replaced by an ear-to-ear smile. We embraced in a serious Liberian "man hug," ending with a healthy finger-snap handshake. He had lost weight and his hair was flecked with grey, but he had survived.

As we caught up, John told me his story. He had become a driver for UNICEF (which had taken over our old water project) during the war, but his post had been cut during a period of downsizing. He had been reapplying for months without a single response. I identified with his frustration; before landing my role at HQ, I had spent six months waiting for UNICEF to respond to my own applications while at the end of my rope—though, unlike John, I hadn't been enduring a war.

I made no promises, but I told him I would do what I could. Seeing a literal stack of driver applications on the desk of the Chief of Transport, I politely asked if he could review John's file. I explained our history and his skills. A few days later, the Chief told me the interview went well. By some miracle, it worked out: John was back in the blue-and-white fold.

I have since lost track of John, but I will never forget that smile—or the tattered business card that brought us back together.

Do you have any stories of favorite drivers and how they touched your life?  Please share your stories.