Long before I joined UNICEF, I worked in the WASH sector with various organizations. One of my favorite roles was as a WASH Officer during the rehabilitation phase following a major war, helping refugees and displaced persons return home. The NGO I worked for had a massive partnership with a couple of UN agencies, covering the rehabilitation of community water systems, shelter, food distribution, and health services.
We lived and worked in a remote province where UN staff, NGOs, and locals all intermingled. We worked together, shared housing and offices, socialized together, and knew each other well. It was a very tight-knit community.
At one point, we received intel that the UN agency leading WASH sector coordination was sitting on a substantial stockpile of WASH supplies. For some reason, they weren’t distributing them. We asked during coordination meetings, inquired privately, and tried every possible avenue to see if they could share. The answer was always a tight-lipped "no."
The guy coordinating the WASH sector was a high-ranking UK official seconded to the UN. He had served in a previous crisis and had received a title from the Queen to recognize his heroic work. We called him "Sir XXX"—mostly as a joke—because he was generally arrogant, unhelpful, and tightfisted with supplies. This was a sharp contrast to our other UN colleagues, who tried their best to support the NGOs doing the heavy lifting on the ground.
Our intel grew more precise by the day. Eventually, we learned he kept a printed inventory of the WASH supplies somewhere in his office. We figured that if we could distract him, we might get a peek.
During a tense coordination meeting, we managed to keep him thoroughly occupied. A colleague of mine excused himself to use the restroom. On his way past Sir XXX’s desk, he found the inventory, quickly photocopied it, and returned it. It was a remarkably smooth operation.
When my colleague slipped back into the room, we decided to give Sir XXX one last chance. We confronted him again: "We just need to know if there are any WASH supplies in the warehouse you could spare?"
Right on cue, my colleague handed every person in the meeting a copy of the stolen inventory. It detailed massive volumes of the exact supplies we desperately needed. Sir XXX slammed his hand on the table, sneered at us, and insisted the supplies were reserved for a "contingency"—claiming he had never actually lied.
The local government water department chief, who was also in the meeting, looked at the list in astonishment. He insisted we all march down to the warehouse immediately. Reluctantly, Sir XXX led the way.
Our jaws dropped when we walked in. Box after box of supplies was stacked to the ceiling, many bearing donor logos and stamped with "Donation to the people of [Country we worked in]." We even found six brand-new 4WD pickups. They had been parked for so long that their tires were flat, despite a severe shortage of vehicles among the local water department and NGOs.
We gave Sir XXX an ultimatum: start releasing the supplies immediately, or we would go directly to his boss (the head of the UN in our province), contact the donors, and spill everything. We also hinted that we might bring in the local or international media (this was a hot spot at the time so media was all over).
Sir XXX caved quickly. Over the next few meetings, we jointly developed a reasonable distribution plan, and he reluctantly released the goods. We also ensured the local water department walked away with a couple of those brand-new pickups. We never heard from SIR XXX after that - it seems he was recalled or his secondment ended.
I joined UNICEF a couple years or so after this incident. I never forgot that warehouse incident , nor how quickly the arrogant attitude of one person destroyed partners' trust in the UN system. My NGO colleagues really rode me hard on the day I walked out of the NGO world into my first UNICEF job - they even teased me that I should never become a SIR XXX riding on the UN gravy train. It inspired a personal commitment to never act that way, and I like to think I lived up to that throughout my UNICEF career.
For months, we received only a trickle of WASH supplies—a handful of pipes, fittings, taps, cement, and chlorine powder—while the needs in the communities were overwhelming. Some supplies came from the lead UN agency, some from the Red Cross Federation, and others were raised by NGOs from core donors like USAID and ECHO. No matter how hard we tried, our inventory fell drastically short. It was demoralizing because we simply couldn’t deliver what the returning population needed most.
We lived and worked in a remote province where UN staff, NGOs, and locals all intermingled. We worked together, shared housing and offices, socialized together, and knew each other well. It was a very tight-knit community.
At one point, we received intel that the UN agency leading WASH sector coordination was sitting on a substantial stockpile of WASH supplies. For some reason, they weren’t distributing them. We asked during coordination meetings, inquired privately, and tried every possible avenue to see if they could share. The answer was always a tight-lipped "no."
The guy coordinating the WASH sector was a high-ranking UK official seconded to the UN. He had served in a previous crisis and had received a title from the Queen to recognize his heroic work. We called him "Sir XXX"—mostly as a joke—because he was generally arrogant, unhelpful, and tightfisted with supplies. This was a sharp contrast to our other UN colleagues, who tried their best to support the NGOs doing the heavy lifting on the ground.
Our intel grew more precise by the day. Eventually, we learned he kept a printed inventory of the WASH supplies somewhere in his office. We figured that if we could distract him, we might get a peek.
During a tense coordination meeting, we managed to keep him thoroughly occupied. A colleague of mine excused himself to use the restroom. On his way past Sir XXX’s desk, he found the inventory, quickly photocopied it, and returned it. It was a remarkably smooth operation.
When my colleague slipped back into the room, we decided to give Sir XXX one last chance. We confronted him again: "We just need to know if there are any WASH supplies in the warehouse you could spare?"
Sir XXX smirked arrogantly and replied, "No."
Right on cue, my colleague handed every person in the meeting a copy of the stolen inventory. It detailed massive volumes of the exact supplies we desperately needed. Sir XXX slammed his hand on the table, sneered at us, and insisted the supplies were reserved for a "contingency"—claiming he had never actually lied.
The local government water department chief, who was also in the meeting, looked at the list in astonishment. He insisted we all march down to the warehouse immediately. Reluctantly, Sir XXX led the way.
Our jaws dropped when we walked in. Box after box of supplies was stacked to the ceiling, many bearing donor logos and stamped with "Donation to the people of [Country we worked in]." We even found six brand-new 4WD pickups. They had been parked for so long that their tires were flat, despite a severe shortage of vehicles among the local water department and NGOs.
We gave Sir XXX an ultimatum: start releasing the supplies immediately, or we would go directly to his boss (the head of the UN in our province), contact the donors, and spill everything. We also hinted that we might bring in the local or international media (this was a hot spot at the time so media was all over).
Sir XXX caved quickly. Over the next few meetings, we jointly developed a reasonable distribution plan, and he reluctantly released the goods. We also ensured the local water department walked away with a couple of those brand-new pickups. We never heard from SIR XXX after that - it seems he was recalled or his secondment ended.
I joined UNICEF a couple years or so after this incident. I never forgot that warehouse incident , nor how quickly the arrogant attitude of one person destroyed partners' trust in the UN system. My NGO colleagues really rode me hard on the day I walked out of the NGO world into my first UNICEF job - they even teased me that I should never become a SIR XXX riding on the UN gravy train. It inspired a personal commitment to never act that way, and I like to think I lived up to that throughout my UNICEF career.
Coordination is difficult in the best of circumstances. But when it is tainted by a lack of trust and arrogance, it can become toxic.
Have you ever had a similar experience in the field?
great story. Fortunately I didn't have any similar experience
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