Book Review: A Humanitarian Aid Worker’s Journey by Allyson Chisholm Reviewed by Rob Carr

Confession number one: I have never before read any memoirs of aid workers.

Confession number two: I like this one.

In 2025, I was grappling with winding up my 32 years with UNICEF. I was leaving a year early due to crushing budget cuts—hoping this would create space for a younger person to move into. It was not my favorite year in the past 40 years of my career. My emotions were raw and my mood had more lows than highs. I had suggested—with data—for over a decade how UNICEF could grow and not become bloated. My suggestions were ignored, and I was publicly rebuked for even offering advice. It was a dark year—but occasionally some light snuck in.

Amid all that emotion, Allyson Chisholm, a former member of one of my teams, emailed me that she had written a book of memoirs about her career at UNICEF. She wanted me to review the chapters related to our work together in the refugee camps in Tanzania. I read the chapters and was transported back to the camps immediately—a ten-year jump took place in an instant. How did I travel in time so quickly? It was her use of smells, sounds, and sights—especially the use of smells. When hundreds of people flee war and crowd into a registration center in the pouring rain, there is a distinct smell of sweat, fear, exhaustion, and mud.

You never forget that smell—and the feeling that washes over your mind as you grapple with how to make a small budget stretch as far as possible to meet skyrocketing needs. In her book of memoirs, "A Humanitarian Aid Worker’s Journey: Stories that Stayed with Me",  Allyson cleverly recalls the smells, sights, and sounds burned into our memories that come with our work.  

Allyson’s journey takes us to her assignments in Iraq, Somalia, the Philippines, Swaziland, and Zimbabwe, as well as her stints in EMOPS (humanitarian office) in New York and the Regional Office in Kenya.  She covers UNICEF assignments as well as her work with NGOs. It is not a travelogue or a handbook on aid, but rather a set of short stories of her memories: the panic of a large spider in her tent, the sheer terror of a kidnapping, the discomfort of new foods, the hallucination of tropical diseases, the joy of taking a weekend of R&R to blow off steam, and the helpless feeling of a never-ending tide of refugees and how to stretch the budget to the max. She covers her personal experience as a woman traveling alone in high-risk areas, as well as the joy she reaped from small successes in her work.

It is not a heavy read. The format makes it bite-sized so you never feel overwhelmed—each story is maybe two to five pages—so you can pick up the book and put it down without losing the plot. I found it refreshing and easy to read. I identified with the dilemmas she faced, and especially the bonding that takes place among small teams working in a crisis. Most of all, I enjoyed the sights and smells she recalls so vividly.

If you are looking for your next book and don’t want to overdose on heavy philosophy and the theory of aid, consider picking up this one. You will smile when she connects with a child, and you will cringe as she figures out how to politely refuse to eat a fat, fried worm.  Indeed this book was a small beam of light for me.

Learn abit more on the book and how to purchase it here.

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