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Before I Am a Humanitarian, I Am Human

On World Humanitarian Day, we want to recognize and thank our colleagues working in some of the world's most sensitive and dangerous contexts. These two stories were shared by colleagues working in Cameroon.

Ayuhnwi Sunday, Cash Officer with DRC Cameroon

I am a humanitarian worker, but I am also a person living through the crisis I respond to.

I am originally from Cameroon, the country were i serve. For me, humanitarian work is therefore not simply a profession, it is personal. I have experienced the crisis not only through the people i support, but in my own life.

On several occasions, i have been subjected to extortion by non-state armed groups while travelling to or working in the field. My father was kidnapped, and my family had to pay millions of francs before he was released. My cousin was shot and killed by State security forces .

In my previous role as a Project Coordinator some few years back, I also lost a Case Worker whom i have given instructions to in the morning who was shot dead in the afternoon while on her way to deliver case management services to vulnerable households and communities in Kumbo, in Cameroon's North West Region.

These experiences have taught me that humanitarian workers are not outside the crisis. Sometimes, we are living through the same crisis as the people we serve.

The work also carries a heavy psychological burden. I have witnessed severe human suffering, death and destruction, and lived with the anxiety, fear , trauma and PTSD that can come from working in such environments. At the same time, many humanitarian jobs depend on short-term funding and contracts, creating uncertainty about employment, income,retirement healthcare and the future. In some cases precarious low salaries and no risk allowances.

Yet i continue. I continue because i understand what it means to experience fear, uncertainty and loss. I continue because i know that behind every case is a human being who needs support.

But I also want the world to understand that humanitarians are human too. We have families waiting for us, we have people we love, we experience fear, grief, exhaustion and uncertainty. We can be affected psychologically by what we see and experience. We are not superheroes.

That is why protecting humanitarian workers matters to me personally. When a humanitarian worker is kidnapped, attacked or killed, it is not simply an organisation that loses a staff member. A family loses someone they love. A colleague loses a friend. A community loses someone who was trying to help.

My message this 2026 World Humanitarian Day is simple: please remember the human behind the humanitarian.

When you see me going to the field, remember that i have someone waiting for me to come home.

When you see me helping a family affected by conflict, remember that i too have been affected by conflict.

When you see me supporting a survivor, remember that i also carry my own experiences of fear and loss.

And when you ask me to continue serving people in difficult and dangerous places, remember that I am human too. I feel fear, pain, i experience loss. I worry about my future.

But i also have hope. And despite everything i have experienced, I have chosen not to become indifferent to the suffering of others.

I continue to show up, continue to serve, continue to believe in humanity.

I am not a hero because I am without fear, I am simply a human being who has experienced fear and still chosen to care.

Ayuhnwi Sunday

And if the world truly wants humanitarian action to continue, then it must protect the people who make that action possible. Protect our lives, protect our dignity, protect our wellbeing. And remember that behind every humanitarian worker is a human being who deserves to go home.

Omer Tawong, Early Warning - Supervisor

When people hear the word humanitarian, they often imagine someone arriving in a crisis with a vest, a notebook, a vehicle and a mission to help others. What they may not see is the person behind the vest the person who is also living with the fear, uncertainty and pain of the same crisis.

I am from the community where I work. This is not simply a place where I carry out my humanitarian responsibilities; it is home. The people I serve are people I know. Their fears are familiar to me. Their stories are sometimes stories that could easily be my own. When insecurity affects the community, I do not simply document it and move on. I go home with it. I worry about my family. I worry about my colleagues. I worry about what tomorrow may bring.

We Are Humanitarians, But We Are Human First

Omer Tawong

This is the reality for many local humanitarians working in crisis-affected communities. We are responding to a crisis while living through it ourselves.

Some days, we listen to people speak about losing their homes, their livelihoods or loved ones. We sit with families who have been displaced and people who are afraid to return home. We record their experiences because their voices matter. We advocate for them because someone must. And then, when the day's work is finished, we return to our own lives carrying the weight of everything we have heard and witnessed.

There are moments when the phone rings late at night and the first thought is not “What happened?” but “Is everyone safe?” There are journeys where we know the road ahead may be uncertain. There are days when insecurity forces us to change plans, postpone activities or stay away from communities that desperately need support.

Yet we continue.

We continue because behind every report is a human being. Behind every number is a family. Behind every incident is a story. And behind every request for assistance is someone hoping that the world has not forgotten them.

But there is a side of humanitarian work that deserves greater attention: the humanitarian also needs protection.

We are parents, children, brothers, sisters, friends and colleagues. We have people waiting for us to come home. We have fears we sometimes keep to ourselves because we know that others are depending on us to remain strong.

Our humanitarian badge does not make us bulletproof. Our commitment does not make us fearless. And our willingness to serve does not mean that our lives are worth less than the lives of those we protect.

I want the world to understand that local humanitarians are often standing in the middle of the crisis, not outside it. We are helping communities while trying to protect our own. We are listening to people's pain while sometimes carrying our own. We are providing hope while also searching for reasons to remain hopeful ourselves.

That is why protecting humanitarian workers is not a privilege. It is a necessity.

When a humanitarian worker is threatened, attacked or killed, it is not only an organisation that loses a staff member. A family loses a loved one. A community loses someone it trusted. And people in need may lose one of the few links they have to assistance and protection.

Humanitarian workers should never have to choose between their commitment to humanity and their right to return home safely.

Omer Tawong

We do this work because we believe every human life has value. We believe that people affected by crisis deserve dignity, protection and hope.

But we ask for the same in return.

Protect the people who protect others.

Because behind every humanitarian vest is a human being with a family, a story, a heart, fears, dreams and a life that matters.

The photos on this page are from DRC operations in Cameroon but do not depict the colleagues who are portrayed in the stories