The entire SIPA crew with whom I graduated: you are the most adventurous, spirited, engaging people I know. If it weren’t for your friendship over the years—couches to crash on overseas, late-night Skype sessions from around the globe, reunions in some of the most extraordinary settings for weddings or work, New Year’s celebrations, or R&Rs—these experiences might not have been possible and they certainly would not have been so much fun. I’m lucky that our lives intersected so permanently that fall of 2002.
Lesley Bourns accompanied me during my early days abroad and was the silliest of travel partners and tent sharers. You somehow managed to keep cool and support me even when I ruined our vacation in Zanzibar during a thorny time. Natasha Kindergan kept a spare bed, a hot shower, and a cool glass of boxed pinot grigio waiting for me in Khartoum whenever I came back tired and dusty from Darfur. I was lucky to have such a close friend just a helicopter ride away during the lonely stretches. I’m grateful to you both for reading multiple drafts at home and helping me accurately recall our times overseas.
Luke Garman, you selflessly worked with me to rewrite my initial pitch over and over until it was perfect. Your help shaping up the Haiti chapter is evident on those pages. I’m so thankful to have had your steady support when I nervously threw myself out there with this book.
My grandmothers were the most comforting women I have known. Nana Hannah—who gave me my earliest writing lessons and my first books—the playful imagery you conjure in your poetry inspires me today. Nana Elsie—who supported my graduate school education—you taught me to have courage and be kind even in the face of tragedy. I only wish that you both were able to read this book.
Sophie and Nathan Mittleman, I know many a family dinner was consumed with “Jess’s book” talk. Thank you for tolerating it graciously, offering advice, and not rolling your eyes.
My brother, Ben, you instructed me to “Stay here this year!” a mantra you left on voice messages, in texts, as subject lines of e-mails. Although I didn’t heed your request, I appreciated you caring and you kept me laughing with your e-mails while I was away.
The book was conceived one breezy night in Istanbul where I told you, Suzy Hansen, that I thought I could turn it around in six months. You nodded and said, “Let’s see how it goes.” And for five years now, you have patiently tolerated hours of Skype-whining (about book- and non-book-related crises) and had the patience and stomach to slog through some of my worst writing and provide intelligent feedback. This book could not have been written without your brilliant editing and clever ideas. You have truly been the best of friends and I’m blessed to have you in my life.
Andy Wyllie, thank you for being so consistently patient, thoughtful, and wonderful during these final, nail-biting months.
Julie, our bike rides, power walks by the water, yoga classes and chat-sessions were the best therapy for writer’s block. Your comfort cooking and upbeat attitude (I can still recall the enthusiasm in your voice when I called to tell you I got a book deal), kept me afloat these years.
Dan, your wit and humor are sprinkled throughout these pages. As a brother and friend, whenever I’ve been in a tight spot you’ve reassured me with the words from our favorite childhood movie: “Don’t worry, Pooh Bear, we’re gonna get you outta this hole.” And you have, every time.
Mom, before being admitted to the hospital for your first bone marrow transplant you wrote a letter to me and the boys in which you doled out “some words that I want to tell you because I may not think of telling you again.” In that letter, you told us, among many other pieces of wisdom, to “Keep safe but don’t always play it safe. Take good, worthwhile risks in your lives … Be tolerant of others in the world … Don’t ever, ever compromise your values … Remember that time is a most precious commodity and use it wisely.” These are words that have guided me since. Oh, how I wish you knew me now.
Dad, the night before I left for Rwanda, you toasted me and my upcoming trip with a quote from William Shedd: “A ship in a harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.” I know it wasn’t easy for you to watch me leave the harbor again and again, going off to such distant and scary places. You have stood by me through every trip, every return home, taking calls in the middle of the night from around the world layovers, with your signature calm, patience, and optimism. If I didn’t have such a solid home to return to, I may not have had the courage to go so far. I love you.
About the Author
Over the past twelve years, Jessica Alexander has worked for the United Nations and various NGOs. She has responded to crises in Rwanda, Darfur, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, Myanmar, South Sudan, Pakistan, Haiti, and the Horn of Africa. Alexander is a Fulbright Scholar who received the award to research child soldiers in Sierra Leone in 2006. Her research there was used as expert evidence in the case against Charles Taylor, former president of Liberia.
Alexander is an adjunct professor at Columbia’s Mailman School of Public Health, the Institute of International Humanitarian Affairs at Fordham University, and the Wagner School of Public Service at New York University. She received a master’s of public health and a master’s of international affairs from Columbia University in 2005. She is currently pursuing her PhD at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, focusing her research on accountability to affected populations in humanitarian action.
She currently lives in Brooklyn, New York, and works for the United Nations.
Chasing Chaos: My Decade In and Out of Humanitarian Aid Page 29