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I want to tell you about a friend of mine. Let’s call him Ahmad.
Ahmad spent three years in a remote district of Afghanistan designing a water supply system. Not a hand pump. Not a temporary fix. A real system: reservoirs, pipelines, community committees trained to manage it. The proposal said the system would last twenty years. The donor loved it. The community loved it. Ahmad loved it.
Then the project ended.
On a Monday morning, Ahmad got an email: “Thank you for your service. Your contract will not be renewed.” No warning. No discussion. Just done. That same week, Ahmad was updating his CV at 2 AM, applying for jobs in other provinces, other countries, anywhere. He had $800 left in his bank account and his wife was pregnant.
The water system he built? Still running. The community? Still using it. Ahmad? Back to zero.
This Is Not Just One Story
I have been in humanitarian work for years. I have written proposals worth millions of dollars. I have sat in meetings where we spent hours arguing about “sustainability plans,” “exit strategies,” and “community ownership.” We design health programs to outlive us. We build schools meant to stand for decades. We teach farmers techniques their grandchildren may use.
But us? The people who do this work?
We are often on six-month contracts. One-year contracts. If we are lucky, two years. There may be no long-term employment security, no continuity of benefits, and no guarantee that when one project ends, there will be another one waiting. The person who writes “sustainable livelihoods” into a $5 million proposal may be the same person who does not know if they can pay their rent next month. That is the paradox.
Why Does This Happen?
It is not because NGOs are evil. Most of the directors and managers I know are good people. They care. Many of them lose sleep over this too. The problem is largely structural: the way humanitarian and development funding works. A donor — a government, foundation, UN agency, or other funding institution — identifies a crisis or priority and provides money for a specific project, for a specific period, in a specific place. The NGO hires staff to deliver that project.
When the funding stops, the project stops. And often, so do the jobs.
Donors generally fund outputs and outcomes. They fund things like building 50 latrines, vaccinating 10,000 children, or providing livelihood support to a defined number of families. The people who deliver those results are part of the project budget. When the project closes, their funding line can disappear.
And here is the difficult part: donors can move on to the next crisis or priority. The professional whose contract has ended does not move on so easily. They have a family. They have rent. They have commitments. They have a career that may suddenly have hit a wall.
The Real Cost
People often think the biggest risks in humanitarian work are security, disease, or difficult working conditions. Those risks are real. I have lost colleagues. But another risk receives far less attention: chronic job insecurity. It can quietly erode people’s motivation, well-being, and sense of professional security.
I know a woman, a nutrition specialist, who worked for five different NGOs in four years. Each time, the project ended. Each time, she started over. She is brilliant. She speaks three languages. She has saved children’s lives. Last I heard, she was considering leaving the sector entirely.
I know a logistics officer who spent twelve years in humanitarian work. Twelve years of emergency response, of sleeping in tents, of moving supplies through checkpoints under gunfire. His contract ended last month. He had little savings. The NGO gave him two weeks’ salary and a thank-you letter.
That was it. This is what we mean when we say there is no safety net. There is no clear ladder. There is often no predictable career path. There is project after project, and the hope that the next one comes before the money runs out.
And This Is Not Only an International Humanitarian Problem
The same tension exists across much of the development sector, including in Pakistan. Organizations are expected to build strong institutions, sustainable communities and lasting solutions. Yet many of the professionals delivering that work remain dependent on short-term project funding.
This creates a strange contradiction. We ask communities to become resilient. We ask institutions to become sustainable. We design programs around long-term change. But the people responsible for making that change happen may themselves be working from one short-term contract to the next. If we are serious about sustainability, perhaps we need to think about the sustainability of the people behind the projects too.
What Would Actually Help?
I am not here to complain without offering something. I have thought about this a lot. Here are some things that could actually help.
1. Bridge Funding Between Projects
If a good worker finishes one project and the NGO knows another proposal is in the pipeline, can the organization find a way to retain that person for a limited transition period? Where funding rules allow it, bridge funding or appropriate use of unrestricted/overhead resources could prevent unnecessary loss of experienced staff. It is not always easy. But retaining institutional knowledge has a value too.
2. Longer Contracts for Core Staff
Not everyone needs to be on a one-year contract. Where a role is genuinely part of an organization’s ongoing core functions, organizations should consider longer-term employment arrangements rather than repeatedly rebuilding teams around individual grants.If someone has demonstrated their value over several years, stability should be part of the conversation.
3. A Real Hand-Off System
When a project ends, do not just send an email. Sit with the person. Help them plan. Give as much notice as reasonably possible. Provide a strong reference letter. Connect them with other organizations where appropriate. Help them understand what opportunities may be coming. Treat them like a human being, not a budget line.
4. Donors: Fund People, Not Just Projects
This is the big one. Donors need to recognize that sustainable programs require capable and experienced people. Where appropriate, budgets should allow for staff retention, transition periods, institutional knowledge, and continuity between related projects. A program is less likely to succeed when the people running it are constantly worried about whether they will have a job three months from now.
5. Mental Health and Wellbeing Should Not End With the Contract
Many NGOs offer wellbeing or psychosocial support during a project. That is important. But humanitarian and development professionals can also face considerable stress when a contract ends, particularly after demanding field assignments or long periods of uncertainty. Organizations should consider how they can support staff through transitions — including appropriate referral mechanisms and continued access to wellbeing support where feasible.
Why This Matters for All of Us
If you are a donor reading this, you want your money to work. You want real change. But change does not happen simply because a project lasts twelve months. It happens when experienced people understand a community, build trust, learn the context and stay engaged long enough to make that knowledge count. You cannot build lasting change if experienced staff are constantly leaving because their funding has disappeared.
Investing in people is not separate from investing in outcomes. It is part of it. If you are an NGO director reading this, you probably know this reality. You have sat in the same meetings. You have signed the termination letters. You have watched good people leave because a grant ended.
Where you have the flexibility, fight for your staff. Look for ways to retain institutional knowledge. Give people dignity when their projects come to an end. They are not disposable. If you are a humanitarian or development professional reading this, you are not alone. The exhaustion, the uncertainty, the frustration — they are real. But do not let them make you bitter.
The Truth
I started this work because I wanted to help people. I still do. I believe in it. I have seen a mother hold her child after a nutrition program saved his life. I have seen a village get clean water for the first time. Those moments are real. They matter.
But I also believe the people who make those moments happen deserve dignity. They deserve to know that when they pour their heart into building a twenty-year water system, their own future is not washed away when the grant ends.
We talk about sustainability for everyone else. It is time we talk about it for us.
If you have lived this, share your story. If you are a donor or manager, I want to hear what you are doing to address it.
Let’s talk.
The author is a humanitarian & development professional with over 18 years of diverse experience. He can be reached at: amjad_hope78@yahoo.com
