This is a true story. Marc Vachon was born in Montreal in 1963. He went from one foster home to another. He knows the injustices that the weak must suffer in any society. He knows the violence, the abuse, and the emptiness that life can offer in so-called developed countries. He dealt with it the only way possible: through drugs and crime. He turned into “a bad egg” as he puts it. Until the day when, escaping an unbearable situation at home, he came across Doctors Without Borders (MSF) in Paris. Since he had some experience in construction, he was hired to supervise the logistics of a cholera camp in Niaminthutu, Malawi. From that point on, he drew on the survival instincts he picked up on the streets, delving into his work to forget the pain, never looking back. He made himself indispensable, quickly becoming the frontline logistician for MSF, moving mountains, commanding respect, afraid of nothing or no one, able to build shelters for tens of thousands of refugees in record time. Power struggles often occur in the humanitarian sector, and Marc Vachon could never really accept them. They always seem to go hand-in-hand with injustice. This has inspired him to deliver a biting and fascinating review of humanitarian aid, or at least the way it is in the present “news-entertainment” era.
Prawdopodobnie najgorsza książka jaką czytałam. Źle napisany zbiór luźnych myśli gościa o przerośniętym ego, opowiadającego czego to on nie zrobił na misjach i ile lasek nie zaliczył. Myślałam ze będzie tam choć jakaś spójna refleksja o organizacjach humanitarnych, ale nawet to tylko bredzenie.
This book gets off to a vague and moderately written start. The author is not a master of the language, but he does get his points across without long drawn out vocabulary. Which is one thing I liked about it, being an easy read.
Vachon had been through a lot of experiences throughout the world, and you begin to grasp the lessons learned, and the trials of what aid workers come to bear when up against politicians, bureaucratic institutions, and the terrors that come with a nation at war. Throughout the book you never get a detailed sense of what exactly he is involved in, but it seemed he was just trying to fond meaning in his life, that he couldn't receive from his childhood, but much later in the book, he begins to bring a lot of enlightening lessons to the surface.
I enjoyed the last half of the book, and would recommend it to anyone who wants to know more about the life of an aid worker and the nuances involved in being one.
The entire tone of the book really doesn't sit well with me. Its really hard to sympathize with the author, who seems to only really wish to champion his courage, his success with women, and how tough he is. There is a very clear anti-intellectual strain running through the book; the author openly despises people who engage in "intellectual debate." And as a guy who has several kids and abandons them, while swooning about how much the mothers loved him, its just impossible to sympathize with his guy. Even the title of the book is a bit painful, although thats probably the fault of a publisher. With no sense of irony, he refers to himself as a "White Knight" or a "Blond African" when in reality he is a logistician from Montreal.
Really, this form of humanitarianism is from a bygone era, when assertion of good intentions was good enough, and humanitarians were more concerned with pressing on with their work than analyzing the effects their interventions actually had.
Picked this up on the "new books" shelf at the library. I think it is going to be very good. Surprised to find no reviews yet!
OK, confession time. I returned this a little less than half read, which irks me. Heres why: Reading this book is like meeting someone in a bar, who sounds so facinating and has such great stories you invite him to join the group. About 30 minutes later, you get a little uncomfrotable as he keeps talking; all the stories are about him, and how great he is. After two hours you decide hes a jerk. After 3 hours you just cant wait to ditch him and get back to your freinds. Dont waste your time, read Three Cups of Tea instead.
Lecture intéressante, on suit Marc Vachon à travers sa jeunesse en famille d'accueil, son adolescence et sa vie de jeune adulte baignant dans le monde criminalisé, puis sa recherche d'une porte de sortie qui l'amènera à Paris, tombant par hasard sur les bureaux de médecin sans frontières. S'en suivent des années d'errance, de mission humanitaire en mission humanitaire. Il ne s'attarde pas forcément sur les missions elles-mêmes, mettant plutôt l'accent sur les gens qu'il y a croisés, l'impact qu'ils ont pu avoir dans sa vie, sa carrière, et sur quelques événements marquants. Le contexte politique et social du pays est également abordé, de façon plus ou moins détaillé selon les missions.
Du fait de ce que l'on sait de la propension de M. Bugingo à romancer la réalité, on se demande parfois si ce qu'on nous raconte est bel et bien arrivé. Dans tout les cas, comme je le disais en intro, la lecture reste intéressante, et même si M. Vachon n'avait fait que la moitié de ce qui est relaté, ça resterait un parcours remarquable et digne d'être raconté. Une belle histoire de réhabilitation.
vachon isn't a poet, and he makes that exceedingly clear from the getgo. his story is (for the most part) interesting, but the real reason to read this is all the dirt he dishes about the aid agencies he's worked for or observed out in the field.
Ce livre a le potentiel de changer vos perspectives sur certains aspects de votre vie. Cet homme a un courage remarquable. Marc Vachon, j'admire ton cheminement.