Managing Staff in Conflict Zones and the Hidden Price of Doing the Right Thing; Upholding Accountability.

Managing a team in conflict zones can be a different ball game depending on the context and organization. Forget about the usual office politics or the daily "Did you sign the form?" issues. Here, firing someone can quickly escalate from an HR matter to something that threatens your safety. Sometimes, doing the right thing requires extreme care, balancing the organisation's policies and the reality of working in a volatile environment.

 

My adventure in South Sudan started with a lot of unsolicited advice. Before coming to South Sudan, a colleague I met in Cape Town said, "If you want to survive in South Sudan, stay away from South Sudanese women." Another added, "Only drink bottled water." But the one warning that stuck with me was from a friend who had worked in the region. He said, "Stay clear of firing Staff. In South Sudan, terminating someone's contract can be dangerous." At the time, I didn't fully grasp the depth of this advice. I was about to learn just how serious he was.

 

When I arrived, I inherited a project with a team that included one particular staff member, let's call him the culprit, who had a history that I wasn't aware of. He had previously been involved in a separate project but had been accused of mismanaging goods meant for the displaced people, like blankets, cooking utensils, and jerry cans. He had been selling these items on the black market, pocketing the profits instead of helping those in need. The drama began when a driver, who knew about the thefts, reported it after he had been promised a job that never came through.

 

By the time I took over, the damage had already been done, and the organization quietly launched an investigation into the culprit. They discovered he was guilty of corruption. But, since his contract was nearing its end, they let it run out rather than deal with the messy business of firing him. But there was one problem: he had no idea. The way they handled it felt... well, a little unfair. They didn't communicate anything to him. Instead, they issued a one-month end-of-contract notice, which, in the organization's culture, is a routine procedure for everyone to prepare for contract renewals. He thought it was just a regular thing.

 

I went on a holiday in Uganda in mid-December 2015, and when I came back in early January 2016, the issue was like a slow train wreck. The culprit called me, asking why his contract hadn't been renewed. Naturally, I was caught off guard. I had no answers, but when I contacted HR, they confirmed what I feared, he was about to be let go due to the corruption investigation.

 

Now, here's where things got really tricky. The organization wanted me to tell him his contract wasn't being renewed and to have him hand over the company's property. But they hadn't communicated formally or allowed him to explain his side. The culprit threatened to take legal action against the organization if his contract was not renewed. And to make matters worse, South Sudan is a place where a lot of people own firearms. The potential escalation of this situation was starting to feel less like an HR issue and more like a conflict scene.

 

So, in a stroke of genius, or maybe desperation, I reached out to the culprit's younger brother. This wasn't just any brother, mind you; this guy was intelligent and well-respected in the community, and I thought if anyone could help smooth things over, it was him. I invited him to the office, and we talked through the situation together, trying to figure out a way to avoid a confrontation. I suggested that the family intervene and help him understand the consequences of his actions. To my relief, the brother agreed to help.

 

A few days later, the culprit called me. His voice was tense, but he had agreed to return the organization's property without a scene. The tension could be felt, but it ended without violence. The whole matter was resolved quietly without further fallout for either of us.

 

Fast forward three years, and I work in Juba for another organization. One day, I bumped into the culprit's brother again. To my surprise, he was in good spirits and told me his brother had been trying to find me for months. We exchanged contacts, and when I finally spoke with the culprit, I learned that he had reflected on the past, acknowledged his mistakes, and was now working for another NGO. My advice helped him process the whole experience. He thanked me for the way I handled things. I was shocked but in a good way.

 

I wasn't expecting such a heartwarming twist. His story reminded me that sometimes, even in the toughest situations, people can grow and learn. Yes, the culprit had done some shady things, but in the end, he had learned the hard way about integrity and accountability.

 

But that wasn't the end of my dealing with fraud and corruption. In 2018, I was managing a livelihoods project with the same organization. The project aimed to teach farmers modern agricultural techniques to help lift them from poverty. One of our key initiatives was a workshop, where we trained farmers and reimbursed their transport costs. It was a simple process, with my team handling the funds. One of my staff members, a livelihoods officer, was in charge of managing these reimbursements. He would take a cash advance from finance and then distribute the funds to the farmers.

 

However, something didn't sit right when I reviewed the expenditure settlement document. I noticed small but unmistakable alterations. Some amounts, for example, were altered from 2,000 SSP to 8,000 SSP, and 1,000 SSP was altered to 4,000 SSP. The figures had been tampered with, and my gut told me it was no innocent mistake. It felt like a fraud.

 

I wasn't an expert in financial settlements, so I contacted the finance department for help. Finance began contacting a few beneficiaries listed on the attendance sheet. What they uncovered shocked me. Some participants had been underpaid, even though the documents indicated they had been fully reimbursed. This wasn't just an error but a deliberate act of deception.

 

I refused to sign the settlement and immediately reported it to my supervisor. The issue was escalated to senior management, and an investigation was launched. The truth didn't take long to emerge: the livelihoods officer was involved in far more than just altering reimbursement figures.

 

The investigation grew more troubling when a government official in one of the project's counties made a serious allegation. The livelihoods officer was accused of colluding with traders during a seed fair, where we bought local maize, groundnuts, and sorghum seeds to distribute to farmers. The traders allegedly supplied less seed than required, while the officer falsely recorded the full quantities. Worse still, the officer was suspected of receiving kickbacks from the traders.

 

It was the traders themselves who blew the whistle. They disagreed with the amount of kickbacks to give the officer, and their disagreement spread and drew the attention of a local official. The scandal spread, and soon, the investigation expanded to include the seed fair. The officer had not only mismanaged the transport reimbursements of the workshop participants but had also been pocketing funds intended for seeds for the farmers. The organization had no choice but to terminate his contract.

 

But the repercussions didn't stop there. When the officer found out he'd been dismissed, he was furious. He blamed me for his firing, and rumours spread quickly—some claimed he was armed, and his brother was a soldier. I was in another State at the time, and Staff in the field started calling me, warning me of the threats against my life. It wasn't just idle gossip; these were real concerns. I was advised not to return to the field office. The situation was becoming dangerous.

 

Caught in the middle of this, I had no choice but to remain in another state to avoid further escalation, though the tension remained. Shortly after, I was offered a position with an international NGO in another country. It was a tough decision. The new role was a step down professionally, but the security risks made it clear that staying was not an option.

 

This experience was a stark lesson in the complexities of working in fragile environments. Managing corruption within your team is already challenging, but it can put your life at risk in a volatile setting like South Sudan. Upholding organizational policies and ensuring accountability may seem like the right thing to do, but the consequences can be severe.

 

These experiences taught me that humanitarian workers must balance professional work and personal safety in conflict zones. A staff dismissal over corruption isn't just a matter of policy; it can trigger unpredictable and even dangerous outcomes.

 

My advice to anyone managing Staff in conflict zones or fragile states is simple: proceed with caution. Gather all the facts, consult your colleagues, and always consider your own and your team's safety. And remember, doing the right thing isn't always easy; it often comes at a high personal cost.