I don’t always believe I work in Hard Places. South Sudan wasn’t exactly easy, but it was still doable. You would be surprised how long you can live out of a tent and think it’s normal. As long as you have a fan and a bed you’re good to go. Pack a hammock and a mister or spray bottle and you’re practically in paradise. Who needs R&R when you can float down the river behind the airstrip in an inner tube you stole from the neighboring NGO’s Range Rover?

Craving gourmet food? Pick some basil and vegetables from your garden and you’ve got the best grilled cheese sandwich you’ve ever had (assuming you still have some cheese left over from your last trip to the capital and that the bread hasn’t been consumed by rats).

Now that I work out of a big city overrun with taxi cabs and a mall on every corner, it’s a lot more difficult to think I’ve got it bad. Pardon me for boasting, but I currently have the largest bedroom I’ve ever had, complete with tiled floors, air conditioning, and a full length mirror. I want for nothing (well, except pork, I still want for that). I even have access to Cocoa Puffs and Hazelnut Creamer (nevermind the exorbitant price), thank you Jesus!

The truth is I really enjoy Kurdistan. Ask me after I’ve had a glass of wine and I’ll tell you I’m actually happy here. I’ve started dreaming about opening my own business or buying a house and settling down in Erbil. I can’t explain why I like it so much. It’s not completely logical. Maybe it’s because I’ve made such good friends, both locals and expats. Maybe it’s that I get to worship at an international church where the music is performed by a group of African ladies singing and dancing in their mother tongue. Maybe it’s the fact that I am constantly being blown away by my staff who want to serve and change their country. Beautiful young Muslim women who tell me confidently that they believe in their own potential and that they plan to open their own NGO someday. Or maybe it’s simply that I love being in a place where I can engage in meaningful work and still have access to the big city life where I can enjoy a cup of coffee in a comfy cafe that reminds me of home.

And yet it is a hard place. No, it’s not Baghdad or Kabul, not by a long shot. But in the last 8 months we’ve been rocked by three car bombs targeting places expats regularly frequent (or did regularly frequent). Yesterday, the café that reminded me of home fell victim to one of these attacks. The attackers were aiming for the U.S. consulate but were forced to detonate before reaching the gate. I had a friend in the cafe next door. The same friend who was drinking a latte with me when the first bomb went off last summer. I remember seeing the smoke. We moved away from the windows just in case, but kept talking as if nothing had happened.

Even when a suicide bomber detonated his car bomb at the Governor’s office with five of our staff at the scene, still it was labeled a one-off thing. I was at work in a collective shelter at the time, waiting to give a tour to the U.S. Ambassador and the Chaldean Archbishop. They kept the appointment even when the U.N. didn’t. I had no choice but to keep working. Two weeks later I attended a meeting in the same building that had been targeted, though our usual room was under repair. My hands and legs trembled as I got out of the car and walked to the large hall. My nerves didn’t calm down until after I was back to our office. I was slightly ashamed of being afraid. No one else seemed to be. If my colleagues who were there and saw the whole thing weren’t affected, what right did I have to be? Rather, the more popular point of view seemed to be a general disappointment in the new restrictive safety measures which banned the row of restaurants across from the U.S. consulate. The best pizza and coffee are right across from the U.S consulate. Surely we should be allowed access to those?!

Of course it turns out that pizza and coffee aren’t worth your life. Neither is pride if it keeps you from admitting that we work in hard places that require boundaries and caution. And that doesn’t just apply to Kurdistan. It applies to Kenya, Yemen, CAR, Ukraine, the Philippines. You name it. We wouldn’t be working here in these places in the first place if everything was fine and dandy.

I think we have a hard time giving ourselves permission to admit that bombs aren’t normal. They’re not okay. Four innocent people didn’t go home to their families last night after stopping for a snack at Nellly’s. It’s ok to be mad about that; or sad; or shook up. Or even a little bit afraid. It’s ok to ask for respite – some time and space to process what happened. I would go so far to say that agencies should take the lead on ensuring that employees know it’s their right to do so without being considered weak.

It sucks. I’m mad that this happened in my city, on the street where I used to stop for coffee. I don’t live in Erbil at the moment so I don’t feel the same kind of fear I felt last time. But maybe I will later. I’m ok with that. Right now I’m just angry that there’s a group of people on our doorstep who want to use terror to divide us. To make us act out of fear instead of love. To make some of us leave or go home even. But the bad guys aren’t the majority. I know the majority. I work with them. I laugh with them. I learn from them. Every day. And I’m not going anywhere.