“He gave everything for others.”

“Ben and I built a beautiful life together,” says Caroline Naktari proudly.

Her office in Nairobi, where she works as a Human Resources Officer with OCHA, is dotted with photographs of her family, depicting deep love and happy times together. 

“I’m a mother of seven – two girls and five boys,” she begins, breaking from a silent, pensive reflection. “Our youngest is just eight years old.” 

Caroline’s voice is steady, but behind it lies a story of profound love, sacrifice and unimaginable loss.

Her husband, Benjamin, was the Head of Field Office for the World Food Programme (WFP) in Sudan. But to Caroline, he was much more than a humanitarian.

“Benjamin was, without a doubt, one of the best creations to ever walk this Earth,” she says, her face lighting up briefly with a tender smile. “He was my friend, confidant, buddy, mentor, colleague, big brother, greatest love and devoted husband. He was incredibly kind, selfless, fatherly and grounded in deep conviction.”

Benjamin’s work took him to Yabus, one of Sudan’s most remote and challenging locations. 

“No international staff stayed more than eight weeks,” Caroline recalls. “But Ben didn’t mind that his ‘bedroom’ had walls and ceilings lined with UNHCR [UN Refugee Agency] bags. He had a nice house back home in Nairobi, but that never impressed him. He was unattached to comfort, drawn instead to purpose.”

Benjamin told Caroline that every night before sleeping, he would check his room for reptiles and scorpions. “Yet none of that deterred him,” she says. “His joy came from reviewing M&E [monitoring and evaluation] reports and assessments. I learned so much about WFP just by watching him.”

A dedicated professional, Benjamin saw his role not as a job but a calling. “He believed it was a God-given role,” Caroline explains. “No salary could match the sacrifice and danger. He led with humility, compassion and a deep sense of responsibility.”

Even during his official Rest and Recuperation (R&R) breaks, Benjamin remained connected to his work. “He was always on his phone – monitoring distributions, logistics; his heart was fully in it. He used to say in Swahili, ‘Hawa ni ndugu zetu’ – these are our brothers and sisters.”

Humanitarian work is moving away from the traditional practice of giving handouts to people in need, focusing instead on a more dignified approach. Benjamin was deeply committed to this. “He was proud of WFP’s shift from direct aid to sustainable models, like cash transfers,” Caroline says. “He believed in empowering communities, especially through nutrition and education.”

But working in Sudan came with risks. “He often spoke about the toll it took on his health,” Caroline shares. “Even the care packages I sent during his R&R breaks didn’t last – he shared them with colleagues. We were worried. I had arranged to channel half my salary into his account starting January 2026 so he could come home and explore other opportunities.”

But that was never to be, as everything changed on 19 December 2024.

“He had just completed his handover and was scheduled to travel home the next morning for his late brother’s funeral,” Caroline recounts. “He stepped out of his office to call me – something we had planned an hour earlier. It was in the very act of dialling my number that he was hit by an aerial strike.”

Caroline would later learn that the bomb landed just behind him. “The shrapnel tore through his back, shattering his ribs, lungs and heart,” she says. “He stopped breathing within eight minutes. I was part of the postmortem process. It was devastating.”

Caroline speaks of her family’s faith and how they were bound together by a solemn family routine, often taking turns to pray for one another at a dedicated time in the evening. It was during such a time that she received the news. “It was his turn to pray for us that evening. We couldn’t reach him on the phone. The notification still feels fresh. I regretted every bit of having him in Sudan.”

Every night at 10:38 p.m., Caroline feels the chill: “That was the moment the call came in. That time of night has never been the same.”

Losing Benjamin has left a deep void. “It feels like I fell into an endless pit,” Caroline says. “Our 10-year-old son dreads visiting the grave. He always asks if we can bring Daddy back.”

To Caroline, Benjamin was more than a husband and father. “We lost our family’s leader, our priest, a mentor, a friend, a confidant. And yes, WFP lost a dedicated colleague.”

But Benjamin’s legacy lives on. “My son recently graduated and wore his father’s suit and shoes – to step into his footsteps,” she says with a soft smile.

Caroline finds strength in memories and small sentimental items. “I wear his watch and perfume to cherish all the moments. He was a cool guy. We had the best family life, a quality marriage and so much joy.”

She also has advice that she’s not shy to share with other families and the humanitarian community: “Value every opportunity God gives you with your loved ones – especially those working in high-risk duty stations. You never truly know if that ‘goodbye’ might be the final one.”

She adds: “I saw Ben off at Terminal 1, full of life and purpose. Four weeks later, I received him at Terminal 2 – the cargo section. No one prepares you for that kind of return. And nothing remains the same after it.”

Caroline’s story is just one of many families of humanitarian workers who paid the ultimate price for their dedication to alleviating the suffering of millions of people in need. 

Last year, more than 380 aid workers were killed in their line of duty around the world, making it the deadliest year on record. But 2025 may be worse – at the time of publishing this story, more than 250 aid workers have been killed. Killing aid workers has become normalized; their deaths rarely make the headlines, even though their work – meant only to save lives and ease suffering – is underfunded, overstretched and literally under attack. Violations of international humanitarian law continue, with every red line crossed meeting with impunity, indifference and hypocrisy. Yet humanitarians do not give up; they still head towards gunfire, checkpoints and danger to deliver aid to people who need it most.

This World Humanitarian Day, aid workers are renewing their call for respect for the rules of war, the protection of those who protect humanity and an end to impunity.