These days, it's a question of survival of the most creative. In response to the challenges we face working in camps for internal refugees in Sri Lanka's north, we have to be innovative to overcome operational obstacles. And there are many!

Take, for example, the recent news of the end of the war and the death of the Tamil Tiger rebel leader, which brought euphoria to the streets of Colombo and some other parts of the country. For us, it meant a total shutdown of access to the camps. Initially, the authorities slapped a ban on vehicles entering the camps, largely it seems as a security measure.

There's still some uncertainty as to whether rebels are mingling with civilians in the camps, and the authorities are putting in place a screening and registering procedure to determine that. But as a result of the ban on vehicles, our access was limited and most aid agencies were kicking up a fuss as usual. Some even said publicly that they would withdraw from the camps.

My colleagues on the ground decided to explore other means of access - from accepting the status quo and walking, to getting bicycles or hitching rides with the water bowsers. The surgical masks they've been provided by the doctors come in handy as they don't inhale the dust covering the sites.

Equipment has also been an issue. We use generators for our water purification equipment and mobile hospital, but the wear and tear is starting to show. There's no chance of getting a mechanic in to do a proper service, and so you improvise to keep things running. Bits of string and twigs are used to secure loose parts.

The same goes for our vehicles. Every day, there's a new noise emanating from your tractor or van, or another part malfunctions. When you complain to the manufacturer or dealer, they just say, "These things aren't meant to be used day in and day out without a break."

Well, if that's the case for machinery, how about our staff who are working tirelessly in the camps?

TOUGH CONDITIONS FOR AID WORKERS

Accommodation is a big problem for them. As in the wake of most emergencies, the best places are usually taken quite quickly and at any cost. The laws of economics kick in, and as demand increases, the prices go up. Hotel rooms in Vavuniya now cost three times more than before the latest displacement crisis.

If you're local rather than expat staff, you might opt for accommodation closer to the camp, which is cheaper but very basic. The houses are small with poor facilities. So you end up sharing three to a room and maybe taking a shower from a water bowser as there's no piped supply.

In effect, you start to live like a displaced person too.

Food is another challenge, especially in places close to the camp. There are no eating joints you can stroll to in the evening for a bite. When you're inside, it's difficult for aid workers to find proper refreshment. "We can't eat or drink publicly in front of the camp residents when they are having difficulties as well. It's not right," says one of my colleagues.

This poses a dilemma. How can you eat and drink when others are going without? But how can you do your job properly if you're hungry and thirsty? So you have little choice but to sneak off into a secluded corner or your vehicle to grab a quick snack.

And while toilets are an issue for the displaced population, there's absolutely nothing for aid workers (though things are are slowly improving). "Solves the problem of not eating or drinking," quips another colleague.

There's no time for rest since you know the demands are huge. Spare a thought for the aid workers and medics who stay in one place, sometimes under the scorching sun, examining patients all day with barely a moment or a place to sit down.

As the day ends, all you want to do is get back to your room, shower, eat and sleep. Weekends are the same. Day in and day out. Despite this, if you try taking someone out for a break, you'll be met with protests: "We can't leave here! These people need us."

And so, fuelled by dedication to serve those in need, relief workers carry on. In most cases, they summon up enough energy to get the job done.

Once you're detached from the situation, though, perspectives become clearer. Everyday problems seem petty and minor. Do I really care if my bus was late today? Why am I bothered if there's too much salt in my food, or when a guy cuts me up in traffic?

Instead, what does upset me is someone wasting food or complaining about how bad life is. Once you've experienced the hardships endured by war-displaced people who've lost practically everything, your own trials and tribulations rightly pale into insignificance.

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