The Bancast

A broadcast journalist in the making

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Things I did since I completed my master’s

Where on earth have I been? I’ve been missing in action for a while but things have been happening. I just haven’t been blogging about them. Here’s a quick wrap up since September.

I moved back to Jordan. Mostly because my visa in the UK expired and I had no choice.

One too many potential employers ignored my job applications.

Somebody eventually hired me. Yours truly is now a producer at a new radio station in Amman.

My film, Refugees in Business, won the BJTC TV documentary award for 2013. I know you want to watch an award-winning production. Oh look it’s right here.

And most recently I was working as a press coordinator during the Geneva 2 conference on Syria that started in Montreux on 22nd Jan. and then moved to Geneva for two rounds of talks. It’s not everyday one gets to walk past John Kerry, catch Ban Ki-moon on his way out of a hotel, shake hands with Lyse Doucet and piss off Lindsey Hilsum (sorry Lindsey) – all in a day’s work.

Now I’m back to my full-time job in Jordan. Plenty of fun to come, stay with me.

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Jordan’s new tented landscape

If you have been to Jordan in the past year or so you will have noticed a recent odd addition to its deserts and its fields. Take a drive in the capital or even further south toward Aqaba and you’ll notice all the UNHCR-branded tents popping up everywhere.

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Jordan is now home to roughly half a million Syrians. About a quarter of them are in the Zaatari refugee camp near the border. With the continuous news coverage on the Syrian crisis, you might have already noticed that a great deal of the refugees live in tents provided by UNHCR, the UN Refugee Agency.

So how exactly are these tents being taken outside the camp and who’s living in them? I caught up with Tawfiq, a Jordanian man who runs a farm in Um Al Amad on the outskirts of Amman. He explained how these tents make their way to the outside world.

At first I thought Jordanian nomads and farmers were the main customers. They typically live in old-fashioned bedouin tents and must have jumped at the opportunity of moving into higher-quality accommodation. While this is sometimes the case, I learned that a lot of the new tents springing up across Jordan were occupied by Syrian refugees who left the camps and are now living and working in Jordan, many as farmers.

I wonder if this might have something to do with the richer state of farm land in the country as well. But that’s a different story for a different day.

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My Zaatari experience: what I expected and what I found instead.

It’s supposed to be painful to see all those children, all those families without homes. People like you and me, suddenly forced to accept that they’re homeless, that they have to live in what resembles a detention camp on the other side of their border. What if I were suddenly a refugee? What if I had to survive in a dusty desert indefinitely without permission to leave it or the choice to return home?


I think about Syria’s refugees all the time. I do. And I prepared myself for any emotional breakdowns I might experience while filming for my documentary inside Zaatari camp.

But none of that happened. Not once during the week I spent inside did I feel any pain. Not once was I traumatised. Not once did a story get to me.

It’s not that the situation isn’t sad. It is. How can it not be? I just didn’t feel anything.

wheelbarrowsInstead I found myself frustrated at crowds that flocked around us every time Rashed and I pulled out the camera. I was scared for myself whenever those vicious little kids with rocks in their hands chased down cars. I was hot and thirsty from filming too long without a break. I was worried that I wouldn’t get all the interviews I wanted. I was having nightmares about losing all my footage. I was concerned about how the bright white backdrops would look on screen. I was cautious about any BS people were feeding me on camera. I was impressed by the city that refugees built inside. I was excited to learn more about their undercover industries.

But no pain.

Maybe I’m heartless. Maybe I read and watched plenty about it beforehand, it  desensitised me. Maybe my instincts kicked in so I could stay focused. Maybe it’ll come back to haunt me later.

All I know is that regardless of how I felt or feel, what these people are going through should not happen to anyone in this world. And for that I have a responsibility to tell their stories, if only a slice of it.

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Fixers: the good, the bad and the frustrating

I’m glad I met Abu Ayash the fixer. The director at the Jordanian government press office gave me his number so he could show me around Zaatari camp.

“I trust this guy. Give him a call early in the morning and ask him to stay with you if only for the first day,” he said. “And give him a nice tip before you leave.”

Abdulrahman coffee

Considering how nervous I was starting to get about filming my documentary inside a camp that contains somewhere between 116,000 (officially) and 200,000 refugees – having Abu Ayash by my side was comforting.

Even as Rashed (my buddy, bodyguard and sound guy all rolled into one) and I approached the camp in my car I could anticipate the chaos to come. People were walking in and out and roaming around in every which way. Children pushed wheelbarrows and carried around empty water containers. Security officers were present but weren’t all that diligent.

I peeked inside and could see the long barbed-wire fence. I had no clue where to go. But sure enough, there was Abu Ayash to the rescue.

It didn’t take long on our tour to notice that Abu Ayash was famous among the local refugee community. He would stop and greet people every few minutes which I didn’t mind at all. He was trusted and people liked him. Rashed and I felt safe and could film a little more comfortably even when crowds of people swarmed around us.

He knew where certain shops were located and helped us convince people to speak to us on camera – like the bridal-gown rental shopkeeper. Yes, bridal gowns. He also mapped out the area for us and told us where we could go to rest, eat, park, and so on.

But the community inside Zaatari is a very complicated one. The refugees have established a fully-functioning society inside, albeit one that thrived due to a lack of official governance and through a network of power hierarchies. Signs of this would later become more and more evident to us.

On that first day, we told Abu Ayash that we were going to take a short lunch break and would meet again afterwards to continue. He cleverly suggested that before heading to the boring-old comfy restaurant where NGO staff dine, that he would take us to a tent of a couple he knew where we would make a pit stop.


Before we knew it we owed these guys a favor – specifically a nice shawerma meal from one of the stalls along the main business street in Zaatari camp. Rashed and I tried to avoid anything with meat and mayo altogether and suggested a nice falafel instead but they insisted on shawerma.

After a break that went on longer than we would have liked, we realised what had happened. Abu Ayash was clearly a good friend of this nice young couple. He seems to take a lot of his journalists there for rest and lunch. And the hosts are likely to insist on a particular meal from a shop owner they probably know well. And because both Syrian and Jordanian currency is used inside the camp it’s easy to have us dish out a little more than the actual cost of the meal.

Honestly, none of this business bothers me; it’s very common in the Arab world. Besides, these guys aren’t exactly in the best living conditions and it’s nice to be able to help out without voluntarily contributing. Plus I got a good interview and info out of our visit. But what really frustrated me was that Abu Ayash had in some way dictated certain elements of my documentary.

I wondered how many other journalists interviewed that same couple or the bridal shop owner or the herbs and coffee guy. I didn’t want to tell the stories of people whose stories had already been told.

So as helpful as he was, I needed to venture out on my own for the rest of my time there. More adventures in my next post.

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The day before the first day

In less than a day I will be inside Zaatari camp – assuming everything goes according to plan. I almost wish that I didn’t have this much time to prepare. Thinking about it for this long has actually started to make me feel nervous.

In the few days since I’ve been here in Jordan I’ve been getting all sorts of advice from people who have been inside.

Maps of Zaatari camp

Maps of Zaatari camp

A couple of days ago I tracked down my super busy media contact at UNHCR. She went through every imaginable detail with me including the camp’s growth phases, the different types of businesses inside, the challenges they face as well as safety issues. I ended up walking away with plenty of new side stories I would love to pursue.

On a night out, a friend of a friend talked to me about her experience in the camp. She was there getting a story for her magazine so she had a whole new set of tips to share with me.

Another person who runs a local charity had another experience entirely when he went to distribute meals to the refugees.

As useful and important as all of this has been, all the different perspectives have actually left me not knowing what to expect. Anything could happen.

I guess there’s only one thing left to do. Time to go see it for myself.

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Things I see from my window

Before I left Amman last year in October I was so frustrated with this country. Horrible drivers and poor customer service had struck my last nerve. It’s safe to say some things will never change.

But on the bright side, some things will never change: authentically delicious hummos (which, for the record, you can never buy from a supermarket), lots and lots of rich Palestinian olive oil, and the beautiful view from our house.

UNHCR neighbours

I was walking to the kitchen today when I looked out the window and noticed something familiar in the distance.

As you might have gathered already I live in the middle of nowhere where a lot of our neighbors are nomadic shepherds and farmers – who live in tents.

One tent in particular stood out. One of them appeared to be a UNHCR tent, like the ones set up for Syrian refugees in Zaatari camp. A little bit of zooming in confirmed my suspicion.

I had read about a black market being operated from inside the camp. Some people collect aid and shelter provided by the UN and sell them outside at higher costs. Today when I went to collect my permit from the government’s press office, the director explained to me that this was in fact happening.

If you zoom into the picture you’ll also notice several stacked up boxes that contain aid items. It’s crazy how far these things have travelled already.

Maybe I’ll work up the courage to go say hello later on. They are after all my new neighbours.

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Life lessons from BBC World Have Your Say

What an experience it was going in and out of New Broadcasting House everyday and working from the 3rd floor with the brilliant team of World Have Your Say at the BBC World Service.

I must have done something right to end up there, even if it was only for a 3-week work placement.

Being able to help produce the programme from day one was a treat that I doubt many other placements offer. My tasks mainly included booking guests but the highlight was seeing it all come together from brainstorm, to treatment to live show. You can tell I wasn’t quite ready for it to be over.

I gained so much from this but I’ll boil it down to the top three life-long lessons that will help my career some day:

1. Toughen up a little

Here’s something I didn’t expect would ever be an issue but would bother me. Sometimes when you book guests to take part in the programme there isn’t always time for them. Also, depending on how the conversation goes, they might become irrelevant. Working the studios while the show is live can be stressful and the producers have to make on-the-spot decisions about who to bring in. This means that some people who had been waiting for an hour don’t get a chance to have their say (pun intended). I ended up feeling really bad for them. Some even got angry. But at the end of the day you have to think of what’s best for your global audience.

2. Make extra good use of your language skills

I’m lucky that I was born an Arab. Today Arabic is becoming an increasingly useful language to have in the industry. Even though the programme is entirely in English, it was useful to speak to the Iraqi politician who could point us in the right direction. The same goes for finding a medic on the Syrian border who witnessed possible symptoms of chemical weapons. I had somehow managed to track down a Turkish medical association based in Paris but works in Syria. I called them and a French speaker picked up. I noticed a slight accent and realised he probably spoke Arabic. Lucky guess! He gave me the phone number of a medic who only spoke Arabic who then he gave me the number of another medic in Turkey who had all the right elements and spoke English. Another example? On my last day someone from another programme came looking for an Arabic speaker. She needed someone to translate on the spot with a member of the Syrian opposition inside Qusayr. She later told me that the Arabic service used the interview as well. Glad to be of service.

3. Put yourself in everybody’s shoes

The most important lesson I learned was to imagine who might be listening to the programme in every corner of the world. On my second day, I pitched a story which to me seemed very harmless. And possibly it was. I would say I’m pretty good at leaving my biases out when I’m being professional but it’s easy to overlook things sometimes. After the meeting, the editor of the programme suggested a good exercise. He said when pitching a story try to imagine what the complete opposite point of view would be because somewhere, a population in the world will have that view. And if nobody holds that opposing perspective then is it even worth talking about?

I think one day I’ll quite literally take on that exercise. But for now, it’s time for operation final project. Until my next post, greetings from Amman.


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