After a short-lived lull at breakfast together on Monday the week turned into one of those ones where you wonder how you managed to plan as much for 7 days without thinking it might be an impossibility. I spent four days taking photographs and filming in Za'atari camp and a town north of Amman called Irbid which has one of the largest populations of Syrian refugees of all the host communities in Jordan. I left home every morning at 7.30am, returning at 7pm, and headed straight to my computer to transfer all the files, edit and send to Unicef. St Grace, the Glammy and J, between them shared all the moments and jobs I would normally be doing.
Stepping out into the cool morning air with a huge backpack of camera kit and tripod felt freeing on the one hand, although a wrench leaving the dwarves and our little morning rituals behind. Every morning without fail, Rashimi and St Grace were in situ at the window, waving at me from our 2nd floor window until I rounded the corner and set off in search of a taxi.
Over the three days I worked with a fantastic team from Ireland, who were as dedicated, thoughtful and professional as anyone I've worked with. We threw ourselves at it, and with any luck will have gathered the material for a hard hitting campaign in Ireland that will raise lots of money for the likes of the hundreds of men, women and children who we interviewed, filmed and photographed over the week.
Every evening I returned covered in dust to a bundle of boy energy, with a few minutes to bundle them into bed with a story, my mind still rolling over the hundreds of faces and thousands of words that filtered into my mind like a flick-book. Each night I lay in a stew wondering if I was being irresponsible taking on this much, while knowing that I couldn't help but get amongst it, being here, right now. But the balance of being useful to one's own and useful to others, is as ever precarious and uncomfortable.
Here are some of the others.
Stepping out into the cool morning air with a huge backpack of camera kit and tripod felt freeing on the one hand, although a wrench leaving the dwarves and our little morning rituals behind. Every morning without fail, Rashimi and St Grace were in situ at the window, waving at me from our 2nd floor window until I rounded the corner and set off in search of a taxi.
Over the three days I worked with a fantastic team from Ireland, who were as dedicated, thoughtful and professional as anyone I've worked with. We threw ourselves at it, and with any luck will have gathered the material for a hard hitting campaign in Ireland that will raise lots of money for the likes of the hundreds of men, women and children who we interviewed, filmed and photographed over the week.
Every evening I returned covered in dust to a bundle of boy energy, with a few minutes to bundle them into bed with a story, my mind still rolling over the hundreds of faces and thousands of words that filtered into my mind like a flick-book. Each night I lay in a stew wondering if I was being irresponsible taking on this much, while knowing that I couldn't help but get amongst it, being here, right now. But the balance of being useful to one's own and useful to others, is as ever precarious and uncomfortable.
Here are some of the others.
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