A Mosaic
A Mosaic Abdelkader Damiche | News Editor, Al Jazeera News Channel
The journalists had come from all corners of the globe. At the hotel in the Pakistani city of Peshawar, as live reports from Al Jazeera’s correspondent in Kabul, Tayseer Allouni, played on every screen, they each had the same question on their minds: how to cross the border into neighbouring Afghanistan. It was 2001 – the beginning of the US invasion of the country. At first light the following day, I headed to Torkham border crossing, where barbed wire separates Pakistan from Afghanistan. I found myself reporting from a Pashto-speaking land – a place where the people knew nothing about Arab media, but they all knew of Al Jazeera. There was another occasion when I was reminded of Al Jazeera’s reach. We were walking through the narrow cobbled streets of Lisbon’s famous Alfama district when an Indian pilgrim to the Church of Saint Anthony stopped us, declaring: “What a great coincidence to run into you! I like your channel; and I love your logo too.” Working in the field brings highs and lows, and many memories – some bitter, others sweet. But, regardless of the myriad hardships, we always strived to fulfil our mission.
Today, after almost 24 years of hard work, I must pause to express my appreciation for my colleagues, particularly cameraman Riyad Aboud and fellow producer Majid Abdelhadi. We have been on our journey together since 2004. One of the most memorable stories we covered during that time began with a suggestion from our planning editor, Hashmatallah Moslih, in 2006. Twelve years earlier, more than 800,000 Tutsis and moderate Hutus had been slaughtered during the Rwandan genocide. He proposed that we report on the role played by the largely Christian country’s Muslim minority during the genocide – when Muslims had hidden people in their homes and mosques. When we arrived in Rwanda, the first person we met was Sheikh Saleh Habimana, the then Head Mufti and member of parliament. We were the first Arabic media to document the atrocities that had been committed there and were warmly received. We were even invited to deliver the Friday sermon at the oldest mosque in the capital, Kigali. As I stepped forward, scanning the mosque from corner to corner, unsure what to say, I found some inspiration and spoke a few words before handing the floor back to the imam. We spent almost a month telling stories from the war-ravaged country.
Nicole Umurungi had changed her name to Madina. But the memories of what had happened during those three months in 1994 had stayed with her in exact and painful detail. “They stormed the church we had taken shelter in,” she cried. “We begged for mercy, but our words fell on deaf ears. They attacked us by guns, knives and even bludgeons with sharp nails at their end. My mother was killed. Then they grabbed my little brother and beheaded him with cleavers.” Her story has stayed with me and tears roll down my face every time I remember it. We documented other survivors’ testimonies. “We are pinning high hopes on Al Jazeera to be our voice,” said one survivor. “Tell our story to the world, lend us a helping hand. We are very poor; thousands have been widowed and orphaned. We do need your help.” At the end of our trip, the local fixer who had accompanied us, told me: “Thanks to Al Jazeera, Muslims are no longer a small minority in Rwanda. We are now in possession of a valid deed documenting our presence. We are recognised as an example of tolerance.”
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