Hitting the Jackpot: My First internship

I secured my first work placement ever during my second year of University quite by accident. As a non-UK national studying in the UK, my campus in Farnham had an International Students Advisor specifically to deal with non-British students like myself. During our conversation that day, it emerged that her brother was working for euronews, the pan-European TV and online news channel that was based in Lyon, where my parents had settled during my first year of University. Faced with the prospect of unpaid work experience at a local radio or TV station reporting about a charity’s latest project, the opportunity was too good to miss. With his contact details at hand, she urged me to contact him. Within 10 days of sending my first email, I had a response.

In order to take a work placement in France, a document known as a convention de stage (work placement agreement) is required of all prospective interns. Finding out just what it was proved easy, with the help of my parents and some independent research. Obtaining the appropriate document was another story altogether. That took a bit more research into finding the appropriate representative for my University to sign the document. I found a sample convention de stage in both English and French from the University of Warwick’s website but my University had no similar copy.

It was therefore up to the Head of Student Administration to change the letterhead of the agreement and replace the University of Warwick with the University for the Creative Arts. The wait was agonising even without my parents continued pressure to get the task over and done with as quickly as possible saying that my time was running out. But at last, I found my documents completed and forwarded to the Human Resources Manager in Lyon.

The internship itself started later and ended sooner than I anticipated. Although I was told that my credentials were acceptable in April, it wasn’t until August that I began to work. The first day was pleasant enough at first, meeting the members of the English news team as well as members of other language teams. From there, I was shown how my news bulletin would be recorded in a small booth the size of a British telephone booth with a small screen and voice recorder. It was a nerve-wracking experience, trying to write a script for my news bulletin and thinking that somehow my frightened inexperienced voice would be heard by someone else in a sitting room far away.

To my surprise (and relief), I was given more of an explanation as to how the internship would work. For two weeks, I was to shadow the members of the team, taking note of how they proceeded and what sort of equipment was used. I could even take a shot at recording a news bulletin or two, but my voice would not be broadcast due to French laws protecting interns from unpaid work. I wouldn’t be the dogsbody, making photocopies or cups of tea for senior staff.  It was purely a learning experience. Even the articles I wrote for the website would not have a by-line. But I learned not to care, as long as I could add in my CV that I really had done practical work.

With time running low and so many things to explain to my peers at University, I fortunately had the presence of mind to put together a video diary of my experience. As far as filming goes, I admit that it is not the work of a professional but I hope that the thousand pictures that unfold before your eyes will tell you more than the thousand words I may write here.

The US Embassy Riots in Tunis: A Drive Through

On the day that the US embassy was stormed by rioters, I was in Marsa with my parents having a look at some of the houses in the area. Soon afterwards, my sisters and I were taken to the local shopping centre where we were met by an acquaintance of my parents. When they left for Laos in the 1980’s, she came to buy some of their items. She is a French teacher at the American Cooperative School of Tunis, located on the other side of the highway where the US embassy could be found. After chatting with my parents and catching up, she explained that she had the day off in anticipation of riots breaking out after the deadly attack on the US embassy in Libya.

In the early afternoon, my father drove the car along the highway where the school and the embassy were located. The sight we saw before us remains imprinted in my mind to this day.

The overpasses above the motorway were packed with people, jostling each other for the chance to witness the protests for themselves. I peered to my left, past my father and saw bearded young men carrying the black Islamic banner that has become a common sight associated with the Salafi movement since the ruling coalition took power in Tunisia. One of the rioters propped a metal crowd control barrier against the wall of the compound so that its bars could serve as rungs for a makeshift ladder and several witnesses were capturing the action on their mobile phones and digital cameras.

The most absurd sight of the day was that of the riot police. A group of no more than 10 officers raced to the scene of the riots on foot, while two mopeds carrying two officers each followed them.

The back seat of the car was ablaze with discussion and my mother urged me to take a photo or keep some memory of the event. I sadly did not have a camera with me to record this day. All that you read before you are the highlights of what I witnessed on that day.

By the late afternoon, my sister Leila was on her iPad. She read aloud the latest updates from Al-Jazeera to my mother in the kitchen while my father raged at the government for its inability to prevent the attack on the embassy and the school nearby. The Associated Press put the body count of the protest at 2 dead and 40 injured on that day.

A journalist I met at the World Press Freedom Day Conference in Tunisia reported that President Moncef Marzouki personally dispatched his Presidential Guard to quell the riots, playing a “risky political card”. The American Cooperative School of Tunis had sections of its Elementary School burned down and computers and tablets were stolen. Up till now, it is still collecting donations of money and books for its Recovery Fund.

For my own part, I am thankful that my parents were able to get back to our house before the riots became truly violent. I am additionally thankful that despite the scaremongering generated by news outlets the problems that Tunisia faces are not as violent as in neighbouring Libya or in Syria.