In May 2013, SBS video journalist Luke Waters visited refugee camps in Lebanon’s Bekka Valley, where Syrians fleeing war were seeking refuge. His reports were nominated for a United Nations Media Award in the category for best television report. But, as Luke explains, it was the story that he wasn't allowed to film that left an indelible mark on him.
For a video-journalist, engaging pictures and powerful, emotive sound-bites mean the world. So, when my guide in the Lebanese Bekka Valley, near the Syrian border escorted me to a location where I was banned from filming, the frustration was indescribable. It was there that she introduced me to “the family.”
The most emotional and heart-felt reunion played out before my eyes, but my trusty camera was zipped up and packed-away a few meters from the action. I was forced to sit, listen and absorb – not film or record. The experience was different. First frustrating, then moving, but ultimately helped me better understand the devastation of real Syrian people and families displaced by the war.
For the previous few days, I had been filming in refugee camps which to this day litter the vast Bekaa Valley of eastern Lebanon. Some house hundreds, others thousands but estimates are unreliable as not all fleeing the violence register with the United Nations. The process is simple enough, but the check-points are incredibly busy. Volunteers and aid-workers are confronted with the most horrendous stories and situations. They are hopelessly under-resourced but inspirational and determined.
In the camps, accommodation is at best basic. The simplest tents comprise disused advertising signs slung over makeshift frames or ropes. The floor is dirt – or mud when it rains. If estate agents prowled the camps, they might describe “better appointed” homes as having a woven canvas mat, and a camp-stove to cook potatoes.
A lack of sanitation is also a significant issue. In one valley camp I visited, most children picked continuously at Scabies – an angry pink and purple rash or sore which prevails in densely populated, unhygienic environments. Again, aid-workers do their best to educate and provide facilities. But a few kilometres away, refugees literally pour over from the Syrian border in their thousands meaning demand hopelessly outstrips supply.
Still, the children play and laugh. The younger ones remember little of life without the now three year old war – they just make do. Already, an entire generation of Syrian children could go under-educated as surrounding countries like Lebanon, Turkey and Jordan buckle under the strain of refugees and the ever-present threat of sectarian unrest.
I managed to capture and film most of this and was reasonably satisfied with the stories I thought I would produce. But by concentrating on survival, sanitation and education it was far too easy to forget that just a few kilometres away, civilians were being slaughtered.
Then, I met “the family.”
I was preparing to leave the Bekka, when a UNICEF aid-worker told me of a Syrian family which was about to arrive at a safe-house in a nearby town. They’d walked 14 hours straight to flee the fighting which had escalated in their home town. We quickly drove to the address and witnessed a most touching reunion. They hugged, cried and howled after being separated for a little under a year. I asked the translator what they were saying in Arabic but she answered with an emphatic “NO” as I reached for my camera to record the reunion.
She explained that the family was petrified and agreed to speak only on the basis that names and identity would not under any circumstances be disclosed. My inability to film and record left me frustrated, but as time lapsed I began to understand.
Among the family was an eight-months pregnant woman and an 80-year-old man. The rest were women and children. Syrian men are otherwise occupied. The family had walked through the mountains of their homeland to the comparative safety of Lebanon. A relative moved there just after the fighting began – hers was the “safe-house” we now sat inside.
Family members took turns explaining how and why they decided to leave Syria. Every few minutes, the interpreter would translate quietly and I took notes. From the explosion which forced them from their home town, to the horror of losing family and friends to walking (some barefoot) through the mountains.
All the while, I was taken by the dignity the entire family retained. When I asked a question, the interpreter explained they started by thanking me for my interest. Even in the most basic of rooms where that night all 17-would sleep, it was clean. A boy in the home fetched coffee and it was clear this family was polite, respectful and just like any other well-adjusted people – but they were dealing a situation few could contemplate.
Through the translator, the oldest woman in the room told me it “burned her heart” leaving Syria but at least tonight they would sleep without the bombs.
A younger lady in purple coloured head-dress explained how the women were subjected to sexually suggestive comments by drunk and stoned guards as they passed through check-points in Syria. The only man in the group was 80 years of age and unable to intervene on their behalf. It must have been soul destroying.
In the 25 minutes I was in the room, the old man’s eyes barely left the floor. The entire time he fidgeted with what I later learned were Islamic prayer beads known as Masbaha. Blood trickled from an open, weeping head wound. The injury was sustained in the blast which eventually forced the family to flee. Milky tears occasionally trickled down his cheeks. The interpreter told me he vowed never to return.
Sitting with a real family and listening rather than obsessing over audio, batteries and framing allowed me to absorb the stories and hopefully, produce better reports. It was a lesson learned. First world problems matter little – especially in a third world environment.
WATCH Luke Waters' reports from Lebanon
May 8, 2013: The conflict in Syria has claimed over 70,000 lives since it began more than two years ago. Hundreds of thousands of Syrians have also fled the fighting. Many are now in camps on or near the border.
May 19, 2013: As Syrian refugees flock across the Lebanese border, aid workers are battling to halt water-borne diseases in makeshift settlements.
May 18, 2013: There are fears that children will go under-educated as they flee their war-torn homeland of Syria. But in Lebanon, a destination for hundreds of thousands of refugees, there are efforts to provide at least some schooling.
