Living in a warzone

I blogged last week on how we lived in a warzone. We’ve been in Tripoli for 10 days now, and things have settled down, but this has been the most physically demanding trip I’ve done in a long time.

For a start, the heat. It regularly hits 40 degrees or above. In the early days, we were wearing our flak jackets all day every day. So that was often six or more hours carrying an extra 30 lbs (13.6 kg). We poured with sweat – and it’s always worst for the camera-operator who has to move around, climbing onto walls or crouching down to get the best shot. (But however hard it’s been, it hasn’t stopped our cameraman, Graham Heslop, from cracking jokes.)

The day we arrived in Tripoli, travelling alongside fighters from Zintan, the battle for the capital raged around us and there was no question of finding a hotel. Luckily, through an old friend of our security adviser, we were able to rent a villa in a safe suburb. It was a godsend – except the water pump was broken, and the power was cut most of the time. So for the first couple of days in the capital we would arrive back sweaty and exhausted, and had to make do with wet wipes and bottles of mineral water – itself a scarce commodity – to keep clean.

We ate MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), and collapsed into our sleeping bags each night. We were getting just a few hours sleep and one night – just before we got to Tripoli – no sleep at all. We kept going on adrenalin – the excitement of getting the story.

By the middle of last week, the city was getting more secure. Hundreds of journalists arrived, occupying the Corinthia and Radisson hotels downtown. We took one room on the 22nd floor of the Corinthia, but a sniper shot straight into it three times as we were editing our story so we felt less than enthusiastic about spending time there. We decided to stay in our villa – a good call, because our water pump had been mended so we could have showers, while the hotel water was off and the rest of our colleagues were getting pretty smelly.

Now we have a routine. We go out and film our stories in the morning, then edit and do our live broadcasts from the Corinthia every evening. While we’re on the road we’re always on the hunt for bottled water and processed cheese in the shops. Fresh fruit is recent luxury of the past few days. Then we come home to cook, eat and sleep. Dinner has to be cooked in a hurry before the inevitable power cut takes out the hob. I say ‘home’ because that’s how our villa feels now.

But we’re exhausted. Even Sarah Corp, our indefatigable producer, has looked a little weary at times. I’m whacked. (I’m aware, of course, that I can’t be feeling anywhere near as tired as Libyans who’ve been living through this upheavel for the last 6 months, many with no salaries, now with no water in their homes).

But we’re leaving Libya after just over two weeks, to be replaced by a fresh team, who will cover the next stage in this remarkable revolution.