I’ve always thought it a good idea to step outside one’s comfort zone from time to time… right up until I have to do it.
You may or may not have heard that the Cayman Islands held an election last week. For the Cayman Compass news team, it meant nearly 24 straight hours of coverage on the day, from reporting to editing to photography and live reports, followed by days of updates that included many unsociable hours.
In the past, I’ve always sympathised with them, while at the same time planning my own public holiday activities after voting. My heart has gone out to them from the comfort of my couch. I have wept on their behalf while opening my fridge, looking for a delicious morsel or two. Yes, I have been there with my workmates every step of the way, following the story from my pool lounger.
Therefore, you can imagine my surprise when I saw my name included in the email directed towards all those covering the polling stations on 14 April.
“Ummm… I think there’s a mistake,” I ventured, as I cornered the editor-in-chief. “I was listed to work on Election Day.”
“No mistake,” he said, cheerily. “We need all hands on deck to provide as much coverage as possible.”
Well, suddenly I felt a cold, clammy hand around my heart. Me? Doing news?
I had visions of holding an important interview with a candidate, running out of questions, and switching gears to ask them to name their favourite karaoke song.
Y’see, readers, I’m a creative writer. I’m used to employing flowery, descriptive language in my articles. Por ejemplo: “The candidate ran a beautiful campaign while wearing a lovely blue jacket, matched with a cheeky pair of trousers.”
Or, “It was a clear, blue, sunny day, with just a wisp of a wind in the air, as the voters made their way to the polling stations.”
Hard news just isn’t ‘my jam’, as I believe the youngsters still say, and reporting on an election was definitely not in my wheelhouse.
As the Wednesday loomed before me, I turned to my far more experienced colleagues for advice, who were mercifully very understanding and supportive. “You’ll be fine,” was the overwhelming message, as they tried to get back to their own jobs after listening to me witter on for half an hour.
I planned for that morning in advance. My voluminous head of hair was going to need attention for starters. As many of you know, it often resembles a red tumbleweed with grey roots.
Out came the Preference by L’Oréal (I wasn’t having a lost Cabinet seat blamed on my frizz), followed by an attempt at a French braid.
Next, I dug around in my closet for something suitably professional to wear. Jeans? No. Low-cut, red velvet top? No. Polar bear jumpsuit? Maybe.
Finally, it was upon me. I anticipated the alarm, jumped (crawled) out of bed, and started getting ready. While I was bemoaning the early wake-up time, fellow journalist Reshma Ragoonath was already four hours into her day, having arisen well before the sun to report on the ballot boxes arriving at polling stations.
Remember that Army ad, about them doing more before 6am etc. than most of us do all day, etc.? They’ve got nothing on Reshma.
I was partnered up with photographer/videographer Taneos Ramsay, and we made the rounds, interviewing voters about their experience. There are quite a few rules about what you’re allowed to ask and what you’re not on Election Day, so I lobbed softball questions at them, which helped me feel more confident about taking on the job. Apart from my blatant overuse of the word “fantastic”, I think it went pretty well.
As the day progressed, I was getting into the groove nicely. We even recorded a 30-second ‘roving reporter’ segment in George Town, I so fancied myself.
The biggest test was interviewing Roy McTaggart at the George Town East polling station when it was clear that he had won the district. He was a main player in this election, and I, a news newbie, was to capture his first reactions.
I went through my questions (“Don’t ask about karaoke songs, don’t ask about karaoke songs…”), took a deep breath, turned to the light from the camera and…
Hey! I made it! I didn’t trip over myself, I let the man speak, and I got out before I put my foot in it. I was elated and exhausted all at the same time, with a whole new respect for the work my colleagues do.
Later that night, we all headed back to the office. There was still no rest to be had. Journalists and editors stayed until about 2am, dissecting the day’s events and writing stories to post online.
The next day, they were putting together the Friday paper. By this time, I was back to writing about entertainment, dining and theatre, thinking the rest of them could get a break.
Not so.
With press releases and statements coming in from both political parties all Thursday and into the evening, it was another incredibly long (creative writing, remember?) day.
Of course, we all know now that there was no let-up for a week.
The news team will keep doing what they do best, and I’m covering the lighthearted stuff, which works well. But I have to say, for that one day, I’m glad I stepped out of my comfort zone.
I may never be a hard-news reporter, but I’m a little bit older and wiser.
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