Rageh 0maar looks pretty smartly turned out for a foreign correspondent. Chinos, crisp white shirt, linen jacket. The latter is a little unusual for a chilly February afternoon in London, but perhaps the old red fleece he used to wear in front of the cameras on Baghdad rooftops is in the wash. Then you notice his footgear: desert boots so battered and grubby that they can only be relics from his star turn in Iraq. He laughs off the suggestion that he is trying to cultivate a war correspondent’s trademark — like Martin Bell’s white suit — or to maintain a tough-guy image. “My wife tried to throw them out but they’re just so comfortable that I like wearing them,” he says.
His boots will be kicking up a little less sand in future. One of the best-known faces of BBC news is heading into the studio. And not the BBC’s studios either. Following in the footsteps of the veteran interviewer Sir David Frost, Omaar is joining al-Jazeera International. Based in the London bureau, he will present a nightly documentary programme, Witness, when the English- language offshoot of the Qatar-based Arab network starts broadcasting to the world in the late spring.
Omaar’s dispatches from Iraq made him a household name around the world. Women commentators drooled over his “liquid brown eyes, dewy skin and impressive mat of chest hair”. The New York Post dubbed him the “scud stud” and his celebrity earned him a lucrative book deal. Why would he want to leave the world’s biggest news gathering operation for the uncharted waters of a fledgeling channel? He chuckles at the suggestion that al- Jazeera, which is funded by the deep pockets of the Emir of Qatar, made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “That isn’t the case, no no, no. It’s not about that, I promise you. It’s about flexibility in terms of what one does.” He insists that the offer, which “came as a nice surprise out of the blue”, arrived at the right time for him professionally and personally.
He has already scaled back his BBC commitments since returning to London from Johannesburg, where he was based until 2004 and from where he had commuted to the Gulf. He says that reports of disagreements with the BBC after his return had been “overblown”. But he definitely wanted to get off the news treadmill. “Iraq had been a very significant milestone in my life, not just professionally, but also in terms of family and wanting a career with longevity rather than looking at the next story the next week. It was a natural progression to want to be master of one’s own time.” He went freelance and has also been busy writing.
He hopes to work for the BBC on an occasional basis, but the next year will be dedicated to Witness, which will be shown every weekday night, showcasing documentaries made by what al-Jazeera calls “storytellers from all walks of life”. But he is adamant that there is no question of his hanging up his fleece and boots, and he intends to travel on assignment around ten times a year.
His desire to be based in London and make occasional foreign forays is motivated by family concerns. In 2000 he married Nina Cuninghame, the daughter of a baronet, and they live in Chiswick, West London, with their children Loula, 5, and Sami, 3.
“From ten days after September 11 until 2004, I was travelling at a rate that made any domestic life virtually impossible. Now I’ve settled and got roots. The children are at local schools, I’ve got a sense of neighbourhood and where I live. I see my nephews and niece and extended family, and that’s incredibly important.”
He hopes to return to Iraq, which he has been covering for most of the past decade, but probably not in the near future. “When you go there you put your family through an enormous emotional meat grinder. It’s horrendous, and at the same time you can’t really do your job because you can only whip out, spend ten minutes at a scene and nip back. ”
Has his wife ever asked him not to go? “After I got back from Iraq I was supposed to go again. Then the Palestine Hotel was shelled three days before I was due to leave. That was the moment all my family said, ‘Sorry, we just can’t take it’.” He didn’t go. Nevertheless, “Iraq isn’t done. I’d love to go back.”
During the war in Afghanistan there was criticism of Omaar from the British Government after he entered Kabul with the Taleban. It was the only way of getting into the city but new Labour’s spinners implied that he was too cosy with the enemy. He received similarly hostile fire from Alastair Campbell when he was filing from Baghdad in the last days of the Saddam regime. “Whenever you get criticism, whether from Government or colleagues or whatever, it makes you look at yourself and say, ‘Actually have I got this right?’ Nothing I did or said made me think that I was inaccurate or giving misleading information.”
Some in the Bush Administration might suggest that a journalist such as Omaar and an organisation such as al- Jazeera are made for each other. The news channel believes that its contacts with al-Qaeda bring scoops, such as tapes of Osama bin Laden’s messages. Some in Washington suggest that the ties are too close and that the station is guilty of rabble-rousing in some of its coverage.
Omaar, who believes that he was the only person in the world to witness the bombing of the al-Jazeera offices in both Kabul and Baghdad, says he has no qualms about working for the organisation. “I speak Arabic and my impressions of al-Jazeera are based on watching it in its own language. Part of the problem is that most people’s views of the channel are based on what other people write about it. In my view it really has been an agent for change.” He has confidence in the channel’s journalism, having worked “side by side with a lot of al-Jazeera journalists who were incredibly brave”.
Born in Somalia, the son of a wealthy businessman, Omaar came to Britain when he was 6. Educated at Cheltenham College and Oxford, where he studied history, he freelanced in Ethiopia and had various BBC jobs, including that of developing world correspondent, before his Iraq adventures. He has just finished a book about Somalis living in Britain. He describes himself as “Muslim in terms of identity and heritage but I’m not a practising Muslim, though I’m fairly observant. I celebrate feasts and holidays and Eid ul-Fitr. I want my children to grow up being aware and understanding (Islam).”
He received a huge advance for his two-book deal but says the figure of £1 million was “not accurate”. The book was reported to have flopped. It crept on to the Sunday newspaper bestseller lists but didn’t stick there. “It did very well I think,” he says. “I’m very bad at figures.” According to Nielsen BookScan, the book has sold just under 22,000 copies, which for a book with a large advance can only be regarded as very disappointing. The publishers are unlikely to see a return on their investment unless the next book is a huge hit.
I doubt that the smooth, easy-going Omaar will be worrying too much so long as the big offers keep coming. But don’t expect him to start treating himself to some new kit. He donated the tatty red fleece to a charity auction but a friend bought it for a few hundred quid and gave it back to him.
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