Chaos, corruption and expectant children's eyes

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One of my favourite characteristics of our journal.lu team is that we try out new things every year. Sometimes it grows into a long-term project, sometimes we drop it again – but every time we learn something new and most importantly: it's tremendous fun. (Let's be honest, it's also pretty exhausting at times, but it's always worth it in the end)

This year we ventured into several new things at once. Alongside two new long-form podcasts and a "tour of the country", the Kaffisdësch, the one experience that stuck with me most was our participation in the children's play city Mini-Lënster. For a fortnight, our entire team – journalists and podcast producers alike – helped children aged between six and thirteen create their own online newspaper. And it turned into a real hit: the Mini-Journal was actively consulted by the children themselves, but also by their parents and educators.

The very first day was already a challenge, as hardly anyone seemed to want to become a journalist – or so we thought. After all, the choice of jobs in Mini-Lënster is huge and the police station and beauty salon were clearly the busiest. But we were wrong. Three hours later, my colleague and I looked at each other, checked our watches and realised that it was already 1 pm., our stomachs growling while ten children stared at us with great expectations: What should we do now?

It was loud, it was intense and it was exhausting. (At this point, I would like to express my utmost respect to all the educators and teachers who have to deal with this on a daily basis.) But I have also can't remember the last time I managed to forget my everyday worries as efficiently as I did during those few days in Mini-Lënster. Children demand your full attention – and when there are ten of them at once, there's not a moment to think about anything else.

The enthusiasm with which Jang, Josefine, Holly, Marie, Noah, Héloise, Liz, Liam, Arthur and many others dashed through the sports hall and across the outdoor area with their Journal microphones, cameras and notepads swept me along completely. To the extent that I suddenly found myself sitting on the floor, laptop on my lap, typing up a real-time article about the announcement of the election results in Mini-Lënster. (I didn't publish the article in the end, as it was far too detailed and, besides, the kids were supposed to write the content of the Mini-Journal and not me, but you get the idea.)

Of course – and most importantly – the children diligently wrote articles and even more enthusiastically recorded podcasts. From election coverage to reports on the various jobs in Mini-Lënster, right through to an actual manhunt, a chase and a court hearing involving suspicions of corruption, everything was included. By the way, you can still read about it in the Mini Journal, if it has piqued your curiosity.

The excitement about asking other people questions, documenting what they observed and informing their fellow citizens reminded me again why I love this job so much at its core. Especially listening – even if that wasn't always the strongest suit of our mini-journalists. Still, they opened up to us too, told us about what they had experienced and one or two even confided very intimate and personal stories.

All in all, I think it was the most intense two weeks of the year – and among the most rewarding. The editorial team agreed on that. Looking back, Mini-Lënster epitomises, perhaps more than anything else, what defines us as a team: curiosity, courage and the joy of simply trying something new. Maybe that's why these two weeks have stayed with me so much. It was loud, chaotic, exhausting – and at the same time a wonderful reminder of why we do what we do. And that it is precisely this attitude that keeps leading us to the most surprising places.