BBC Correspondent Tom Bateman (7:44)

Jessica Parker there's been turmoil in the Middle east this week after President Donald Trump doubled down on his proposal for the US to take over Gaza and to transfer the population to neighbouring states like Jordan and Egypt. Meanwhile, there were concerns that this had changed the context for the ceasefire between Hamas and Israel, which frequently appeared on the verge of collapse. This week. The fallout coincided with a visit by the Jordanian king to Washington, who made clear to the US President that he and other regional leaders were unanimous in rejecting the resettlement plan. He did, however, say that Jordan would accept 2,000 Palestinian children in need of medical care. Tom Bateman followed the encounter between King Abdullah and the president.

BBC Announcer (8:34)

King Abdullah's armoured car swept past us and stopped at the portico of the West Wing. President Trump was waiting. As the door of the king's car opened, there was unleashed a storm of questions shouted from the press. Was the president sticking to his noon Saturday deadline to Hamas to release all the hostages? Yes, he mouthed. Outside the White House. In the deep freeze of Washington in winter, we were being hit by a blizzard of news. If Mr. Trump's first term saw him set the agenda by tweet, this one has seen policy produced by press conference. Almost every day, reporters are ushered into the Oval Office to see him sign executive orders or let in for a speech beside a foreign leader. Each event soon turns into a lengthy Q and A session in in which a stream of proposals, plans and pronouncements emanate from the presidential lips, sometimes making news by the syllable it is frankly hard to keep up. And under the portico, Mr. Trump appeared to tower above the much smaller king, who wore a wide, fixed smile for the cameras. The president did not smile. Perhaps it is not the art of the deal when the pressure is being dialed up and the pressure was increasing from the US Leader on on both Jordan and Egypt, two key American allies in the Middle East. The day before the king came, Mr. Trump sent another shockwave into the region as he sat at the Resolute desk, having signed executive orders for steel tariffs and bringing back plastic straws, Mr. Trump was asked about reports Hamas was threatening to delay the next hostage release, accusing Israel of breaching the ceasefire. Clearly shocked by the emaciated condition of three hostages released by Hamas last weekend, Mr. Trump gave the group an ultimatum. While calling it ultimately Israel's decision, he said if all the remaining hostages held weren't released by noon on Saturday, the ceasefire should be cancelled and all hell break loose. The warning was stark and sent the region scrambling to shore up the ceasefire process that followed his intervention last week, when he vowed to empty Gaza of its population, to send Palestinians to Egypt and Jordan or beyond before the US would take possession of Gaza and turn it into a Mediterranean resort. While Mr. Trump's officials framed this as a humanitarian gesture, it has been categorically rejected by Arab nations and Palestinians themselves. Any proposal to forcibly displace populations is strictly prohibited under international law and would be considered a war crime under the Fourth Geneva Convention. His proposal, though, was hailed by the Israeli leader Benjamin Netanyahu, and who called it new, out of the box thinking. Mr. Trump's officials said it would end the rinse and repeat cycle of Israel Gaza wars. But as one analyst pointed out, the reality seemed to be less about new thinking and more that the US President extraordinarily was overtaking Israel's own leader on the right. The displacement of Palestinians, driving them from Gaza and the west bank, has long been a fantasy of the far right settler movement. The dispossession of Palestinians is not a new idea, but one of the conflict's oldest and a driver of it. King Abdullah sat next to President Trump in a padded Oval Office chair and in a deep bind. The Jordanian king knows that any plan to force his country to accept expelled Palestinians could destabilize his already fragile state and give rise to more discontent within it. Jordan's population includes millions descended from Palestinian refugees, and alongside those whose roots lie firmly east of the River Jordan, it is dependent on American financial and military assistance. But its stability is also critical to Israel, the neighbor with whom it signed a historic peace treaty in 1994. And therein lay the leverage for both men sitting in the Oval Office. President Trump has increased the pressure, threatening to withdraw America's stipends to Jordan and Egypt if they don't take Gaza's population. But those states know that such a move, while seemingly implausible, would threaten their own stability if it were ever attempted. Driving Palestinians from Gaza would threaten the historic peace deals Jordan and Egypt signed with Israel under American sponsorship decades ago. The king would likely have reminded the president of this. Mr. Trump wants his legacy to be that of the Middle East's dealmaker, but pushing his current ideas onto an anxious region risks becoming its chief destabiliser.

BBC Correspondent Tom Bateman (13:05)

Tom Bateman it was nearly 30 years ago when violent clashes erupted in the city of Mazar e Sharif in Afghanistan as the Taliban began to tighten its grip on the country. Witnessing the chaos was a young student, Marjuba Nawruzi. And as the Taliban began to impose its hardline interpretation of Islamic law, it became clear to her that Afghanistan was no country for a woman who wanted to live a free and independent life. Back then. She decided to flee, and it was only this year that she finally decided to return home, this time as a BBC correspondent.

BBC Correspondent Marjuba Nawruzi (13:45)

As my plane landed at Kabul International Airport, a message on my phone welcome to Afghanistan. I wept like a lost child reuniting with her mother. I adjusted my headscarf before stepping off the plane and headed to passport control. My heart raced at the sight of the first Taliban official my passport photo showed me. Without a scarf. I had rehearsed responses, but the bearded man avoided eye contact, focusing instead on my passport. He told me to look at his camera and I complied, relieved when he didn't ask any questions. On the way out, I noticed several women at the airport conducting searches on female passengers. I couldn't help but think how positive it was to see women in the workforce, though. As I ventured into Kabul, I noticed graffiti everywhere, big bold messages painted by the Ministry of Morality warning women about their attire. Not wearing a hijab is a sign of ignorance and a gateway to sedition, one said. And any woman who perfumes herself and passes by men so that they can smell her perfume is an adulterer. As the first Afghan woman to return as a BBC correspondent since the Taliban's takeover, it struck me that I needed to re embrace these customs and laws. So my perfume bottle remained unopened. I was back to cover the story of Kabul's religious madrassas, which have replaced regular schools after the Taliban prohibited girls pursuing education beyond the age of 12. In the bustling city centre, I visited a madrasa recently established by a young male scholar, Corrie Ha said Mahmoudi. I was devastated when my sister Amena was denied an education jeopardizing her mental health and dreams of becoming a doctor, khori told me. In response. I established this madrasa a year ago to provide her with academic and midway free education as well as religious teachings, he explains. When she first entered her New School, 15 year old Amena began to heal, finding joy in connecting with other girls while still being able to pursue her ambition to work in healthcare. But six months later that dream was crushed when the Taliban imposed another ban, this time on medical studies for women. I was diagnosed with a hole in my heart when I was 8 and underwent life saving surgery by a female doctor. This inspired me, amena tells me. I still hope for a future where the Taliban allows me to pursue my career, she went on. There are many young women like Amena, but even those who graduated from university before the bans have often found themselves barred from employment. On a chilly winter's day, I trudged through the snow covered streets to meet three sisters who I had heard were talented weavers. Shakila, who is 22, is the eldest of three sisters. She first learned how to weave at the age of 10 after her father broke his leg in a car accident. It was while he was recuperating that he taught Shakila. As I arrived, she welcomed me warmly into their home, and we began talking about life in Afghanistan today, which Shakila says is the safest it has been for some time. Before the Taliban took control, our school faced three consecutive bombings that killed 90 people, mostly young girls, she says. After this, my father prioritized our safety over education and withdrew us from school. At the time, Shakila wanted to be a lawyer and her sister, Sameera, wanted to be a journalist. But as for many women, their dreams hit a dead end. Later, I meet a lawyer, Sobira, in her cold, dark house in the heart of Kabul. She used to specialize in domestic violence cases. Today, Sobera has no job and no money. Now all female lawyers and judges are unemployed, making our life extremely difficult, she tells me, wiping away tears with her scarf. The restrictions on Afghan women are only increasing. Last year the Taliban Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice issued a new morality law, meaning no venturing out in public without a male guardian. No singing, no laughing, no speaking loudly, not even in private. I shattered my clock. Each tick echoes the endless hours of the confinement we endure, Soberas says, now angry. Yet, she says amid the despair, I cling to the hope that one day we will escape this prison.

Grainger Advertisement Voice (18:40)

If you're the purchasing manager at a manufacturing plant, you know having a trusted partner makes all the difference. That's why, hands down, you count on Grainger for auto reordering. With on time restocks, your team will have the cut resistant gloves they need at the start of their shift and you can end your day knowing they've got safety well in hand. Call 1-800-GRAINGER click grainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done.

Podcast Host Nicola Coughlan (19:09)

If you're an H Vac technician and a call comes in, Grainger knows that you need a partner that helps you find the right product fast and hassle free. And you know that when the first problem of the day is a clanking blower motor, there's no need to break a sweat. With Grainger's easy to use website and product details, you're confident you'll soon have everything humming right along. Call 1-800-GRAINGER clickgrainger.com or just stop by Grainger for the ones who get it done.

BBC Correspondent Tom Bateman (19:42)

The olive harvest has been in full swing in Spain, the world's largest producer of olive oil. Thankfully, this season's yield has risen substantially after several years of punishing Drought. But apart from the challenges of climate change and ongoing desertification in Spain, farmers have another worry. Crime. Last year in Andalucia, Spain's primary olive growing region, over 500 tons of olives were stolen. It's a headache for the local law enforcement, as Linda Presley found out on her visit to the olive groves in southern Spain.

BBC Reporter Linda Presley (20:19)

Joaquin Perez stands in the shade of one of his trees, looking exhausted, hands on hips in a grubby T shirt. He tells us that during the olive harvest he gets very little sleep because he's either in the fields working from the crack of dawn or he's on patrol with other olive farmers in an attempt to deter the thieves. The last time Joaquin was robbed, it was late afternoon. From a distance, he saw four men bashing one of his trees with sticks to make the olives fall. As he approached, they escape by car. Joaquin says after two seasons of hellish drought, the robberies make him want to reach for his rifle. He reckons he's lost hundreds of kilos of olives from this year's harvest, worth about £10,000. In the pretty village of Arajal, where Joaquin farms, Jose Antonio Romanes is the local police chief and drives us around through rows and rows of ancient lollipop shaped olive trees, their trunks gnarled and twisted, the fruit on the turn from green to black. The chief tells us about the profiles of the thieves. Some are drug addicts. Then there are poverty stricken families hoping to make a few black market euros selling door to door in the nearby city of Seville. But there are also organized crime groups. Last year, the police chased a thief who led them to a clandestine warehouse where they found a mountain of stolen olives. The Guardia Civil, another layer of Spain's policing, has specialised units tackling rural crime known as Roka. They deal with all theft of farm tools and machinery, as well as stolen produce like olives. The city of Jaen, a two hour drive east of Arahal, sits in the most densely productive olive growing region in the world. On a bright Wednesday morning, we head out beyond the city limits with one of Haiyan's Roka teams pulling up on a gravel drive. Trees laden with olives on either side and a small whitewashed farmhouse ahead. An elderly man walks towards the vehicle, bandy legged, his thin grey hair swept back from his forehead. Have you come to take me to prison? The man asks the Guardia Civil officers with a twinkle in his eye. This is Francisco. His family has farmed here for generations and so has his neighbours. And it's the neighbour who's reported Francisco for theft of 10,000 kilos of olives. 10 tons. The Guardia Seville officers, Antonio, young, upright, his hair freshly barbered, and Manuel, older, slightly wizened, with the patience of a saint, tell Francisco they know all about the ruling in a recent court case that some of the trees Francisco's harvested actually belonged to his neighbour. Francisco's face is a picture of innocence. He explains that he understood the judge had said that in this land dispute everything should remain the same, which Francisco interpreted as he can continue to harvest olives from those same trees as he has for decades. And in any case, he says, it's nowhere near 10,000 kilos. He goes into the farmhouse and returns with a receipt from the mill for the 2,600 kilos of olives he took for processing. And then Francisco says he's not sure if he can come to the Guardia Seville's office in the morning to make a statement. Manuel's unflappable call cracks slightly. This isn't a meeting you can choose to attend. You're obliged to come, he tells Francisco indignantly. A few minutes walk up the gravel drive. We cross a ditch onto the land of Francisco's nemesis, his neighbour Antonio, who's furious. He's been stealing my olives for 20 years, Antonio says about his neighbour. The Guardia Seville officers take more notes and count the trees in dispute. Our next stop is the olive mill. The officers want to check the paperwork Francisco's given them in his office. It takes the manager about a minute to produce not one, but two receipts. There's the one Francisco showed the Guardia Seville. And there's another for a much larger quantity of olives, altogether close to the 10,000 kilos his neighbour claimed were stolen. Francisco could be in big trouble because there's already a civil court order that he's ignored. This now becomes a criminal case of theft, punishable by up to four years in jail. On the way back to the Guardia Seville hq, there's a radio message. Another robbery's been reported. It seems this one isn't the result of a neighbour's dispute. What it means is that 400 kilos of freshly stolen premium olives are potentially careering through the Andaluth countryside on their way to an illicit warehouse.

BBC Correspondent Tom Bateman (24:54)

Linda Presley for as long as the film industry has existed, the big studios have been on the search for the most exotic backdrop. One of those was a desert city in Morocco on the edges of the Atlas Mountains, the Holy Land, the Badlands of Baghdad. They've all been mocked up here, even breakouts from a Russian prison. But now, as John Kampfner discovered on a recent visit, a combination of tight budgets and technology suggests that the good times might be running out of the Hollywood of Africa.

Ray Winstone (25:27)

Mohammed has worked with them all. George Clooney, charming. Timothy Dalton, funny. Brad Pitt, well, he stayed in his room most of the time. My guide is reminiscing about the giants of the movie industry as he shows me around the Kasbah, one of several sites in Morocco's desert city of Wazazat, which have been used as film locations over the years. It's not hard to understand why some of the world's most renowned directors, such as Ridley Scott or Martin Scorsese, have chosen this place again and again to film Lawrence of Arabia, Rules of Engagement, Mission Impossible, or why they had no trouble luring a list actors to come out here. It's been dubbed the Hollywood of Africa or Waza Wood because of the extraordinary light, reliable sunshine and a variety of vistas that you'd struggle to find anywhere else. Plus, being just a few hours drive from Marrakech, it's relatively easy to get to. It's very comfortable and it's safe. Wazazat, which means without noise in the local Tamuzight language of the Berbers, has all you need as a backdrop for any blockbuster. The snow on the top of the Atlas Mountains in the distance, that'll do for the Himalayas. The nearby lake from the right angle is a dead ringer for the Nile. Surrounding villages work fine for Bible scenes. The Last Temptation of Christ was filmed here. As for gritty action movies in Iraq or Afghanistan, there's desert all around. The James Bond film the Living Daylights mopped up a Mujahideen camp. None of this is particularly new. The first film to be shot in Wazazat was called the Moroccan Goat Herd by the Lumiere Brothers in 1897. Mohammed tells me he's been an extra in over 30 films himself. He's been a Roman soldier, a terrorist and an American security guard too. In the 1980s, Wazazat rushed to open four studios. The Moroccan government put money into the place to make it a global centre for film. An institute of cinema was set up, providing courses on carpentry, sewing, special effects, makeup and hair. The idea was that local people could have more than fleeting screen moments. They'd acquire skills that would convince Hollywood producers they didn't need to fly in their own. That didn't quite pan out. On the edge of town, I meet another private guide Here you can find it all, Abdul tells me, at the entrance of Atlas, which claims to be the largest studio in the world. Atlas has 13 sets, Abdul explains as we start our tour. Three are Egyptian, one Roman, one Greek. One is the Holy Land. Another is a prison for any civilization. The highlight is the set made for Kingdom of Heaven, a castle type structure where Orlando Bloom and Jeremy Irons acted out epic crusader battles for Jerusalem. These days, these gargantuan structures stand largely empty, or they serve less existential purposes as backdrops for a Hermes watch commercial or a Top gear sequence for TV. In its heyday, around 15 films were made a year here. Now, Abdul tells me, it's down to three or four. Some of the luxury hotels and guest houses have shut down. The reason? A combination of technology, CGI can recreate pretty much any location you want, and economics. As soon as some Moroccans complained that Dh300, that's around $30 for an 11 hour day, wasn't enough, cheaper options were found in Tunisia and elsewhere in the region. As for the next generation of camera and sound operators and set designers who were supposed to be trained here, if they're hired at all, it's mostly as backup. There's another point that rankles. It's the frequent portrayal of the Arab as the bad guy. Some of the local extras, I'm told, have grown weary of their city being used as the automatic stand in for dangerous places such as Somalia or Yemen. Yet money talks, and when jobs are on offer, they're taken. The most recent blockbuster shot here was Gladiator 2. Hopes are being pinned on it to bring back the good times. The area has long been a crossing point for traders between Africa and Europe. During the French period, it was a garrison town. Now, just a few kilometres away stands one of the world's largest concentrated solar power stations, which has put the city back on the map. Wazazat has reinvented itself several times already and if needed, will doubtless do again.

BBC Correspondent Tom Bateman (30:08)

John Kampfner. And that's all for today, but you can hear more stories on the from our own correspondent podcast on BBC Sounds. We'll be back again next Saturday morning. Do join us.

Podcast Host Nicola Coughlan (30:20)

I'm Nicola Coughlan and for BBC Radio 4, this is History's youngest heroes. Rebellion, risk and the radical power of youth.

Ray Winstone (30:30)

She thought, right, I'll just do it.

BBC Correspondent Tom Bateman (30:32)

She thought about others rather than herself.

Podcast Host Nicola Coughlan (30:35)

Twelve stories of extraordinary young people from across history.

BBC Correspondent Marjuba Nawruzi (30:39)

There's a real sense of urgency in them.

BBC Reporter Linda Presley (30:41)

That resistance has to be mounted.

BBC Correspondent Marjuba Nawruzi (30:42)

It has to be mounted now.

Podcast Host Nicola Coughlan (30:44)

Subscribe to History's Youngest Heroes on BBC Sounds. At Hinge, we found Gen Z daters want deeper conversations, but they're 36% more hesitant than millennials to start them. I'm Logan Urie, Hinge's lead relationship scientist. We call this the communication gap, the space between wanting connection and actually starting the conversation. But here's the good news. It doesn't have to be this way. Ask one better question or share something honest and watch the connection grow. Find more in Hinge's 2025 Gen Z Day report, now live at Hinge Co.

Ray Winstone (31:22)

Hello, it's Ray Winstone. I'm here to tell you about my podcast on BBC Radio 4, History's Toughest Heroes. I've got stories about the pioneers, the.

BBC Announcer (31:33)

Rebels, the outcasts who define tough.

Grainger Advertisement Voice (31:36)

And that was the first time that anybody ever ran a car up that fast with no tires on.

Ray Winstone (31:41)

It almost feels like your eyeballs are.

Grainger Advertisement Voice (31:43)

Gonna come out of your head.

Ray Winstone (31:44)

Tough enough for you? Subscribe to History's Toughest Heroes wherever you get your podcast.