Behind the Scenes of My First Assignment at the White House

My first day reporting at the White House coincided with a moment that was remembered around the world: President Trump’s declaration of peace in the Middle East and his departure for Israel to meet with regional leaders.

It was October 12th, an otherwise ordinary Sunday morning. My mother was visiting me in Washington, D.C., for the first time since I moved to the nation’s capital. I had just woken up when my phone rang. It was my boss.

"We need you at the White House this afternoon to report on the President’s departure for Tel Aviv," he said.

Just days earlier, on October 8th, President Trump had announced that Israel and Hamas had agreed to the first phase of a Peace Plan. Now, suddenly, I was being called to witness it firsthand.

I didn’t pause. "Yes, of course. I’ll be there," I said with certainty—before fully grasping what I had just agreed to. I set my phone down and turned to my mom. "I need to be at the White House at 1 p.m."

There was only one problem: I had never been there. I had seen the White House from afar, studied it in history books, but I had never stepped onto its grounds. My heart began to race.

"There’s no way I can do this, I thought," "Where do I go? What if I say the wrong thing? What if I don’t belong here?" The doubts came quickly, one after another.

My mom looked at me and said with pride, "You were made for this. God prepared you." With those words, I walked out of my small basement bungalow and into the unknown.

My Uber was waiting. As soon as I got in and shut the door, the driver turned to me.

"Do you know what your name means in French?" she asked, her accent unmistakable.

Before I could answer, she smiled. "Beni—it means ‘the blessed one.’"

I froze. All I could do was smile as my eyes filled with tears. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I whispered, "I am so blessed," grounding myself in the moment.

I arrived at the gate I had been instructed to use, an enormous iron entrance just off Pennsylvania Avenue. A Secret Service agent buzzed me through. After a TSA-style screening, I stepped onto the North Lawn—known to the press as Pebble Beach.

It was buzzing with energy. Reporters, producers, and camera operators crowded the pavement. I had never seen so many members of the press gathered in one place. The number of foreign outlets made it clear: this was not an ordinary day. The world was watching.

I pushed through the crowd, searching for my camera operator. I had never met him, nor much of the team. Moments after finding him, he received a call.

"We need Beni live. We’re ready for her now."

Camera Operator, Lance, prepares for my first live hit

Game time.

Sweat pooled under my arms as I gripped the microphone tightly. My camera operator noticed my nerves and leaned in. "Deep breaths. You’ve got this." He was right.

Smiling through the nerves

As I waited for my cue, my eyes drifted toward the White House. Standing before it, I felt a deep stillness—a realization that this structure has witnessed centuries of decisions, moments, and turning points that shaped a nation. I was overwhelmed by the weight of its history and the role it played in that very moment of peace.

When the President departed, I returned home. My mom looked at me and asked, "Well… how was it?"

I paused. Then I smiled.

"I’m blessed."