Jordanian police are responsible for law and order in the camp but it is apparent that there is a lack of security and that matters are out of hand. At the public security department, responsible for police, security, and law enforcement activities across Jordan, I meet Lt. Gen. Hussein al-Majali, an imposing figure resplendent in an immaculate uniform bearing numerous medals. "There are assaults, burglary, homicides in Zaatari," admits al-Majali. "It is a town. These things happen."

Between 200 and 250 police officers are deployed in the camp at any one time but only five officers are allocated to family protection, despite the fact that domestic violence towards women and children by male family members has been identified as a significant problem in Zaatari.

I ask al-Majali how bad the situation is for women and girls in the camp in terms of rape and sexual harassment. "There have not been any convictions for rape at all," he tells me proudly. "We did, however have a case where a father broke his daughter's arm, but it was resolved because it was agreed by everyone not to press charges but to keep it as a family matter."

Back at Zaatari I visit the sprawling school operated by UNHCR. It is midday and the boys crowd outside waiting for the girls to leave so they can begin their classes. A 15-year-old student tells me unprompted when asked about her future plans that she is "not even thinking about marriage yet" and would like to train as a pharmacist. It may not be her decision: Alexis Masciarelli of Unicef admits that there is "serious concern" about the rates of early pregnancy. "There are significant absences from school from the age of 13 upwards," he says, adding that the organisation is "looking into the matter". At the maternity clinic I see many pregnant teenage girls. On average, 11 babies are born in the camp every day.