The Fourteenth day of February - universally celebrated as Valentine's Day - held a rather different significance for me last year (2011).
At our residential facility (Camp Krupp) in Misurata, my colleagues and I were passive ear-witnesses to the detriorating situation in and around Misurata since the past few weeks. Two days ago there had been violence in the surrounding areas. It was becoming increasingly unsafe to venture out of the Camp. So there came an edict from the HR department - no one was to leave the residential enclave and go out into the city.
Now, I had not been given a laptop by my company. Neither did I have a Smartphone with Internet. I used to go to the cyber cafe outside our residential enclave and use the Internet on PC, including Net telephony. But, since the unrest began, the cyber cafe owner opened it without regularity and after a few days it shut down completely. It was then that I decided to purchase a Smartphone. It was logical to assume that things would get worse from now on.
So, despite the HR edict, I took a taxi to the city. Everything seemed quite normal when I reached. Shops were open in the market, although not all. I bought the phone at one of the shops and decided to buy some food items. As I turned into the Main Square, towards the department store I usually shopped at, I felt something amiss. Fewer shops were open and just a handful of people on the streets. But most significantly, it was quieter than usual. The silence of the city kept growing on me and I was debating with myself, whether I should turn back. I decided to carry on
I reached the department store. Although it was open, it was relatively deserted - a couple of families had come to shop. The sales assistants were present in full strength. Since I had predecided my purchase list, I headed straight for the chocolates section. I bought a pound of of chocolates. (I had read somewhere that chocolates were a very good source of instant energy and that during an engagement, the soldiers in combat, carried bars of chocolates in their backpacks, along with the bullets and other ammunition). I added four tetrapacks of milk to my shopping cart. I also bought about a dozen cups of the locally manufactured yoghurt in two flavours. I picked up a 'dish' of raw eggs (maybe they were thirty or so). I had earlier bought tomatoes, cooking oil, dry fruits and some other ingredients. I decided to hurry. I wanted to be 'home' as early as possible. I paid the bill for my purchases and stepped out on the street leading to the taxi stand.
I must have walked a few yards, when I came across a small group of men. They seemed to be just huddling together at an intersection. As I passed them, I perceived them to be heavy-set men, dressed in denim jeans & jackets, tee-shirts and wearing heavy boots. They had seen me as I approached them. I am not sure, but two of the men, may have been carrying semi-automatic weapons. I had gone, perhaps,fifty feet ahead, when I heard one of them call out in Arabic. I felt cold within, as if the blood in my veins had congealed. Had the moment of reckoning arrived? I did not hesitate or stop. My head down, as if in deep thought, I continued walking slowly and unhurriedly. My heart was hammering inside me as I kept on telling myself, "Prudence is the better part of valour. Just keep walking normally, Shakir". The same voice called out once again, but I continued to ignore it. I kept walking, still unhurriedly, head bent down in a psuedo-thoughtful posture.
Fortunately, the man who had called out did not persist and I heaved a sigh of relief as I turned the corner and headed straight for the taxi-stand. It was not until the taxi had moved out of the city, I started breathing freely! Phew! Narrow escape! These were my feelings then.
Today, when I look back on it, I think if the man was really calling me. Also maybe he was just wanting to tell me to be careful and not venture out alone! Maybe. But at that time, it was 'fear-psychosis' that gripped all of us and our perceptions were greatly influenced by it.
I reached the Camp and made 'kalamroh' - a sweet dish made of mashed boiled rice mixed with sweet curds (yoghurt) with a generous topping of raisins, almonds, pistachios, etc. I activated the Internet on my phone and bought the Internet telephony card. It was a holy night and after prayers. I shared the 'kalamroh' with my neighbour. I then called up home and spoke to my mother. I also spoke to my sister, but could not get across to my brother.
The next day we received news that after the Friday prayers, there had been widespread demonstrations in the city square. The crowd was fired upon by 'soldiers', who were later confirmed mercenaries brought in from another land. In the melee that followed, stabbings took place. At least two dead and a long list of the injured. The peace in this city, one of the first to proclaim independence, (after Benghazi), from the earlier regime through a 'bloodless' transfer of power to the revolutionaries, was shattered The Internet services were suspended. The violence was out on the streets.
From now on, we were under a self-imposed 'house-arrest'.
