The Day Before 'House-Arrest'

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'.

Living In The Twilight Zone

It is amazing how the will to live can transform an indiviual's life. Especially if the persons concerned are suffering from an incurable disease like cancer. Despite the excruciating pain and turmoil they forge on ahead making their life most meaningful for themselves and the world.

"Every man is mortal" goes the old adage. But it carries a sense of urgency for the terminally ill. Most of them, I have seen, spend their last days confined to bed at home or in a hospital, waiting for the inevitable end. But there are the courageous few who will themselves to make the maximum difference to the world around them in the time remaining with them.

And yet, some like me, (I daresay there are a few others too; I really dont know), who live in the twilight zone. It's a grey area where nothing seems to be well-defined. As one writer has put it, twilight is the time when you cannot make up your mind whether to switch on the light or let it be off. Everything is hearsay and in the absence of hard "evidence" (medical reports, etc) there is no prima facie case to prove my "guilt" of suffering from a terminal illness. It is one of those strange situations where the "guilt" and the "punishment" are synonymous - sentenced to death by cancer.

So I go about giving most importance to my daily household chores and responsibilities knowing fully well there is no basis or a raison d'etre for expecting any 'special' treatment.

There are times in between when I can feel the deteriorating situation within me. But there is not much I can do except 'interface' with myself, until it passes. My wishlist cannot be, because I have chosen to live in the twilight zone. As Limin puts it "my mind is my biggest prisoner".

Mar-haba!

The first thing that struck me as I landed at Tripoli airport was the difference in size, utilities, decor, and facilities. Remember, I had just seen Dubai airport a few hours ago. Tripoli airport reminded me of a bygone era. I felt almost convinced that the airport had not undergone any kind of changes or improvements since its inception.

After an inordinate delay in collecting my luggage from the conveyor belt, I set about the task of locating the driver who was to pick me up from the airport. I kept on saying GSHL (Global Steel Holdings Limited) to the small group of receivors who had come to pick up passengers. I must have passed the man who had come to pick me up, at least thrice before we finally 'connected'! GSHL was an unknown entity in Libya. ISPAT was the well known name! But how was I to know?

"Mar-haba!" Ali, the driver welcomed me warmly. I spoke to my office and was given the details of how I was to proceed. Misurata was at least a three hour drive. Fortunately, an Irish engineer (John Smith by name) who was a co-passenger enlivened the journey alongwith Ali who was also quite talkative and jovial. We passed the ancient Roman city of Al-Khums I had read about it being the best preserved ancient Roman site/city and made a mental note of visiting it at the very first available opportunity.

We reached Camp Krupp and after checking in at company's residential complex,I had dinner, met some of my neighbours/colleaugues and turned in early. I was tired and had been asked to report to office the next day.

Accordingly, the next morning, I took the company bus to my office after partaking a sumptuous breakfast at the company mess. After meeting the HR staff Mr.Muralitharan Variar and Mr. Nair, I reported to Mr.Subash Jadhav, General Manager HR at GSHL, Misurata, Libya. I entered his cabin after knocking. Unlike Ali, the driver, Mr.Jadhav's first words to me were not "Welcome..... to GSHL or Libya" but:

You have to go back!

I felt as if the ground below my feet was removed. I had just arrived and had not even started my work and I was being told that I was to go back?! But his explanation, which followed a little later, eased my shock a little. He said that he too had come like me on a visit visa which was valid for a limited time and which required going back to India for revalidation. I heaved a sigh of relief.

I was, after all, welcome in Libya, even though for a short while!

Destination (relatively) Unknown or Nafis(h)a

On October 17, 2010, I set out for Libya from Mumbai, I did not have any substantial knowledge about the country, its people and their culture. I did not even have any idea of its weather patterns or climate! (Though I had done some research on my employers Global Steel Holdings Limited! But more about them later)


It was an early morning flight from the airport. My brother-in-law had come to drop me off at the airport. After bidding adieu I checked in. I was very tired, but could not sleep as I waited in the airport lounge. I decided to get some coffee to help me keep awake.


Just about then, a young little lady in her early twenties approached me with a problem. She was travelling to London (probably her first flight) but had to meet her relatives who had come to see her off. The only difficulty was that we had cleared Customs/Immigration and from here it was not possible to go out. Even so, I suggested she request the security personnel to grant her permission to go out and meet her family members. She tried but it was a futile attempt.


She was saddened. Dejection was written all over her face as she told me that it was not possible to go out. We sat down and I tried to cheer her up and started talking to her to divert her mind.


We conversed and exchanged information about each other for some time. She wanted to use the cloak and I directed her to it. I took a small tour of the shops at the airport. When I came back to the lounge, she had already arrived before me. Once again she seemed quite distraught about not being able to speak to her family-members waiting outside, so I suggested she speak to them on the phone. She told me she wasn't carrying her mobile. I offered her my cell phone. At first, the number would not connect. She lapsed into her 'dejection-mode' once again. But my repeated attempts to connect her number bore fruit! When I told her that I had succeeded in connecting to her (uncle's?) number, she was quite overjoyed! At least, she was able to speak to everyone, especially her mother. She thanked me profusely and I assured her it was nothing great or extraordinary. Anyone in my place could have willingly done the same.


Soon it was time to board the plane. As luck would have it, we shared seats on the plane next to each other. We dozed, we ate, we chatted a little and reached Dubai. At the airport, I noticed she kept a distance. We were in transit for three hours, so I was looking forward to her company. But she had befriended another young fellow traveller......and in any case, she was to catch a plane to London and I to Tripoli. I mused about the fickle-mindedness of women! I set about being my own companion, window-shopped a little and sought information about a audio-visual language learning program/software being sold at one of the shops.


As I boarded the plane for Tripoli, I smiled as I remembered her name and that cute little lisp she had when saying it...... Nafis(h)a!

The Libyan Odyssey - 1

"All of us are great now....." The Libyan experience is something which has had some of the most profound and far-reaching influences in my life. I reached Tripoli on October 17, 2010 and was picked up by the company car. More than 200 kilometres off Tripoli was Misurata my destination, my workplace. I started work in earnest at LISCO's Misurata Training Centre, but it was not until the first week of November that I started class with my first batch of Libyan-Arabic speaking students from the Libyan Iron & Steel Company at Misurata. These were the pre revolution days and there was little to indicate of the people's movement to come. In the days to come I shall write in detail of my Libyan experience in flashback mode. Nothing heroic or dramatic, Just some plain observations which I made in my short stay in Misurata. After more than nine months, devoid of any contact with anyone from Libya, I was overjoyed to see one of my students online. I learnt from him that all the students and the teachers (my Libyan colleagues) at the Misurata Training Centre were safe and well. I felt relieved. I had made some good friends not only at the Training Centre but also some in and around Misurata city. I asked him about the situation in Misurata, in particular and Libya, in general. He said everything was coming back to normal. The people were joyous (their tyrant leader of 42 years had been killed a week ago) and anyone who still supported him or his policies would be dealt with sternly. This statement showed the anger seething still amongst the people of not only Misurata but also, Libya. What he said next conveys in a microcosm the 42 year history of the Libyan jamharriya. He said: "Historically we (the people of Libya) stand at a very crucial period in the history of our republic.Earlier there was only one great man (Colonel Qaddafi) in the whole of Libya. Today we all (Libyans) are equally important. All of us are great." L