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American visits Libya
Long and interesting story about some guy who gets a visa and goes to Libya. Too long to excerpt here, except for one part:Worlds can’t meet worlds. But people can meet people. I forget who said that, but I like it, and I thought about it as I walked around inside Libya, hanging out, and talking to regular folks. In a nation where so many report to the secret police, where a sideways word can get you imprisoned or killed, walking around blue-eyed and palefaced with an American accent has its advantages. I met one shopkeeper who opened right up when he and I found ourselves alone in his store. “Do Americans know much about Libya?” he said. “No,” I said. “Not really.” He wanted to teach me something about his country, but he didn’t know where to start. So he recited encyclopedia factoids. He listed the principal resources while counting his fingers. I stifled a smirk when he named the border states. (I had looked at a map.) When he told me Arabic was the official language, I wondered if he thought I was stupid or deaf. “And Qaddafi is our president,” he said. “About him, no comment.” He laughed, but I don’t think he thought it was funny. “Oh, come on,” I said. “Comment away. I don’t live here.” He thought about that. For a long drawn-out moment, he calculated the odds and weighed the consequences. Then the dam burst. “We hate that fucking bastard, we have nothing to do with him. Nothing. We keep our heads down and our mouths shut. We do our jobs, we go home. If I talk, they will take me out of my house in the night and put me in prison. “Qaddafi steals,” he told me. “He steals from us.” He spoke rapidly now, twice as fast as before, as though he had been holding back all his life. He wiped sweat off his forehead with trembling hands. “The oil money goes to his friends. Tunisians next door are richer and they don’t even have any oil.” “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” Yes, it's our fault that Libya is like this. “We get three or four hundred dinars each month to live on. Our families are huge, we have five or six children. It is a really big problem. We don’t make enough to take care of them. I want to live in Lebanon. Beirut is the second Paris. It is civilized! Women and men mix freely in Lebanon.” I don't know what to make of that last paragraph. Posted by: gromky 2005-12-31 |
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