18 Lion of the Deserti

It seems like it was in 2008. After finishing my summer vacation, I returned to Tripoli from India, and before heading to my work location in Ghat, I stayed at my friend Surendra's house for a couple of days at his insistence. One day, while casually changing TV channels, I came across the Star Movies channel, and on the screen, I saw the words “Lion of the Desert.” I thought to myself, "What is this? Who is the Lion of the Desert? What desert? Which lion? What?" My curiosity was piqued. I decided to watch it and sat in front of the TV to watch the entire movie. I soon realized that the film was based on the life story of a bold fighter from the Libyan desert. This "Lion of the Desert" was none other than Omar Mukhtar, the man who led the revolution against the Italians and ignited the fire of independence among the Libyans. He fought the Italians for nearly twenty years, becoming a symbol of resistance and heroism. Until I saw this film, I had no idea who Omar Mukhtar was or what his significance was in Libya. Omar Mukhtar was born on August 20, 1858, in the village of Zanzur in the Sarnika province. He completed his primary education at a mosque in his village and later studied for eight years at the Senussi University, where he became a teacher and taught the Holy Quran. However, he was not just a teacher; he was also well-versed in military strategies for desert warfare. Additionally, he knew the hidden routes and paths within the Sahara Desert, which helped him fight the Italian military forces who had invaded Libya. At the beginning of the 20th century, many nations around the world were struggling for various reasons. During this time, many countries were looking for ways to extend their political and economic power and influence. Italy, after recapturing the city of Rome, set its sights on Libya, a neighbouring country. In 1911, the Italians arrived at the shores of Tripoli with their warships, firing their guns and taking control of the city. They also captured Benghazi, Misrata, and Derna. However, the people in these cities did not easily surrender, and the Italians faced significant resistance. To suppress the Libyan resistance, the Italians were forced to wage several wars. Despite numerous battles, the Italian forces were unable to fully subjugate the entire country because many rebels fled their homes to take refuge in the desert's rugged mountainous regions. There, under the leadership of Omar Mukhtar, they formed a strategy to fight the Italians. Some of the other key fighters in this movement were Ramadan al-Swahili, Muhammad Farhat, al-Fadil Bo-Omar, Suleiman al-Barauni, and others. Together, they fought back against the Italians using guerrilla tactics and strategies. Over the course of these twenty years, they won many battles, killing countless soldiers, tormenting the Italian forces, and making their presence a nightmare for them. The Italian forces could not defeat them and were haunted by their relentless resistance.

During this period, the Italian army constructed concentration camps and forcibly transported those who opposed them, including the wives, children, siblings, parents, and relatives of the fighters, to these camps. Between May 1930 and September 1930, around 80,000 Libyans were taken to concentration camps under the supervision of Italian soldiers, as reported by the locals. The conditions in the camps were dire. Many Libyans died from hunger and disease. According to Libyan historian Muhammad Ali Atayeb, by November 1930, as many as seventeen funeral rites were being conducted each day. However, some major newspapers worldwide reported on the inhumane acts, drawing the attention of human rights committees. This led the Italian army to ease the harsh conditions slightly, providing each Libyan with 22 kilograms of barley per month. Despite this, many Libyans continued to die in the camps due to starvation. Meanwhile, in the mountainous regions, Omar Mukhtar and his companions continued their struggle against the Italian invasion. By 1931, however, the fighters were severely lacking in food and weapons. At that time, Omar Mukhtar was 83 years old. Many of his friends advised him to retire from the struggle and leave the country, but Omar Mukhtar rejected their advice and continued his fight as usual. One day, during his ongoing battle against the Italians, he was severely wounded and captured, marking the end of his twenty-year struggle. Even in prison, his hands and feet were shackled because the Italian army feared he might escape at any time. On September 16, 1931, Omar Mukhtar was publicly hanged in front of his companions and the public. Thus, his twenty years of resistance came to an end. Before being hanged, he quoted famous verses from the Holy Quran: "I came from Allah, and I return to Allah." Following Omar Mukhtar's death, the Italians breathed a sigh of relief and were able to easily bring all of Libya under their control. Libya remained under Italian rule until 1943. However, after Italy's defeat in World War II, Libya came under the control of the United Nations. Later, on December 24, 1951, Libya gained independence and declared itself a sovereign state. From then on, Idris, a Libyan citizen, became the first king of Libya by taking control of the country. In 1969, while Idris went to Turkey for medical treatment, Muammar Gaddafi and his junior officers seized power and ruled Libya effectively until 2011. In 2011, some rebels succeeded in overthrowing Gaddafi. In June 2012, elections were held, and a democratic government was established, rewriting Libya's history. Omar Mukhtar is held in immense respect and admiration by the people here. His courage and sacrifices are deeply remembered by the locals. The Gaddafi government had honoured him by printing his portrait on the 10 dinar note. The current government has continued this tradition, displaying his portrait in all government offices and streets across Libya. His name has been given to numerous streets, and his legacy extends to other Arabic countries as well. Many fighters in Libya consider him a source of inspiration, and they assert that he was the driving force behind the Libyan revolution. Photo: Omar Mukhtar Kannada Original: Uday Itagi English Translation: Uday Itagi

17. The Mauritanian beauties that often spoil our minds…

Whatever you say there’s no match for the virtues of Indian women anywhere in the world. I felt the same when one of my colleagues spoke highly of women here. However, my perception changed after seeing Jordanian, Mauritanian, Syrian, and Tunisian women. It’s not an exaggeration to say they are just as beautiful as Indian women. Yet, the women here, in the region I reside in, are only average in appearance. This doesn’t apply to all Libyan women but specifically to those from the southern region where I live. The majority of the people in this region are Black, as most belong to the Black race, making up 95% of the population. I am not implying that all Black people are unattractive, but for some reason, these "Black beauties" don’t align with our conventional notions of beauty. In contrast, in the northern and eastern regions—places like Tripoli, Benghazi, Misrata, Zawiya, Sabratha, Zuwara, and Al Khums—most women are fair-skinned and appear attractive. The men in these regions are also fair and good-looking. It’s predominantly a White race there, and you wouldn’t see a single Black person in those areas. Here in the south, however, Black people are predominant, with very few Whites. Whites often look down on Blacks, showing disdain whenever possible. For example, during a bus journey from Sabha to Tripoli, there were a few Black Libyans traveling with us. At the checkpoints, the White police officers deliberately harassed them, asking for unnecessary documents and creating obstacles. I observed this firsthand. Such incidents lead to frequent clashes between the two groups. During Gaddafi’s rule, such conflicts were kept under control, but they have escalated since his demise. In the town of Ghat, where I live, such discrimination is minimal because the majority of the population here is Black. However, in Sabha, which is 650 km away, the population is a mix of Whites and Blacks, leading to frequent skirmishes that sometimes escalate into major conflicts. Yet, in my six years here, I’ve never seen Blacks feel inferior about their skin color. On the contrary, they take pride in it. Back in India, we often assume that all Africans are Black, and I had the same assumption when I arrived here. But my belief was shattered upon seeing so many fair-skinned people in Africa. Many countries in Africa, such as Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Tunisia, Mali, Mauritania, and Morocco, have predominantly fair-skinned populations. These people often resemble Europeans in appearance. This is probably why they possess a superiority complex and look down on Black people. While they may appear outwardly polite toward Blacks, they rarely harbor genuine affection for them. Is there any part of the world where this kind of racial discrimination doesn’t exist? Regardless of the laws we create, the disdain for Black people, ingrained over centuries, doesn’t seem to vanish easily.

Mauritanian women are originally from Mauritania and migrate to Libya either in search of work or for business purposes. Looking at it, Libya is half-filled with foreigners. The locals here are so dependent on foreigners that without them, no work would get done. There is a reason for this. When Gaddafi was in power, he provided foreign workers with loans, meals, accommodation, education, water, electricity, and other necessities, so the locals never had to struggle or work hard. Those who didn't know how to work naturally became dependent on others. As a result, many people from Egypt (Masharatis), the Philippines, Jordan, Sudan, Iraq, Pakistan, Palestine, India, Ghana, Gambia, Niger, and Nigeria come here in search of work. Among them, Indians, Jordanians, Sudanese, Filipinos, and Iraqis are mostly employed as lecturers, doctors, engineers, or nurses. Egyptians are primarily involved in trade, and they dominate the local market here. Pakistanis work as either shopkeepers or photographers. Meanwhile, people from poorer countries like Ghana, Gambia, Niger, and Nigeria mostly take up menial jobs. Many of them work as sweepers, plumbers, painters, or cable workers. However, in the larger cities like Tripoli, Benghazi, and Misrata, there are Libyans who work hard. The cost of living in these cities is high, so many people take up multiple jobs to improve their standard of living. During my time in Tripoli, I met many taxi drivers who worked as lecturers, teachers, or lawyers in the morning. In this sense, even though people here hold high positions, there is no pride or sense of "Dignity of Labor" when it comes to doing lower-level jobs. I was talking about Mauritanian beauties earlier. Like other foreigners, Mauritanian women also come to Libya in search of opportunities. They work hard here for a few years and then return to their country. Some of them settle here. Among those who come looking for work, some work as waitresses in local hotels. Others, who are financially stable, start their own hotels. They begin small and gradually expand their businesses. Some even take contracts for meals, snacks, tea, and coffee from large established hotels owned by locals. In fact, in these Mauritanian hotels, most of the workers are women. From hotel owners to cooks, laundry workers, cleaners, and waitresses, they handle all the tasks. From a business perspective, this helps attract male customers, as these women are often attractive and resemble Europeans, making them even more appealing. They maintain cleanliness and are always well-groomed. Once, my Libyan friend laughed and said, "These women are ready to sell their bodies if the opportunity arises, along with their waiter work." Because of this, their hotels are often crowded with men. However, it doesn’t mean that they openly engage in prostitution at their hotels. Prostitution is illegal in Libya, and those caught face severe punishment. Therefore, they do not directly engage in such activities themselves. Instead, men who frequent these hotels must establish a connection over time before anything happens. They have to attract the women slowly through conversation, and if the women are interested, they may agree to meet at a secret location to finalize things. While dealing with these men, the women must be very cautious. It's not just these Mauritanian women who are involved in prostitution. Women from neighboring poor countries like Niger, Nigeria, and Ghana also come here and engage in prostitution to make a living. Libyans say that under Gaddafi's rule, prostitution was not as prevalent as it is now. They mention that many Libyans used to visit Tunisia, close to Tripoli, to experience the services of white prostitutes there.

Anyway, for various reasons, many foreigners who have left their families in their home countries and settled here are often drawn to the Mauritanian beauties. Even though they realize that attracting them is not that easy, they continue to cultivate desires for them in secret. Many times, these men, driven by their unchecked desires, think of taking the women to enjoy the pleasures of their body and satisfy their physical cravings. However, they fail to attract them as easily as they thought, and return disappointed, without finding satisfaction. Moreover, they become frightened of the local customs and fall silent, accepting their defeat. That's why I refer to these Mauritanian beauties as nothing but women who only lead one’s mind astray. Photos: Photo 1: A young man from Niger cleaning the street. Photo 2: Young men from Niger, Nigeria, Gambia, and Ghana waiting for work with their tools by the roadside. Kannada Original: Uday Itagi English Translation: Uday Itagi

16. They met in the rain…

This was during the Badoons (sandstorm) season, which marks the transition from winter to summer. During this period, as winter ends and summer begins, these sandstorms arrive unexpectedly, often terrifying us. Sometimes, they are so intense that they obscure visibility with dense clouds of dust, making it impossible to see even the person standing right next to us. The dust also fills our noses, causing difficulty in breathing. During such storms, we quickly retreat indoors, switch on the fan, and sit still. These unpredictable Badoons cover everything—houses and people—in layers of dust. Occasionally, even the large satellite dishes mounted on rooftops are uprooted by the winds and flung far away. At such times, the dunes of the Sahara Desert, which stand in various shapes and forms, are also reshaped by the wind, moving elsewhere and forming new shapes and figures. I often think there isn’t much difference between these sand dunes and humans. Just like the dunes, humans too are battered by the blows of life, changing their positions and forms, adapting to whatever circumstances come their way. Following these sandstorms, the rainy season begins here. But rain here is not like the torrential downpours we experience back home, where water gushes down the streets. Here, it’s only a brief shower—five minutes of heavy rain or a couple of minutes of light drizzle. Since this southern part of Libya is mostly desert, rain is rare. However, in the northern regions of Libya, such as Tripoli, Benghazi, Misrata, and Sabratha, there is occasional and moderate rainfall. The other day, there was a heavy rain here in Ghat. When I say heavy rain, it was heavier than usual, making it appear as a downpour to us. After all, heavy rains are rare here! In my eight years in Ghat, I have seen such heavy rain perhaps only twice or thrice. Otherwise, it’s just light drizzle, lasting five or six minutes. This rarity perhaps explains why the locals here don’t share the deep connection with rain that we do. They don’t seem to have sweet memories associated with rain or the warm dreams it inspires. But for us, rain means so much! Rain is a rejuvenating elixir that stirs a weary soul. It’s a time to reminisce about sweet love, a moment to long for the company of a loved one, and so much more. When it rains, I often step outside to savor it, to breathe in the earthy aroma that rises with the first drops. Standing there, memories of rain fill my mind, each drizzle carrying its tune, each downpour a symphony. The other day, as I stood in the rain, relishing its beauty, I suddenly remembered those two people. They were the ones who, during a similar rain in Tripoli, reached out to help me when I stood helpless. Their humanity touched my heart deeply. This time, I feel compelled to tell you about them. It must have been the last week of June in 2010. That year, my wife and daughter arrived in Libya for the second time. Their visas had been delayed significantly that year, and with my wife's college starting on July 1, she insisted on being there on time. Since I still had a month left before my leave started, I couldn’t accompany them. Hence, I decided to send them alone. I took both of them to Tripoli, ensured they boarded the flight safely, and then returned, assuming everything had gone smoothly.

Let me tell you, if you need to travel anywhere in Libya, it’s mandatory to carry your passport and a health card (a card issued after testing for HIV and hepatitis). This rule applies not just to foreigners but also to Libyans. Wherever they go, Libyans must carry their Pataka (identity card) and health card. Failing to do so can result in hefty fines or even imprisonment. Foreigners face even steeper fines and harsher punishments. This is because there’s a checkpoint every 100 kilometers in Libya, where travelers are subjected to thorough inspections. The reason for this is simple. The Sahara Desert near Ghat provides numerous illegal routes for foreigners from countries like Niger, Nigeria, Ghana, and Gambia to enter Libya. These individuals often sneak in through these routes without obtaining an Iqama (residence visa) and start working illegally to make ends meet. Some of them even make their way to Tripoli and, using their passports, attempt to travel by sea to Italy, Rome, or France in search of work. Such illegal migrants are closely monitored as they are considered potential threats to the social order. To counter this, stringent rules are in place, which, according to locals, aim to curb these activities and maintain security. In southern Libya, it was not mandatory for us, as Indians, to have a passport. Showing an identity card provided by our workplace was sufficient to gain entry at check posts and hotels. Moreover, once they realized we were Indians, we were spared from additional scrutiny due to the trust and respect they had for Indians. However, the situation was different in the northern region, where carrying a passport and health card was a strict requirement. Even there, upon knowing we were Indians, they would merely check our documents and let us go without further questioning. As I mentioned earlier, I was traveling from Ghat to Tripoli by plane to send my wife and daughter to India. The flight from Ghat to Tripoli took only one and a half hours, and the chances of facing rigorous checks were minimal. However, traveling by road would have taken approximately 18 hours, with numerous checks along the way. While departing, I didn’t carry my passport because, within the next 20 days, all of us lecturers were set to travel to our respective countries during the summer break, and the university had collected our passports to process exit and re-entry visas. I had only taken an ID card with me, along with a letter from my college stating that my passport was with the university for visa processing. But I hadn’t carried even that letter, relying solely on my ID card. I was confident that my name mentioned on my wife and daughter’s passports, along with my ID card, would suffice. We landed in Tripoli at 6 PM. Since my wife and daughter’s flight was scheduled for 3 PM the next day, we had no option but to stay at a hotel in Tripoli for the night. Though my friend Surendra’s house in Sabratha was just 80 km away, going there and returning in a hurry the next day didn’t seem convenient. So, we decided to stay in a hotel. I didn’t even call my friend to avoid his insistence on us staying at his place. We reached the hotel near the Tripoli harbor, where I usually stayed, by taxi. However, the hotel owner refused to provide a room because I didn’t have my passport. Despite showing my ID card and my name on my wife and daughter’s passports, and even offering extra money, the owner remained firm. He cited Libyan rules and declined to bend them, suggesting we try elsewhere.

By then, it had started raining heavily. I pleaded with him again, explaining that we had no place to go in the pouring rain. Still, he didn’t relent. My wife, distressed by the situation, began crying, but even that didn’t soften his stance. At that moment, a middle-aged woman staying at the hotel approached the reception. Seeing my wife in tears, she asked the receptionist in Arabic what had happened. After hearing the details, she turned to us and asked in English, "Hello, excuse me. How can I help you?" I narrated everything to her. She tried convincing the receptionist, but to no avail. She then suggested, "Don’t worry. I’ll take you to some other hotels. Let’s try your luck. But they may be a bit costlier than this hotel. Is that okay with you?" I assured her that money wasn’t an issue and that securing a room was our priority. She took charge, even arranging a taxi for us despite the rain. At the next hotel, she asked the receptionist about the possibility of a room, but they too required a passport. We faced similar refusals at every hotel. Meanwhile, I kept trying to call my friend Surendra, but he didn’t answer. Seeing my wife break down again, the woman reassured us, saying, “Please don’t cry. I’ll ensure you have a place to stay. Be positive.” Finally, after consulting with our taxi driver in Arabic, she suggested, “Would you be comfortable staying at the driver’s house? He has offered a room, and you don’t have any other option.” The taxi driver also assured us, saying, “You can stay at my house. I have two rooms; you can use one. I’ll drop you at the airport in the morning. Don’t worry.” His generosity overwhelmed us. In a city like Tripoli, encountering someone willing to host strangers was extraordinary. The woman encouraged us further, saying, “Don’t hesitate. He’s a good person, and you have no other choice.” We had no other option. Even after he gave us so much assurance, there was no point in sitting and worrying about how he might turn out to be. Moreover, we had no alternative but to rely on him. Whatever had to happen, going with him seemed to be the best decision, so we resolved to go along with him. By then, it was past 8 PM. Just then, a call came from our friend Surendra. He said he hadn’t picked up his phone because he had left it at home before going out. Hearing that he wasn’t unreachable anymore made us happy. We explained our situation to him, and he told us to leave immediately and come over. It felt as though the breath we had lost had returned to us. We had to go to the taxi stand and from there travel to Sabratha. She offered to drop us at the taxi stand and took us there in the same taxi we had arrived in. By then, the rain had stopped. My daughter said she was hungry. As soon as we reached the taxi stand, she got out first, bought some apples, bananas, cake, a bottle of water, and chocolates, and handed them to us, saying, "The child is hungry. Feed her first." It was impossible for our hearts not to be moved by her kindness. We were both silently awestruck by the affection and generosity of these strangers. Unsure of how to repay her, I tried offering money for the fruits she had purchased, but she firmly refused. When I attempted to pay the fare for the time spent driving us around in the taxi, she refused to take that as well. However, I managed to slip a ten-dinar note into the driver’s hand. She then arranged for a taxi to take us to Sabratha and wished us well. Before leaving, she gave me her mobile number and said with a warm smile, "Call me once you reach Sabratha. All the best." Even the driver said, "If your friend isn’t there, come to my house. There’s no problem," and gave us his address and phone number. Filled with gratitude for their kindness, we set off toward Sabratha. Throughout the journey, their care and the way they responded so warmly to strangers like us deeply moved us. I don’t clearly remember their names now, but their faces and the humanity they exhibited are etched in my heart forever. In the long journey of life, so many people help us, become our unexpected companions, and extend a helping hand. The least we can do is remember them for a lifetime, share their kindness with the world, and remind ourselves and others that humanity still exists in this mechanical world. Photos: Photo 1: Tripoli Port Photo 2: Green Park, Tripoli Kannada Original: Uday Itagi English Translation: Uday Itagi

15. The Fleeting Desires of Love and Lust amidst the Sahara's Winter

Here in Libya, the conflict between the two governments continues unabated. Despite peace talks facilitated by the United Nations, no resolution has been reached yet. Both parties are consumed by their thirst for power, unwilling to let go. What the future holds remains to be seen. Meanwhile, sporadic clashes and riots between various groups continue to erupt, leading to numerous casualties. Somehow, it feels like Africa as a whole lost its grip after Gaddafi's death. Nevertheless, let that be. Speaking of the present, winter has just ended, and summer has begun. We've put away the heaters and switched on the air conditioners. As usual, with the change of seasons, a couple of sandstorms have made their way here this year as well. Although this time they weren’t as intense, they still carried the Sahara’s fine grains of sand into our homes. We cursed the sandstorms while lamenting our situation, covering our noses, and cleaning up the sand from our homes. These storms, which mark the transition from winter to summer, occasionally arrive unexpectedly, threatening to take our breath away. They can be so severe at times that they obscure even the person standing right next to us in a thick veil of dust, causing discomfort and making it hard to breathe. In such moments, we quickly retreat indoors, switch on the fan, and sit there, waiting for the storm to pass. Why does summer come? It only brings with it sandstorms! Along with that, the scorching heat! Which people on earth actually like summer, except for the English? For them, it’s cold all year round! Amidst falling snow, they wear thick woollen sweaters and hats, shivering in the cold while running around – that seems to be an endless nuisance for them! Meanwhile, nature is covered with snow, and the whole atmosphere looks melancholic. Therefore, they eagerly await the arrival of summer. They long for it! When the heat of summer melts the snow, everything turns green, and life returns to the once-dead nature. The entire environment becomes lively and joyful. During this time, people lose themselves in dancing. Everywhere, there are songs, dances, cakes, and celebrations. Everything seems pleasant to the eye. Perhaps, except for this one summer, there is nothing more beautiful to see. This is probably why Shakespeare compared his beloved friend Southampton to a day in summer. Perhaps, he couldn’t find any better comparisons! A few people across the world, including the English, like summer. They long for it. But the rest of us curse it! For Indians, summer is nothing more than an allergy! The scorching sun, the oppressive heat, and the lifeless trees – who could possibly like that? Hence, poets in our land only celebrated the beginning of summer as beautiful poetry. No one bothered to write about the later part of it. If they did, it would be described as the time of sweat, mosquitoes, and unbearable heat! Let that all be. This desert has only two seasons: one is winter, and the other is summer. Both are extreme! And what about the rains in the desert? By the way, the people here accept both winter and summer equally well. Unlike us, when winter arrives, we complain about the cold, and when summer comes, we curse the heat—these people never do that. They have learned to accept whatever comes without fear. During winter, they enjoy hot green tea, join in friendly gatherings, light fires, or play chess or snooker, living in their own world of contentment. Similarly, in summer, they sip cool drinks and sit in parks or public spaces chatting until late at night. But for us, the bitter cold is more preferable than the scorching heat of the desert! If we have our families with us, we feel complete. Every year, one child follows another in the same manner, and occasionally, we have fun with them. Once, one of our Sudani colleagues, after the winter passed and the next winter approached, ended up with triplets all at once, unable to handle them and crying, while all of us were laughing uncontrollably. He’s not the only one! The other Arabs here (Jordanians, Iraqis, Egyptians) are content with their families. Every time we look at them, a small pang of jealousy rises within us. How fortunate they are! How effortlessly they carry their families wherever they go! These Arabs don't have lofty dreams or goals for their children. They don’t insist on sending them to "English-medium" schools either. As long as they know Arabic, they will educate their children wherever they are. Moreover, they don’t think as deeply about their children’s future as we do. Thus, they naturally carry their families with them wherever they go. Even in the biting cold, they remain warm and cozy with their wives. But not us. Before our children are born, we decide exactly how they should be, what school they should go to, and what they should achieve, making all the necessary preparations for it. After all, aren’t we Indians? We endure hardships for the sake of our children's happiness! In such a situation, how can we send our children to schools that either don’t have English-medium education or have poor quality standards? Thus, we forcefully suppress our desires, and in the midst of our own discomfort, we sit in front of heaters, finding solace in keeping warm. Trapped in a mindset that doesn't fit either here or there, we struggle inwardly, experiencing loneliness, and trying to make a life for ourselves while reflecting on our home. Meanwhile, our wives are dreaming of bright futures for our children, managing the household in our absence, waiting for our return, and sighing with hope. In a way, we are like Lakshmana, and they are like Urmila! Both of us experience the pain of separation, wasting some years of our lives in exile. We have no curiosity or frustration about this passing time! The struggle to make a living and show success to the world is our pursuit. And in this pursuit, we inevitably accept this kind of life.

As I mentioned before, the cold in Libya is unbearable! For this cold, wearing thermal wear inside, a thick sweater on top, gloves on the hands, and sitting in front of a heater, sipping hot tea feels like a slice of heaven! And if she were here... oh, the joy would be beyond words! My mind keeps racing with the thought of her, repeatedly longing for her presence. At the same time, our worker is showing interest in "Moroccan" girls. Just hearing their name ignites a desire deep within me, spreading all over my body. These girls work as waitresses in many hotels in Libya. Their job title may be waitress, but if given the chance, they are ready to sell their bodies. They look like attractive Europeans, with full figures that are captivating. Always clean and tidy! The fragrance of their bodies fills the air, and their presence is irresistible. Let's forget all else, let go of desires, and indulge in the blissful satisfaction of the moment. But suddenly, the guilt of possibly betraying our wives creeps in (this means we truly love our wives). Moreover, what are the cultural norms in a foreign land? What if something goes wrong? The body yearns for it, but the mind says no. Besides, as our worker says, they aren't easily available! Very clever women! They are neither simple nor naive. They don’t come running when called. First, the men must attract them. They need to send signals of desire with their eyes, speak romantically, get close, flirt a bit, and create a fake love. They must deal with them carefully, and only then can things progress, and only if they like those men in return. We first yearn for an opportunity. Once it comes our way, we retreat with a sense of guilt. In the end, we convince ourselves that we don’t need any of it. By evening, in that chilly weather, we gather around makeshift stoves as if preparing to set out for the Sahara Desert. There, we search for some dry twigs, pile them up, light a fire, and sit by it while boiling tea to warm ourselves. Those who smoke light up cigarettes. Others crack silly jokes. Some discuss politics, while others gossip about what happened at college today, what transpired in the meeting, who is hanging out with whom, what hot movies aired on the Hot Bird channel last night, and how much of an increment might come next year. Eventually, our conversation drifts to her — Reem, my student. She studies in our department. She’s stunningly beautiful, the kind of beauty that makes you want to keep looking at her. Her English is flawless, articulate, and uninterrupted, spoken with a British accent! She’s also incredibly intelligent, never ceding the top position in academics to anyone. For these reasons, she’s become the target of everyone’s envy. Some call her the "Queen Cleopatra of Ghat College," while others refer to her as "an apple of everyone’s eye." The boys, of course, are always looking for excuses to talk to her.

Even the lecturers aren’t immune. They too seek her out under various pretexts just to engage in conversation or find ways to do her a favor. But she interacts well only with me and our HOD; her interaction with others is limited. As a result, my colleagues often tease me by mentioning her name, which secretly pleases me. It stirs up unspoken desires within me. One day, during a conversation with her, I asked, "Reem, what does your name mean in Arabic?" She smiled brightly, raised her eyebrows, and replied, "Deer." She added, "Isn’t the meaning of my name lovely?" with a sense of pride. Indeed, she does resemble a deer — always restless, unable to stay still, darting around like mercury. Her mischievous eyes, her melodious voice like a murmuring brook, and her gentle laughter — they could make anyone lose their mind. Once, one of my Indian colleagues, for no reason other than sheer infatuation, developed a deep admiration for her. He became so smitten that he was ready to leave his wife back in India just to win her affection. However, Reem gracefully rejected his advances, driving him further into madness. What if she had said “yes”? He would have married her, and she would have become his Maidam (in Arabic, Maidam means wife). After that, he would have received a green card and citizenship here. Not only that, he might have received a government scholarship to pursue higher studies in America or Britain. Once all this was completed, he could have quickly secured a prestigious position here. All of this would have been possible for him just by marrying one girl. However, he would have had to convert to Islam, stay away from India for at least two years, and gradually sever his ties with his homeland. Slowly, he would have had to plant new roots here, building a new life and creating new memories. If he ever returned to India, would his family, who depended on him, wholeheartedly accept him knowing all of this? In a way, it was good that she rejected him. Otherwise, what would have happened to the lives of the people in his village who relied on him? That said, there are a few Indians here who have severed their ties with India, married local girls, and are living comfortably. They neither feel guilty nor acknowledge any wrongdoing. When asked, they simply attribute it to the will of Allah. One must not fall in love with the girls here unless one is ready to stay committed to that love. Otherwise, will the Arabs simply let it go? In the past, there was an uproar when a college girl here began visiting the home of an Egyptian Christian doctor every afternoon. This scandal led to intense pressure on him to either convert to Islam and marry her or leave the country. He quietly left the country. In another incident, a foreign doctor was accused of inappropriately touching a female student of mine under the pretext of an examination. The accusations of sexual misconduct resulted in him being deported. These two incidents have served as a warning to others, ensuring they tread carefully. These are two stories of lust, but numerous stories related to love are born and die from time to time. Around four or five years ago, a doctor from Odisha fell into the love trap of a Korean nurse. Their love reached such an extent that this noble soul was ready to leave his doctor wife, whom he had already married, and his two grown-up sons. To top it off, during the time they were in love, when he visited India, his lover had asked him to bring back spring water from there. For this, he paid thousands in excess baggage fees at check-in. She, on the other hand, drank all of it in one gulp and delightedly praised him. He, much like the protagonist in Somerset Maugham’s The Luncheon, felt deeply satisfied simply by spending all his money on this girl he had met. Just as they were about to get married, some of his colleagues advised him and somehow managed to stop the wedding. Not long after, the nurse returned to her country. The doctor, who for a while lived like Devdas, eventually returned to his normal self. Leaving behind friends, family, and households, people like us, who come here in search of work, live a kind of lifeless existence. Sure, we may hold high positions and draw handsome salaries. We have access to laptops and the internet, both for ourselves and for our families. This allows us to call our loved ones whenever we wish, lightening our hearts a little. Likewise, we can connect with relatives who lack internet access via phone calls and find joy in doing so. But it's better not to even talk about the stories of laborers like masons, plumbers, and electricians who come here to work for just thirty thousand rupees (with free food and shared accommodation). Laptops and the internet are dreams for them. Even to make a phone call, they have to spend a hefty sum, so they often remain silent. If they do make a call, it’s once every ten or fifteen days. They jot down everything they want to say on a piece of paper and quickly rattle it off in just five or six minutes. These people not only suppress their desires but also their emotions to survive. However, with smartphones now being available at affordable prices and the internet becoming cheaper, they are able to stay emotionally closer to their families through these means. For this, we can never thank advancing technology enough. We visit our hometown twice a year. In between, our wives and children come here during their vacation and stay for about two months. However, these workers can only visit their hometowns once in two or three years, and that too only if their contractor provides flight tickets. If they decide to stay back in India and work, the salary they earn there is barely sufficient to make ends meet. On top of that, having gotten used to earning a higher salary here, they find it hard to adjust to a lower income back home. Perhaps, only after all their commitments are fulfilled, a house is built, and they have some savings in the bank, they might consider settling down there. For these reasons, as always, we leave our memories behind, fly back here, and sit down to weave new dreams, immersing ourselves in work once again. Famous English writer Shobha De says, “Money is sexier than sex.” Isn’t this true? What do you think? Photos: Photo 1: Libyans smoking hookah Photo 2: Libyans playing snooker Kannada Original: Uday Itagi English Translation: Uday Itagi

14. Is there a Place without Love?

In 2007, when I was selected as an English lecturer at Sebha University in Libya, I prepared to leave India for Libya. Before departing, a hundred people had a hundred things to say. As I’ve mentioned before, more people tried to discourage me than encourage me. Despite their words, I didn’t pay much attention and set out for Libya. While I had remained calm when my friends shared various opinions about Africa, a small sense of anxiety began to build in me as the day of departure approached. A new country, unfamiliar people, an unheard language—how would it all be? What if everything they said turned out to be true? If it were America, London, or Germany, I might have managed somehow. But here? Would the people be rough or gentle? Someone had mentioned that since this was an African country, the students might be very dull. Was that true? These questions started to haunt me. To find answers to these doubts, the first thing I did was gather some information about Libya on the internet. Though the information I found was reassuring, my mind remained unsettled. What if something unexpected happened in this unfamiliar place? These fears and anxieties lingered as I arrived at Sebha, where I had been posted, on October 27, 2007. Since Sebha is the fifth-largest city in Libya, urbanization was evident everywhere. Huge shopping malls, large parks, and hotels gave me the impression that I had been given a good posting. I was happy. However, my excitement was short-lived when I learned the next day that I would be transferred to Ghat Arts & Science College, 650 km away from Sebha and affiliated with Sebha University. The next morning, a taxi driver came to pick me up from my hotel. At 11:30 AM, I left Sebha and headed towards Ghat. Throughout the journey, the vast Sahara Desert, the largest desert in the world, stretched endlessly. Sand, sand, and more sand as far as the eye could see! The entire route was surrounded by barren desert. I couldn’t help but wonder, “How do people even live in such a place? Will I have to stay here all alone?”

As I approached Ghat and saw the town, I was overtaken by a wave of gloom. However, seeing Indian faces who had already been living there for five or sixteen years brought me some comfort. Ghat was nothing like Sebha. It was a small village. Initially, being in a new place, I spent my time enthusiastically. But as days passed, I started feeling discontented with the place. Even though the job and the salary it brought me were satisfying, I couldn’t bring myself to feel at home in Ghat. Having spent eight years in Bangalore, a bustling metropolis, my ability to adapt to village life had waned. Compared to Bangalore, Ghat’s limitations became glaringly obvious. Where was Bangalore, and where was Ghat? The words of my Bangalore friends, who had cautioned me before coming here, began to ring true. “Why did I even come here?” I thought. There wasn’t a single proper cinema theater here, no posh area for evening strolls, no parks, and no favorite snacks to indulge in. No shopping malls, no clubs. Shopping at the few available stores was a struggle since I couldn’t speak Arabic and had to go through the hassle of making myself understood. On top of all this, the biting cold made things worse. Every little thing began to annoy me. Even the joy of enjoying a bit of greenery in nature wasn’t possible here. Everywhere I looked, there were only dull, lifeless sand dunes. Gradually, the environment began to push me into a kind of depression. “Why did I even come here? Life would have been so much better if I had stayed in Bangalore!” I lamented countless times—only God knows how often. Despite being born and raised in a village, I couldn’t take a liking to this one. The struggle I went through to adapt to Ghat is something only I can understand.

Like every discomfort and rejection has an end, so too did my frustrations and discontent come to an end. As days passed, I grew accustomed to living with these limitations. I realized the truth that when we come to such a place, the environment and system won’t change for us—we have to adapt to them. With this understanding, I first changed myself. Once I did, I began to notice many realities about life here. I stopped comparing everything to Bangalore and started accepting this place for what it was. Over time, I became a part of this environment. It pleased me to see that every village here had a bank, a hospital, and a post office. In contrast, many villages in India still lack such facilities. Moreover, life here wasn’t expensive, which meant we could save a significant portion of what we earned. Gradually, I learned to mingle with my colleagues from Egypt, Iraq, Sudan, and Jordan. Their conversations, camaraderie, and friendships started to feel comforting. They pulled me out of my shell and offered a sense of solace. Slowly, I developed a routine of going out and exploring with them, which began to ease my loneliness. Initially, I had a preconceived notion that the students here would be dull, but I came across a few exceptionally bright ones. Guiding and supporting them in their studies brought me joy. The absence of Bangalore’s fast-paced life and chaotic traffic made life here feel more tolerable. The clean air of this place started bringing peace to my body and mind. I even began learning a bit of Arabic to manage my interactions with the locals. Eventually, I got comfortable engaging with shopkeepers and vegetable vendors. As I grew more familiar with these aspects of life, I began to develop a genuine fondness for living here.

In the beginning, I used to curse the desert, thinking there was nothing here. Gradually, I started noticing the many wonders it held. During summer, nightfall doesn’t begin until nine o’clock, which initially felt strange. But I started looking forward to those late sunsets because, as the darkness crept in, the sky presented an extraordinary view. The sun, resembling a glowing white halogen bulb, cast a surreal light, offering a soothing sight to the eyes and soul. Stars, vivid and colorful, which I never saw in Bangalore, appeared abundantly here. On full moon nights, the moon peeking playfully from behind the ’Akakus’ mountains evoked a deep sense of wonder. The same desert I once viewed with disdain began to fascinate me with its unique sand formations. Amidst this expanse, the occasional green shrubs stood as nature’s testament to balance. The sunsets behind the dunes, as the sun bathed the horizon in its fiery orange glow, were a breathtaking experience, offering a perspective I had never encountered before. Unlike in Bangalore, where time always seemed scarce, here, time was abundant. I decided to make the most of it. Having dabbled in writing before, I thought, why not continue it now? I started a blog and, through it, gained new friends. Back in Bangalore, I often dreamed of escaping the chaos and settling in a quiet village to live peacefully. Now that life had brought me to such a place, why should I feel disheartened? Why not embrace this calm and live contentedly? With this thought, I developed a fondness for my life here. Slowly, I began enjoying the way of life, the conversations, and the traditions of the people around me. I learned to root myself here and thrive. And so, I have lived here for seven years. A human being can live anywhere, provided they know the art of living. One must learn how to gradually take root and bloom, no matter where life places them. When that happens, what place could they possibly dislike? Photos: Photo 1: A sunrise Photo 2: Sahara Desert Photo 3: A full moon between minarets Kannada Original: Uday Itagi English Translation: Uday Itagi

13. Where the Hindi Movies Are? Where the Libyans Are?

When we first arrived in Libya, we didn’t know anything about the TV channels broadcasted here. Whenever we went out, any Libyan we encountered would look at us and exclaim, “Oh, Hind! Hind!” (Oh, Indian!) and approach us with great enthusiasm. They would then ask, “Kef halal?” (How are you?) as they exchanged pleasantries and introduced themselves to us. Almost immediately, the conversation would shift directly to Hindi movies: “Do you know Amitabh Bachchan? Does Shah Rukh Khan live next door to you? Is it true that Aishwarya Rai is Amitabh Bachchan’s daughter-in-law? Katrina Kaif is so beautiful, isn’t she? Is Dharmendra still acting? How is Hema Malini? Why hasn’t Salman Khan gotten married yet? If you have Hindi movie songs, can you load them onto our flash drive (pen drive)?” The way they asked, it felt as though Shah Rukh Khan, Salman Khan, and Katrina Kaif lived right next door to us, or as if they were our friends or relatives. We would look at them in amazement. Not just that, they knew Rekha, Jeetendra, Kareena Kapoor, Saif Ali Khan, Priyanka Chopra... and the list keeps growing longer and longer! I was extremely curious about how our Hindi movie actors and actresses were so well-known to them. Unable to control my curiosity, I finally asked them, “How do you know all of these actors? You speak as if you’ve known them for years!” They replied, “We know them through the Hindi movie channels broadcast here, like Zee Aflam and B4U Aflam.” They went on to say, “Hind (Indian) films kwayis (very good), miyyah miyyah (excellent),” praising Hindi movies to the skies. It made me happy to know that our Bollywood stars had extended their popularity even here. Once, I asked some Indians who had been here for many years, “When you first came here, did they also ask you similar questions about Hindi movies?” They nodded and said, “Yes, they did. People here seem to have a kind of obsession with Hindi films.” Why do they have such a craze for Hindi movies? Don’t they have films in their (Arabic) language? If they do, aren’t they good enough? As I dug deeper into this, I found out that this country doesn’t produce films at all. In fact, except for Egypt, most Arabic countries don’t have a film industry. Even if movies are made, it’s just one or two films every two or three years. But these films don’t come close to matching the quality or appeal of our Hindi films. That’s why Hindi films enjoy immense popularity here.

The production of Arab films, when you look at it, has significantly increased only in recent times. Even then, it’s primarily limited to countries like Algeria, Lebanon, Palestine, Tunisia, and Syria. The honor of producing the most Arab films belongs to Egypt. This is because nearly three-quarters of Arab films are made in Cairo, the capital of Egypt. In most Arabic countries, including Libya, film production is largely restricted to short films and TV series. While countries like Jordan, Lebanon, and Iraq have produced films, their numbers are so few they can be counted on fingers. During the 19th century, when cinema was first invented, most Middle Eastern countries were under British and French control. Two decades after the invention of cinema, these two colonial powers divided the Arab nations between themselves through the Sykes-Picot Agreement and began ruling them. This led to significant economic and political constraints for Arab countries, which in turn hindered film production. However, Egypt stood as an exception to this. At the time, the Arab market was flooded with European wholesale goods, which naturally made Europeans the investors, while local entrepreneurs took a back seat. Arabs not only faced political oppression but also cultural suppression. Initially, cinema theaters here were owned by foreigners who produced films only in their own languages. However, these films failed to connect with the local population, resulting in significant losses for the foreign producers. In contrast, Egypt, which was relatively independent during the colonial period, went on to establish its own National Film Industry. Beginning in 1909 with the filming of a procession for their leader’s funeral, Egypt’s cinema production grew to the point of founding the Egyptian Film Industry in 1934. From then on, Egypt became a prominent producer of numerous Arab films, gaining widespread recognition. Most Arabic TV channels, broadcasting from various Arab countries, predominantly air films produced in Cairo. Apart from that, they also telecast Arabic mega-serials and documentaries. This is why channels like Zee Aflam and B4U Aflam have become immensely popular here. Recently, another channel, MBC Bollywood, has also been added to the list. Initially, I thought only Libyans had a craze for our Hindi films. However, when my Jordanian, Syrian, and Sudanese colleagues also started discussing Hindi films, I realized that Arabs, in general, have a deep fondness for our movies. However, based on my observations, Egyptians seem to be less inclined toward Hindi films. Perhaps this is because, like our Bollywood film industry, they have their own thriving Arabic film industry.

Speaking of the channels that have fuelled the craze for our Hindi films, the two major ones are Zee Aflam and B4U Aflam. Zee Aflam is an India-based channel owned by Zee Entertainment Enterprises and launched in Dubai. It is extremely popular across many Middle Eastern countries, including Saudi Arabia. This channel, available via NileSat, broadcasts only Hindi films 24 hours a day. Initially, it aired Hindi films with Arabic subtitles. However, nowadays, many Hindi films are dubbed into Arabic, which has further increased their popularity. Alongside Zee Aflam, two other channels on NileSat—B4U Aflam and MBC Bollywood—broadcast Hindi films with Arabic subtitles. Recently, even NDTV Imagine has started airing Hindi films dubbed in Arabic, further expanding their reach and appeal in the Arab world. It's hard to say how much they watch their own movies here, but they are definitely more enthusiastic about watching Hindi films broadcast on these channels. So much so that they are familiar with almost all our Hindi film actors and actresses. Many of our Hindi film songs are on the tip of their tongues. A lot of my students save Hindi film songs on their mobile phones and listen to them frequently. As for my female students, they aren’t just fans of Aishwarya Rai but also of the bangles and dresses she wears. Her performance in Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam and especially the song "Aankhon Ki Gustakhiyan..." is their absolute favorite. They express their admiration for her saying, "How beautiful she is! We wish we were like Aishwarya Rai. How lovely is the dress she wears in that song? Can you bring us such a dress too?" From this, you can imagine how deep their obsession with Hindi films runs! Once, I asked them, "Why do you love Hindi films so much? What aspects do you like in them?" They enthusiastically replied, swaying with excitement, "The songs, the dances, the settings, the stories, and the way love is so beautifully portrayed in them." They openly admit that many love scenes from our Hindi films have inspired their own romantic expressions. So, where the Hindi movies are? Where the Libyans are? What a fascinating connection between the two! Photos: Photo 1: A scene from an old Arabic film Photo 2: The logo of Zee Aflam channel Kannada Original: Uday Itagi English Translation: Uday Itagi

12. Even if I try to leave the enchantment, it won’t leave me ...

It’s extremely cold here right now, meaning it’s the peak of winter. Oh! How cold it is! Even though I’m wearing thermal wear inside, thick woollen clothes on top, and gloves on my hands, this chilling cold makes me shiver uncontrollably, freezing both my body and mind. No matter where I go, this cold forces me to sit in front of heaters. Sitting there, as the warmth from the heater starts to spread, my frozen body slowly begins to relax. As my body warms up, my mind too, without any effort, gives in to a warm feeling. A little while of sitting and warming up, then moving back from the heater. I repeat this cycle. Sitting in front of the heater, a strange sense of comfort begins to pull me in. I want to leave the heater, but it doesn't let me go. Even when I try, it doesn't let me... the enchantment! Before we came to Libya, our consultant had told us a lot about the cold here, but we were dismissive, thinking it wouldn’t be much. However, as soon as the winter season started, we realized our consultant’s words were true. The thermal wear we brought from India was not enough, so we bought more clothes, specially made for the winter, from the local market. With the new clothes, our bodies still couldn’t adjust to the cold here, and we suffered quite a bit. Slowly, our bodies started reacting allergically to the cold. It became unbearable, and we wandered around without sleep. Many times, we considered leaving our jobs halfway and going back, but the large salary we were earning kept us going, with the hope that "maybe today or tomorrow things will get better." Later, Indian doctors at the local hospital gave us intramuscular injections to alleviate the condition. Gradually, our bodies started adjusting to the cold. At times, when we were not used to such extreme cold, we would think, “Do we want this life?” It felt like we should leave it all behind. But one commitment after another in our lives, along with our hopes, kept us tethered here. Along with that, small commitments from our siblings and relatives also kept us from leaving. Looking at it from a distance, those of us working abroad initially come here thinking we’ll work to pay off some debts and then return to India to resume our usual work. But gradually, as we need money to get our children into good schools, we think, “Let’s work another year to save up for that.” Another year passes by. As soon as that’s done, our friends and relatives have bought property. I think, "I should buy one too," and we stay for another year or two. Once that commitment is over, we think, “Let’s buy another property, maybe for a rainy day.” And so, another couple of years go by. Once the loan is paid off, we think, "The salary here is good, why not save up for a home of our own?" So, we extend our stay for another year or two. As all this is happening, the thought of leaving and working in India for a smaller salary starts to seem difficult, considering the large salary here. So, we extend our stay again, saving the money in the bank and convincing ourselves that it will bring us peace of mind. And again, we decide to stay for another year or two. This cycle keeps going on... wanting to leave... but extending the stay... again and again... When will human desires end? By the time we have fulfilled one desire after another, we realize that we have lost 20 or 30 years of our lives without any true satisfaction.

Many times we think, “Let’s live just as we are, where we are, and how we are. Why live a life of quiet death here?” But the mind doesn’t listen. We calculate our salary in dollars, dividing it by the daily exchange rate, and then multiplying it by 40 rupees to figure out how much we’ve saved that month. We proudly announce, “We saved this much this month.” At the end of the year, we proudly say, “Wow, this much income,” but our mind quickly calculates, "Let’s work another year and we’ll save more." As that year ends, we again extend for the next. In this way, we keep calculating in fractions, multiplications, and collections. But we never calculate what we’ve lost in life. The world doesn’t calculate our loss either. The outside world has many fantasies about our lives and us the NRIs. We, who earn large salaries, appear as beings of heaven and bliss to them. They never realize that we have been deprived of many earthly comforts. Our pains, sufferings, anxieties, and frustrations are incomprehensible to them. Neither the outside world nor even our own close relatives, friends, siblings, or cousins understand. They just think, "They are NRIs. They earn well, so what do they lack? They must be living happily." But the pain, struggles, confusion, and sorrow of those of us who are sitting miles away, working hard to build a life, are known only to us. When we first come to a foreign country to work, we strive for a social life. It doesn’t take long to make connections because people are everywhere. The color of skin, language, and customs might be different, but aren’t emotions the same? Slowly, we choose people who align with our emotions and form bonds with them. We start creating new memories. However, alongside this, memories of our siblings, relatives, friends, and family back home in India haunt us. We regret missing family weddings and gatherings while we are away. We also feel the longing to read the books of our favorite authors as soon as they are released, or watch new plays and movies, or enjoy the food we miss so much—like the M.T.R masala dosa, Maiyas’ meals, the one-bite snack at Gandhi Bazaar, or the pani puri from Yediyur. We miss the movies at malls, the plays at Rangashankara, a quick shopping trip at Fort Block, a stroll along M.G. Road, a casual hangout with friends, the excitement of riding the metro, the joy of watching scooter girls crossing signals, pubs with dim lights, weekend resorts... We feel deprived of all these simple pleasures that once seemed so normal. There are no English medium schools here in Libya. Even if there are any, they are of poor quality and not worth mentioning. In such a situation, how can we even think about sending our children to school here? Therefore, it becomes inevitable for us to be away from our families back in distant India. In these circumstances, despite being so far away from India, many rumors about us spread, and not only about us but also about our families, creating stories that get passed on. The world is much more eager to hear bad news about good people than good news about bad people. Regardless of what comes, the immense trust between us and our families keeps us strong here, and sometimes we take things lightly and enjoy ourselves. However, these rumors, even if sometimes true, create doubt in our minds, making us question if they might be real.

Once, a doctor from Uttar Pradesh, who works with me here, had an old friend of his wife visit their house after many years. The friend told her, "I heard your husband married someone else there. Look at you, you're still the same. Why don't you remarry?" This left the woman, who was the mother of two children, confused. Initially, she didn’t believe it, but then she called her husband to confirm that he hadn’t married anyone else. To make sure, she kept calling his colleagues here and asking, "Is my husband married to someone else?" to get the assurance. Another time, rumors about the wife of a lecturer I work with here spread and reached her husband's family. She works in a bank in faraway Vijayawada. She was initially a cashier but was later moved to the housing loan section. Before sanctioning loans, she has to visit the site with one of her male colleagues or her manager to inspect everything. On one or two occasions, someone nearby saw her traveling with her male colleague on a scooter or auto, and the neighbor spread a story to her husband’s relatives, saying, "Your daughter-in-law is seen running around with someone." When the relatives called her husband to inform him, he laughed and reassured them, explaining his wife’s work and how it was necessary for her to travel with male colleagues for her job. Another time, a colleague's wife in Lucknow had gone to the movies with her husband’s friend, which also became a big issue. These are the types of stories that spread about us and our families. We take such matters lightly, occasionally laughing and joking about them. Despite all this, there are some who have spent fifteen to thirty years here. They have managed to educate their children well and get them good jobs while building homes for themselves. They have accumulated some bank balance and invested in fixed deposits. They have bought gold for their wives and children. They have provided financial support to their brothers, sisters, and relatives. They have completed all their duties and are now leading a peaceful life. On the other hand, some still come here looking for work in their old age to repay the loans for the house they built or to marry off their children. Dr. Basker, who came here at the age of fifty-seven, worked for four years and then returned to India. Dr. Shankar worked here for about thirty years and got his children good jobs. He returned to India just two years ago. Dr. Sahu spent sixteen years here and recently returned to India. Once, I asked them, "Don't you think you lost more than you gained?" Their only response was, "While we stayed abroad for work, we gained as much as we lost. But we don't mind it. Because we didn’t live only for ourselves, we lived for others too. We are satisfied that we did our duties. In life, to gain one thing, you must lose another. That is the rule of life, and no one can surpass it." How strange life is! We are born somewhere, grow somewhere, and build our lives somewhere else. And yet, how cruel and unbearable life can be! We accomplish something, but suddenly it pulls us somewhere else. Even when we are not ready to go, it spreads urgent and inevitable circumstances in front of us, asking, "What will you do next?" and without waiting for our answer, forces us to go there. It is for this reason that I left where I was and came so far to build a life, seeking something that was not there. Whenever I ask myself, "Was this really inevitable?" all these things seem insignificant in front of my work and the large salary behind it. Even if I want to leave, this illusion does not let me go! At this moment, the words of the poet Shikaripura Harihareswara come to mind: "A place you haven’t seen, A land you haven’t heard, Came here just to find peace; Without burning the bridge, Try to preserve as much as you can. Returning to the village, Only for the rainy season." This time, I have written about the hardships, dreams, disappointments, mental struggles, turmoil, disputes, and above all, what they miss in life. But beyond all this, there is one more intense and haunting thing they miss, which keeps haunting them now and then. I will write about it sometime later. Photos: Photo 1: Akakus Mountains amidst the Sahara Desert Photo 2: The author with his Sudanese and Libyan colleagues in the Sahara cold

11. A desert is not merely made up of sand…

The very next day after I arrived in Sebha, the university authorities informed me that I had been posted to the Ghat Arts & Science College, which was 660 km away. They also mentioned that since classes had already begun, I needed to leave for Ghat immediately. As instructed, a taxi was arranged to pick me up from my hotel the next day. The taxi driver arrived at 11:30 a.m. and took me on the journey toward Ghat. Throughout the route, the vast Sahara—the world's largest desert—stretched endlessly before me. Everywhere I looked, there was sand, sand, and more sand! This was the first time in my life that I was seeing a desert, and it was none other than the mighty Sahara. Before witnessing it in person, I had heard many tales about deserts: that they are all about sand and heat. But it was only after I started living there that I learned that even deserts have an extreme winter! I had imagined deserts to be barren places where nothing grows, where water is scarce, and where people must travel miles in search of water, among many other preconceived notions. Now, I was experiencing it all first hand. Ironically, I had come to this vast desert in search of the greenery of life. Not long after I arrived in Ghat, I set out to explore the Sahara Desert with my Indian colleagues and Dr. Sunil, an Indian dentist working at a hospital there. For some reason, an intense desire grew within me to venture into the heart of the desert, to delve into its depths and discover its mysteries.

The Sahara Desert, the largest in the world, spans an area of approximately nine million square kilometers, covering about one-third of the African continent. It is divided into three regions: Eastern Sahara, Central Sahara, and Western Sahara, with the central part located in Libya and Algeria. The town of Ghat, where we live, is right in the heart of the Sahara! It’s a desert all around, with this small town in the middle. From any direction, if we walk just a short distance outside the town, all we see is sand, sand, and more sand! Initially, like many others, I believed there was nothing in the desert but sand. However, when I ventured into the Sahara, my perceptions turned upside down. Scattered here and there were small sand dunes, patches of green shrubs growing nearby, tall trees standing a bit farther away, and small freshwater springs. There were tiny streams, hot water springs, and patches of fertile land used for agriculture, nourished by vast underground water reserves. The Sahara also experiences rain once or twice a year. I marvelled at how much the enormous desert held within it! I told myself that discovering its hidden treasures only required patience and curiosity. The Sahara Desert is also home to the majestic Akakus Mountains, which stretch about 200 kilometres in length. The range begins near the village of Awinat, about 200 kilometres from Ghat, passes through Ghat, and extends to a village called Al Barkat, located eight kilometres from Ghat. When locals are asked how such a mountain was formed in the middle of the desert, they say that there was once a sea here. Massive rocks and mountains existed within this sea, and after the sea dried up, only the sand and rocky mountains remained.

The Akakus Mountains are ancient, and historians believe that civilizations existed here even before the Egyptian civilization emerged. This is evident from caves within the mountains that date back over 12,000 years, containing relics and paintings that prove human habitation. Archaeologists have found tools and images attributed to these early inhabitants. The Akakus Mountains are like a crown jewel of the Sahara Desert, adding a unique beauty to this vast expanse. It is a must-see attraction for tourists visiting the Sahara. Many European travelers come here, set up tents in the desert, and stay for two or three days before leaving. About twelve kilometers from Ghat, deep within the Sahara, lies a hot water spring with unique medicinal properties. Locals say it can cure joint pain, arthritis, and skin diseases quickly. Two separate pipes from the spring channel water into large baths, one for men and another for women. Each bath can accommodate about eight people at a time. Patients with joint pain, arthritis, or skin diseases spend hours soaking in these baths. Many people travel from faraway places, set up tents, and stay for months to receive treatment before returning home.

There is a town called Awinat, located 100 kilometres from Ghat, in the Sahara Desert. In this desert, there are rare natural rock formations that are unique and visually stunning. About 350 kilometres from here, near the town of Obari, there is a lake called "Gibran." This lake is extremely beautiful and is one of the most famous tourist attractions in Libya. It is surrounded by sand dunes and encircled by date palm trees. The name "Gibran" is derived from two words: "Geber" (meaning grave) and "An" (a name). It is believed that an ancient nomadic group may have camped here for a few days, leaving behind their graves, which can still be seen today, partially buried in the sand. A little farther from here is the village of Fezan. Geologists believe that tools and weapons from the Paleolithic and Neolithic periods have been found here. People who believe that water can only be found in an oasis are unaware that there is abundant groundwater beneath the desert. In the Sahara Desert (though this may vary in other areas), groundwater is plentiful, and water can be found at depths of around forty to fifty feet. Recent research by geologists has revealed that groundwater is ten times more abundant here than in other places. This means that water can easily be obtained by drilling a borehole, and it is often fresh and sweet. You may not believe it, but near our college in Ghat, there is a bore well that has been supplying water for about 35 years, enough to meet the needs of half the town, yet the groundwater level hasn't decreased, according to the locals. In my six years of living in Ghat, I’ve never seen people struggle for water. Despite being in a region where it hardly ever rains, water continues to be stored here and increases year after year. I still don’t have an answer to the question of how water is stored and replenished in this area.

In 1953, while exploring for oil, an enormous amount of fresh water was discovered beneath the land here, revealing a vast groundwater resource. Later, in 1969, when Gaddafi came to power, he initiated a man-made irrigation project to make use of this resource. By 1984, the project was completed, earning the title of the world's largest man-made river. Libya has around 1,300 wells, from which 7,100,000 cubic meters of water are supplied daily to cities like Tripoli, Benghazi, and Sirte. The same water is also used for farming in the desert, where people cultivate crops and sustain their livelihoods. Agricultural activities in Libya are mainly concentrated in coastal areas. Here, they grow crops like barley, wheat, tomatoes, oranges, apples, and melons. Most of the vegetables are sent to Tripoli and Benghazi, while in the desert regions, they grow small quantities of wheat, barley, melons, tomatoes, and especially dates. In the southern part of Libya, there are many villages, where people raise goats and grow grass to feed them. However, milk and yogurt are imported from Misrata, about 1500 kilometers away, while many vegetables come from Sebha and Obari. Interestingly, the people here raise goats to sell for profit during festivals. They buy small goats at low prices, raise them well in their farmhouses, and sell them at higher prices during Ramadan and Eid celebrations.

I once had the same misconceptions about the desert, thinking it was barren, with nothing growing, no water, and people walking miles to find water. But when I stepped into the desert, all my misconceptions melted away like mist. Photos: Photo 1: Greenery seen amidst the Sahara Desert Photo 2: Akakus Mountain Photo 3: Hot water well Photo 4: Camels in the Sahara Desert Photo 5: Natural rock art near Avinath Photo 6: Gebran Lake near Obari

10. Fidel Castro and Muammar Gaddafi as Two Phoenix Birds

When I decided to publish my column, Libya Diary, which had been featured in Avadhi, as a book in 2018, I began to think about who could write the foreword. The first name that came to my mind was G.N. Mohan Sir, the editor of Avadhi at the time. This was primarily because his book, Nannolagina Haadu Cuba (The Song Within Me: Cuba), had recently been released and had made headlines. I hadn’t yet read the book, but I had come across information here and there that it depicted the manipulations and conspiracies orchestrated by America in Cuba. Since my book also dealt with the schemes America had carried out in Libya, I felt Mohan Sir would deeply understand the subject matter and would be the most suitable person to write the foreword. However, when I approached him, he expressed his inability to take on the task due to his busy schedule at the time. As I began pondering whom else I could turn to, the name that immediately struck me was Sandhyarani Ma’am. She was then the associate editor of Avadhi and was responsible for overseeing and reviewing all the columns published in the magazine. Because of this, she was more or less my first reader. It felt natural to approach her, as she seemed to be the ideal person for the task. When I called her to request her to write the foreword, she too politely declined, citing her engagement with a new project and stating that she didn’t feel she was the right person for the job. I persisted and insisted, asking her to write about how she, as a woman, perceived Gaddafi and Libya. My insistence and affection eventually won her over, and she agreed to write it. For this, I remain forever indebted to her. While writing the foreword, Sandhyarani begins by saying, “While reading this book by Uday Itagi, another country, Cuba, was on my mind. Veteran journalist G.N. Mohan, who had traveled to Cuba to participate in a convention, used the opportunity to expose America’s manipulative strategies to control Latin American countries under the pretext of Cuba. Mohan’s Nannolagina Haadu Cuba (The Song Within Me: Cuba) helped me understand several aspects of Uday’s book.” These words resonated with me even more after I read Nannolagina Haadu Cuba. They reaffirmed what I experienced while writing my columns from Libya. During my time there, I met many locals and observed firsthand how Libya was under Gaddafi and what it became afterward. To portray Gaddafi accurately, it was essential for me to understand what people thought about him after the revolution. I traveled across all corners of Libya, gathering opinions discreetly. Many Libyans proudly compared Gaddafi to Che Guevara, calling him “Africa’s Che Guevara.” Some even likened him to Cuba’s revolutionary leader, Fidel Castro. However, for me, it was important not to compare Gaddafi to anyone but to present him as he was, as he was perceived by the people of Libya. As a result, the Gaddafi portrayed in my book is shaped by these impressions, grounded in the voices and sentiments of the Libyan people. Before continuing with this article, I want to share a truth with you. When I arrived in Libya in 2007, there were four Iraqi professors working at my college. The moment I met them, I couldn’t resist asking, “Was Saddam Hussein really so cruel? Did he exploit you? How did you tolerate his atrocities?” In response, one or two of them gave me blank stares, while another broke down into tears. Alarmed, I asked what had happened, and they subtly explained that it was all American propaganda—lies fabricated to plunder Iraq’s oil wealth. They told me about the schemes America had orchestrated and how Saddam Hussein was actually a good leader in many ways. They even warned that Libya might face a similar fate soon, but at the time, I didn’t believe them. However, when the revolution began in Libya in 2011 and most global media outlets started portraying Gaddafi and his Libya in a negative light, their words hit home. It became painfully clear how far America would go to serve its own interests, leaving me deeply disheartened. The "Arab Spring," which began in Tunisia in 2010, swept through Egypt and Syria before culminating in Libya in 2011. Only those truly aware understood the extent of America’s and its allies’ involvement behind the scenes. In all these countries, America succeeded in overthrowing leaders it deemed undesirable and establishing its version of democracy. I became aware of America’s manipulative tactics during a flight from Cairo to Benghazi via Tunisia, when a Tunisian civilian traveling with me vividly described the situation. He explained how there was no real need for a revolution in Tunisia; the monarchy there was functioning efficiently. However, America needed a pretext and justification to intervene in Libya. So, they used neighboring Tunisia as a stepping stone to infiltrate Libya. Rather than attacking directly, America employed this strategy, leaving me bewildered and shocked. After reading Mohan's Nannolagina Haadu Cuba (The Song Within Me: Cuba), these events became even clearer to me. How many third-world countries have fallen victim to America's schemes and selfish motives? Each time America establishes a new government in these countries, the truth presented to the outside world is vastly different from the reality on the ground. With the Associated Press (AP), one of the most high-tech news agencies in the world, under American control, the country has no difficulty twisting facts and projecting misleading narratives globally. This propaganda machine has been systematically functioning for years, leading to countless truths being buried and the injustices perpetrated by America being hidden. In this context, Mohan’s book, Nannolagina Haadu Cuba, meticulously unravels America’s conspiracies in Cuba and the challenges it imposed on Fidel Castro, exposing these manipulations thread by thread.

While reading this book, Gaddafi's Libya and Fidel Castro's Cuba unfolded vividly before my eyes. I noticed several striking similarities between these two leaders. Both were highly sensitive politically. Both fought tirelessly for the people of their countries. They brought dignity and pride to their nations. Both fed the hungry, provided water to the thirsty, clothed the destitute, offered shelter to the homeless, and ensured healthcare for widows and the sick. Both stood defiantly against America. They fiercely opposed and condemned America's imperialist policies, instilling this resistance deeply in their people. As Mohan Sir mentions, the Cubans were always ready to challenge America, standing on their toes. Similarly, every child born in Libya grew up harboring resentment against America. Because of this unwavering defiance, both leaders endured unimaginable hardships. Yet, they persevered and built a new nation. They emphasized human resource development, education, healthcare, agriculture, and industry. Both were humiliated by America in international forums like the United Nations. For many years, they were subjected to intense pressure from America and faced multiple assassination attempts for various reasons. America called Castro a "ghost" and labeled Gaddafi a "mad dog." For others, the word "war" may carry a straightforward meaning, but when spoken by America, it is rebranded as "peace operations" or "efforts to foster humanitarian relationships." Using such justifications, America invaded Iraq and Libya, overthrowing their powerful leaders and looting their rich oil reserves. How many times has this happened? Mohan Sir's observation that America does not tolerate countries building relationships with Cuba was as true for Cuba as it was for Libya. Another key aspect I noticed was that both countries embraced socialism and implemented it in its true spirit. The political framework in these two nations was quite similar. In both Cuba and Libya, the election process was straightforward, with candidates chosen through open voting. Just as in Cuba, political leaders in Libya were easily accessible to the common people and lived as ordinary citizens. The elected representatives were no exception—they didn’t enjoy privileges like luxurious cars, mansions, or special treatment during their term. For instance, the labour minister of the Ghat province, where I worked, was my colleague. Despite being a minister, he did not have a government-provided car or any exclusive benefits. He commuted in his private car, without any security or escort, to teach at our college and then left. Even in banks and government offices, he wasn’t shown any special treatment. Like everyone else, he stood in queues to complete his tasks. Similarly, governors, ministers, and political representatives in Libya lived among the common people, blending in seamlessly with the masses. The friendship between Gaddafi and Castro remained strong until their last days. In the spring of 1977, when Fidel Castro visited Libya, Gaddafi welcomed him with great honor. Before the media cameras, the two exchanged smiles, seemingly amused by the similarities between them. Later, they sat together in a private room and laid a solid foundation for a 30-year relationship between Libya and Cuba. In 1980, when Cuba faced an attack from the United States, Gaddafi extended a helping hand to Fidel Castro. When Castro became the Secretary at the Second Communist Party Congress in Cuba, Gaddafi enthusiastically praised him. Both leaders worked tirelessly to rapidly develop their respective nations and make them prominent on the global map, which earned them the ire of America. America's resentment escalated when Cuba declared itself a contender in the global arena, particularly in wrestling. The U.S. maligned Cuba by labeling it as the "city of AIDS." Similarly, Gaddafi became the target of defamation campaigns from the day he assumed power in Libya and ousted the American military from Libyan soil. Matters worsened when he revised the oil company contracts and brought them under his control, which struck a blow to American economic interests. The new foreign policies and economic strategies introduced by Gaddafi further irked America, amplifying the smear campaigns against him. Both leaders were fighters, staunch opponents of America, and vocal critics of imperialism. They passionately advocated for the principles of equality and inspired hope and resilience in their people through their grand visions. Both were harbingers of a new era, facing repeated attacks from America. However, their fates diverged: Fidel Castro survived these challenges and died a natural death, while Muammar Gaddafi fell victim to America’s machinations. Castro described Gaddafi's assassination as a tragedy for humanity, condemning it as the epitome of America’s malevolence. He even refused to recognize the new government in Libya and immediately withdrew Cuba’s embassy from the country, showcasing his unwavering faith in Gaddafi. Both leaders, like the mythical Phoenix, repeatedly rose from the ashes of America’s oppression, continually standing firm against it. The tragedy, however, lies in the fact that the hardships these great leaders endured due to America’s actions remain largely hidden. Instead, the outside world often perceives them as villains due to distorted portrayals. For people like me and Mohan Sir, reflecting on Gaddafi's Libya and Castro's Cuba evokes a sense of pride in these leaders. Yet, the immense suffering they endured at America’s hands also brings tears to our eyes, sometimes manifesting as a deep ache in our hearts. To understand their stories, people must shed prejudice. More than that, they need compassion, an open mind, and a sense of love and empathy. Only those with such qualities can grasp the essence of their lives and struggles. For those who lack these traits, how can we ever make them understand? Kannada Original: Uday Itagi English Translation: Uday Itagi