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