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