19. A Multilingual Poetry Session in the Sahara Desert

Last June, a multilingual poetry session was held at our college. As the name suggests, it was a multilingual poetry event. However, most of the poets present were from the Arabic language. In addition to that, poets from other African languages such as Hausa, Tigrinya, Yoruba, Igbo, and Ibibio were also present. Along with them, a poet from Italy came to represent the Italian language. She became the main attraction of the event. The reason she stood out as the main attraction was that, amidst the many black poets, she was the only white-skinned one, and she looked very attractive. What made her stand out even more was that she wore a mini skirt that barely reached her calves, sitting cross-legged and casually in front of everyone. In a sense, among all the 'covered' women, she appeared as an 'half-exposed' one. Perhaps because of this, all attention was on her. Moreover, with her slender, fair, and alluring figure, she appeared somewhat 'sexy.' Everyone couldn’t take their eyes off her. When it was her turn, she sat with her legs crossed in a casual manner and read her Italian poem in front of everyone. After finishing, she went to the side of the stage, lit a cigarette in full view of everyone, and returned to sit with her legs crossed again. Some men there, seeing her bold behavior, were surprised and thought, "What is this, an open display in an Arab country?" However, none of them had the courage to tell her anything. Ironically, those who had expressed dissatisfaction earlier were now looking at her legs, enjoying the moment as if they were experiencing pleasure with her. Some young boys even dropped their pens or mobile phones, pretending to pick them up in order to stare at her legs, whispering amongst themselves and laughing mischievously. But she remained indifferent, sitting still like an unmovable mountain. As for the other women, they seemed to think it was a crime to even imagine wearing such a dress, as if it were beyond their imagination. Some of the other women wondered if they could experience even a fraction of her freedom, imagining themselves in her place and fantasizing about it. As a rare occurrence, there was a good event at our college, and we decided to take a photo to remember it. However, when we went to grab the camera, some of the married individuals present stopped us and told us not to take any pictures. When we asked for the reason, they explained that there were eight or so Arab women sitting on the stage, and it wouldn't be appropriate to take their photos. We decided to at least take a photo of the Italian poet, so we asked for permission. They didn’t give permission for that either. The only person allowed to take photos was the cameraman arranged by the event organizers. He took full advantage of this opportunity and freedom. What happened? During our college's Open Week celebrations, when female students would sing or perform other entertainment (except for dance), we would freely take photos. No one would object. So, when we asked the organizers about this sudden opposition, they explained that the event was organized by outsiders, and our college was only providing the venue, so they didn’t have much freedom to intervene in such matters. The poetry session concluded, and after it ended, everyone was shaking hands with the poets. Among them, some men were shaking hands with the Italian poet, saying "Majbooth, Majbooth" (meaning strong), with extra enthusiasm. It was unclear whether the compliment "Majbooth" was directed at her beauty or her poetry. Most likely, it was about her beauty. The Libyans, especially those from the Ghadh region, didn't seem to know Italian, except for English, Arabic, French, Hausa, and Turkish. As the poet was about to leave the venue, some men, eager to take a photo with her, approached and asked, "Please, can we take a photo with you?" She immediately responded in English, saying, "What’s this? No one is allowed to take photos with your women, but you can take photos with other women? What kind of justice is this?" With that, she hurriedly got into her car and left. The way she spoke seemed to suggest, "You may be happy with other women, but shouldn’t others be happy with your women at home? What kind of justice is this?" By the way, the topic of the poetry session was "Freedom." Later, we learned that the event was organized in light of Libya's transition to "Free Libya." Regardless, the poets read their poems in their native languages related to freedom. I had a student sitting next to me who knew Hausa, Turkish, French, and Arabic, and I relied on their help for translation. As soon as the poets finished reading their poems, the student quickly summarized them in English and whispered in my ear. One Arabic poet asked, "Didn't we say we have gained freedom? But are we truly free?" Another poet stated, "Even though we celebrate our freedom, we must not unknowingly become slaves to others in the process." A third poet remarked, "Does true freedom even exist for a person? It’s just an illusion. Because from the moment we are born, we are free, but from that point on, we are bound in one way or another." This reminded me of the famous French political theorist Rousseau’s statement, “A man is born free. But everywhere else he is in chains.” A Turkish poet asked, "Why can't we have the same freedom as flowers and birds in nature?" A local poet who read in French questioned, "What good is external freedom when we are slaves within ourselves?" However, it was a poem in the Hausa language that truly captured the attention of everyone present. The poet said, "Today, as women, in the name of freedom, we are neglecting our families and resorting to divorce. We think freedom comes from leaving our husbands. But the truth is, it is because of our husbands that we have more freedom and respect in society. We are failing to realize this truth." In the context of rising divorces in African countries, she gave a piece of advice to the women present. It was particularly striking that, in response to this poem, the applause came mostly from the women, even more than the men. What the others said, I couldn’t understand, and neither could anyone else there. How could they understand what was being said if they didn’t know the languages? Why do they even organize such multilingual poetry sessions? If they do, they should translate the poems into English or the local language beforehand. After the poets read their poems in their original languages, it would make sense to read the translations in the local language or English. Only then would the event have some meaning and fulfill its original purpose. Otherwise, if the poems are just read in their own languages, how would others understand, and how would the purpose be achieved? By the way, why did they hold this poetry session in such a small village? Some people wondered if it would have been better held in Tripoli, Benghazi, or Sebha. Others remarked that today, if there’s any literary consciousness left, it’s only in the villages. That’s why it was good to hold it here. The irony is, most of the poets who had come were from the cities. Kannada Original: Uday Itagi English Translation: Uday Itagi