A few tastes of Tripoli

It would be remiss of me not to blog about food in Tripoli. Suffice it to say that I ate well. The food is influenced by Italian/Mediterranean and Middle Eastern. Last night I ate at a restaurant so swank we were greeted by a Maitre'd in a tux. There was amuse-bouche of goat's cheese and olives served and my Fettuccine Di Mare had an identifiable but exquisite fish in it that was to die for. As we walked back to the car we spotted a sweet shop which of course was chock full of baklava-type treats. To-die-for.

Of course it was predominately five star hotel-based eating for me on this trip..for security reasons naturally. I did manage to sneak away for a nice Turkish meal. I did also noticed that we were always the first to arrive at a restaurant. Libyans, like their Mediterranean cousins eat late. They were usually coming while we were going.

I must make special mention of the divine fresh juice I had at every place I dined at. Amazing from the kiwi smoothie brought to me at check in to the fresh unsweetened lemon juice to the tripoli speciality: the cocktail, a artfully layered with fresh mango, strawberry and kiwi in a bright swirl of colors.

 As I rushed to the airport, I managed one last meal of Libyan soup, which was like a Minestrone, except with chick peas instead of pasta. Good stuff.

Shop til you drop - Tripoli souk edition

When I travel for work, I always try to go shopping. I can't help it. I have the girl gene for shopping. So when I met a young Tunisian human rights activist here in Tripoli, I asked her (after much serious conversation about women's rights) if she would take me to the souk.

Assuming it was for practical reasons, Maha and her Libyan friend Munira, picked me up at my hotel and took me to the souk, a.k.a., the Marks & Spencer-like shopping mall. I tried to humor them for a bit, but looking at gaudy Turkish imports of lingerie and bedding was not exactly what I had in mind.

So I called my colleague Halima, who had earlier given me the scoop on Libyan handicrafts, and asked her to explain in Arabic what I meant by shopping. She did and off we went to the main Souk in Old City. As we pulled up in the taxi, the taxi driver burst out laughing and mentioned that this was the site of Gadaffi's last speech, where he promised victory, etc. etc.

Great...

Anyway, a little on edge with that comment, plus being uncovered and seeing lots of police around, my shopping gene fended off my chicken shit gene and I surged toward the souk.

It turns out that Maha had quite a lot of shopping to do herself and I felt relieved that I wasn't dragging these ladies here. She bought a ton of stuff for her house. And Munira was browsing as well. Methinks the shopping gene is universal!

After picking up a trinket or two just to say: "I bought these in Libya," we wandered out of the market and over to a scenic area with a water fountain and a castle-like structure - probably the old walled city - and took some pictures. Munira went off to her next appointment after I thanked her with a ton of "shukrans."

Maha and I waited for the driver to take me to my next meeting. We talked about Tunisia and activism and I promised to help her network with some people coming to Tripoli next month. Faraj, the driver turned up, and Maha launched into what I thought were directions, but soon they were laughing and chatting. She's electric and accessible to everyone. She looped me into the convo too - happily translating back and forth and giggling with us both.

Who's 'Cray Cray'?

I just had a scan of yahoo.com, which I continue to hold as the bell weather of what America is really thinking. It turns out America is crazy. Here is a sampling of headlines:

“Druglord’s daughter to give birth in the US”

“3 dead and 3 wounded in Ohio Apartment Shooting”

“Walmart moms give narrow edge to Obama”

Oh the commentary I have on each one of these gems.

So I’m trying to figure out why Libya crazy feels different and restrictive even. Is it cultural? Yes, definitely. Despite being a self-proclaimed anthropological gender specialist, I giggled and took a picture of an Abaya shop today. The Arab perspective on women is very challenging for a Western mind. But before I go getting all judgmental, I must admit it’s not all bad news. Women are pioneers in Libya too. Is it political? Well, having been here for a bit, the answer might be yes, but the jury is still out on what political space will look like here. It seems to be trending Islamist, but many are quick to point out that this does not mean extremists will take over.

Or, do Americans have too much freedom? Of course there’s no such thing, but when I click on OMG website (yes, I chose to do that) and see the headline “Honey Boo Boo is Cray Cray in LA,” I can’t help but think that maybe there is a limit and that limit might be televising obese child beauty queens. But it does seem that American freedom is where I tend to hitch big differences to when I travel. It is a wonderful difference that, ok, sometimes we don’t use to the best of our potential. But I feel truly able to say (almost) anything and do anything within the (mostly) fair rule of law.

Maybe to save myself from liberal and anthropological guilt, I can also say that I maximize my American freedom, because it is familiar to me. It is my culture (except for the beauty brat). Navigating rights in Libya or other foreign places is not easy for an outsider. Indeed, contrary to popular belief and political opportunists, it’s a party here right now in Libya, especially compared to the previous regime hosted by the O.G. evil dictator. There is much talk about “liberation,” and the women I talk to are excited about opportunities more so than concerned about challenges.

Is freedom in the eye of the beholder? No, I think we must hold the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as the standard for all of humanity. But how those rights are made available to and embraced by different nations, classes and ethnicities is crucial to their success.

Cautious Pioneers

Yesterday I met a ton of fantastic women. This shouldn’t be a surprise given that this is what I’m here to do. However, at first glance Libya, like many conservative Muslim countries, doesn’t seem like the place you will meet impressive women. Not many are spotted on the streets. The ones who do venture out do so completely covered and usually with an escort. At night, more crickets than women are spotted…

I went to the Libyan General National Congress yesterday to meet some of the women who were elected. We drove up to the impressive pre-Gaddafi's demise structure that was built to lavishly host African Union leaders with plush couches, gilded mirrors and opulent chandeliers. Apparently only one section in the back was damaged during the liberation of Tripoli, because a few of Gaddafi’s hardliner (and ill-fated) guards hid out there for a fleeting moment. The rest stands perfectly preserved. With some hesitance, the new Libyan government is taking up residence.

In what seems to be a constant theme in Libya right now of “opposite-world,” I met with the first elected women leaders in Libya’s history. In the extraordinary aftermath of “liberation,” a history teacher, a chemistry teacher, and a couple of housewives now run the country. How does a housewife in a conservative culture get elected? I’m still not sure of the answer. The conversation could have gone better. They are warm and eager, but they needed help. Not monetary support, but rather skills support. They are pioneers sure, but they’re not exactly celebrating their status as the first elected women in Libya. They are not treated badly by their colleagues or husbands, but they are frozen in terror of their actual tasks at hand. Libya’s inventing democracy. Right now. It has never been present and it is alien. Their concerns were not “how do we codify women’s rights?” “how do we make sure women have access to healthcare?” “how can we make sure women in rural areas gain skills?”

Instead, they needed help making decisions. “We’re afraid. We don’t understand legal issues. We are not lawyers. The men are confused too. We need help doing our jobs.”

Hmm, not exactly the women’s issues I was expecting to tackle. At the end of the meeting, one of the housewives made a beeline for Halima, our Libyan-American staffer. She asked her for a recommendation for a babysitter. Halima was floored. She could not imagine these very important, pioneering women so fixated on ordinary issues. We launched into quite a conversation afterwards about how to encourage and support these women. We also realized that before we get issue platforms together, there are a whole host of “government 101” tasks at immediate hand.

Tripoli Tales

“Are you a Muslim?” a teenaged girl asked with exclamation, while giggling and elbowing her friend.

I explained that I was just visiting. I can’t describe the friendly eagerness on her face. At once I felt out of place not for not being Muslim, but because I can’t remember the last time I felt the youthful exuberant energy this girl was projecting. She was like the Sun.

Today I had my first set of meetings to discuss women’s issues in Libya. I got a pretty good glimpse of the challenges to women’s participation that exist. For example, while there are more women in University than men, most women graduate and get married and never work, because that is the cultural expectation.

As I try to digest these opportunities and challenges for my job, my mind drifts to personal interactions I had today. The young girl stood out. Also, my guide for the week, Halima, who is a lovely woman born and raised in Virginia of Libyan parents. She returned to live here about 6 years ago. She told me her story of living through the “liberation of Tripoli.” She told me that she convinced her 8 year old child during a visit to the hospital 3 days before the liberation that the bloodied soldiers being carried in where actors in a movie. He bought it, since he’s a Sylvester Stallone fan. She said her children cheered with each precision bomb dropped by NATO. It sounded like a scene from Life is Beautiful.

 

We drove past the beautiful Mediterranean Sea, whose brilliant unique color blue does not judge if it laps at the shores of Libya or Italy. The only sadness is that there is nothing, NOTHING built up on the waterfront. The real estate mogul in me says “buy now in Tripoli!”

An exciting moment came when I got back to my hotel room. As I always do when I visit a Muslim country, I studied and studied and studied the covered women today. I figure the skill to perform the perfect head wrap is genetically predisposed in Muslim women. I’ve never been able to do it. But every time I try, I discover a new trick. So when I visited the Islamic Cultural center today I was at least a step ahead of my colleague who could not keep her scarf on her head. Mine was static (which was good, because it’s humid here and covering the hair is a good thing.) Anyway, I caught something about the wrap today – an extra loopdee loop that I had not tried before and I think I’m now pretty darn close to the perfect wrap. I’ll never tell now that I know the secret!

 

 

Nervous Nelly goes to Libya

It seems that Jess in HD is going to be a travel blog and although I did not blog from New Mexico or Cape May, I'm getting back on the board this week from Tripoli, Libya.

My first impressions begin in Frankfurt. With the exception of one very German looking guy munching casually on a sandwich while browsing the newspaper, everyone looks a bit skiddish. I was expecting to be awkwardly juxtaposed with a bunch of bad ass security dudes, but unless they are all Libyan families, I don't see anyone remotely resembling Russell Crowe. The women I see are completely covered. Shit. I gaze sheepishly down at my sloppy jeans and neon green sneakers and wonder how I can still find myself in such an amateurish predicament.

My mind is preoccupied by the following:
- I hate flying
- Especially to Libya
- I hate new routines (IAD-FRA-TRI)
- The Nats lost :( but at least the Yankees clinched
- really, Libya?
- And finally, wow, I really blew it on the dress code.

It turns out I probably should have been a little more focused on my visa situation. I did not get a visa before I left and all I possessed was a letter written in Arabic alledgedly saying that I could pick one up at the airport upon arrival. I went up to the NON-NATIONALS sign and found a mean looking young agent smoking a cigarette (everyone was smoking and working - so weird.)

He gruffly gestered that I needed to go over to a counter to my right, with big windows and small awkward openings to shout into (in English, useless). About 8 Libyan men are behing the screen. One of them grabs my passport and the letter and says "Take Seat Take Seat." I look left then right. No seats. He insists so I leave my passport and walk about 15 feet away to a bench.

I had been prepared for this, sort of. After about 15 minutes he came back with a receipt and told me to go get some Libyan dinar. To do this, I had to walk down a long hall way, down 2 flights of stairs, past baggage claim (hoping my bags were there), through exit security (what's up with exit security??) Just when I realized I would have to exit the airport without my passport and luggage I heard my name. Liz, my colleague who I had already met, was there with money. I embraced her, grabbed the cash, wound my way back through to my friend at immigration (no one stopped me) and got my passport and luggage.

The ride in was interesting. As one always does, I tried to callibrate what city Tripoli was most like. I was surprised that is was much more like a developing country than I was expecting. I'm going with somewhere in between Khartoum and Cairo.  There is evidence of war as we got closer to the small downtown. I saw a huge demolished compound and exclaimed "Wow, what was that?" "That," Liz said, "was Qaddafi's compound." "THE compound?!" "Yep!" Apparently you can now take tours of it...let's see if we can work that in.

A few other noticable damaged buildings. Some great murals (I took a couple of pictures, but haven't figured out how to transfer them to the computer yet.) We pulled up to the super swanky Raddison Hotel. I sipped my crushed Kiwi juice while waiting for my key. Gym, spa, etc etc. My room actually looks out onto the Meditterrean Sea.

I had suspected this wouldn't be a South Sudan style trip. This much is true. What's next? Not sure.

Oh, one more note before I pass out. I do not feel afraid here. There doesn't seem to be tension in the air. It seems like a normal hustling bustling city. That anxiety, at least, is put aside for now.