March 05-06, 2011 - Saturday/Sunday
I woke up early, meaning to say, I stood up at once after praying the rosary. (Usually, I switch on the alarm at 5:00 AM and pray the rosary. After praying, I sleep again and wake up at 8:00 AM to start my day). For today, we had to go back to the bank to get Kiko's remaining cash before proceeding to Zletin so I really had to get up early. I wore a floral midi dress with brown accent, brown coat, and the ash brown pants to which Kiko sewed the secret pockets with the money. I didn't like my pants because I felt that it didn't match my other outfit so I told Kiko about my concern. He looked at me sharply and with a snarl, said: "What! We are in a critical situation and all you can think of is the combination of your clothes!" I raised my eyebrow and with a naughty smile, retorted, "Hello, if you have to engage in some exciting adventure, you might as well do it in style." "Ang arte mo!(You're so fussy!)," he chided. Anyway, I had no choice but to wear the said pants.
We met Khasim, my Iraqi pal, at the bank. He told us that when he withdrew his salary midday of last Thursday, the maximum withdrawal per transaction was LYD 500 and it has been the limit since then. I remembered my hesitation to go to the bank early that Thursday and the fact that Kiko and I were able to get LYD 5000 each. Mentally, I told myself: "Oh, so Mr. Kiko's common sense paid off again (in reference to other situations in the past)." Verbally, I remarked to Kiko and Khasim about how good God was and how he had guided us last Thursday. Kiko answered, "I know that you have a good relationship with God so I'll give you one of my checks. I'll take the queue two times and if you'd be able to withdraw the check I would give you, then we could have LYD 1500 today. I'll withdraw the remaining balance next week."
I prepared myself to follow the line for women (separated from the men). I said a silent prayer as I lined up. When it was my turn already, I gave the lady teller a sweet familiar smile while handing Kiko's check (she knew me by face though I wasn't sure if she knew me by name.) She was saying something in Arabic which I could not understand. I gave her an inquiring look, still with the smile on my lips. She shook her head and gave a sigh, then she handed me the LYD 500. I said "Salaam alai kum" and left the counter. I passed Kiko in the men's line and he said, "Malakas ka talaga sa Diyos, ha!" (You're really close to God, huh!).
As I waited for Kiko on a bench near the entrance, I had time to observe people. There were more people who lined up for the 500 dinar per family incentive fee from the government. Different kinds of people queued the line: young and old, rich and poor (judging from the clothes they wear). I wondered about the political stand of these people. Do they get the money because they still believe in the Great Leader or was it just for survival?
After the bank transaction, we went to the terminal for Zletin. We passed by the port of Tripoli and saw the ship rented by the Philippine government to transport Filipinos out of Libya. We heard that it would go to Greece where the repatriates would wait for their flight going to the Philippines. We also saw lines of people, mostly dark Africans, with their luggages, waiting for their ride back to their native country. As we were leaving Tripoli, I noticed walls smeared with paint covering anti-government slogans which protesters wrote on the walls. I did not pay much attention to them.
Having known about confiscation of cell phones on checkpoints, I kept mine at once. Kiko did not keep his mobile phone because he said it was just cheap and the border patrols would not be interested. At the first checkpoint, young-looking soldiers peeped through the car windows and asked the driver where the vehicle was going and the number of foreign passengers it had. They requested for our passports and we said, " Filipini ... doctors (Most Libyans have the notion that if you are teaching in college, you have finished PhD so teachers in college are usually addressed as doctors.)... then we mentioned the name of our university. One of the soldiers asked for our cell phones. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head but Kiko, who went through body search, showed his phone saying it has no pictures. The soldier got the cp and removed its memory. Kiko attempted to make a protest but the soldier had already instructed the driver to move on.
We didn't get the passport from the driver anymore. Nine more checkpoints where to be passed on and the same procedure would be undertaken. At the third checkpoint, a soldier asked for cell phone again. Kiko showed his phone telling him that the memory has already been confiscated at the first checkpoint. The man got the phone's SIM and gave the cp back to Kiko. "S..t!" He blurted as the van sped away. Kiko was so pissed off, thinking of his contacts in his SIM (I was tempted to say, "Hello, you were the one who told me not to declare my cell phone, remember?" But it would be like declaring war, so I just kept quiet.) All the other checkpoints were just routinary. They did not search our things, even Kiko did not undergo another body search, especially when the driver announced that his foreign passengers were "Filipini ... doctors ... Al Fateh (our university)".
We passed by Khoums, a city 1 1/2 hours of easy driving from Tripoli. Kiko had to get the passport of his wife from one of the Pinoy profs there. Our batchmate, Concon, was the one who introduced us to the new teachers from Davao, in Southern Philippines. They shared with us their baptism of fire in Libya.According to them, during the second week of the rebellion rebels tried to take over the pro-government Khoums. One night, demonstrators marched on the city's main thoroughfare going to the police headquarters. The teachers' flat was located on the said street, three or four buildings away from the HQ. As the night progressed, the crowd became unruly. They tried to open the gate of the headquarters and tried to climb the fence. The police had no choice but to defend themselves. When the teachers saw a sniper on the rooftop of the building opposite theirs, they decided to save themselves by lying on the floor. They prayed as they listened to the bursts of gunfire. Nine cars were burned by the rebels that night, those that were near the Police HQ. There was also one side of the HQ that was burned. Government reinforcement troops came to assist the local police. Khoums survived the siege but it was a very traumatic night for the six Davao ladies.
Finally, we arrived at Zletin. There was no sign of unrest in the town. The regime's flags were all over the town center so it's easy to identify whose side they patronized. We walked slowly because of the heavy load in my tummy. When we reached the flat, a black African guarding the entrance did not allow us to enter. I called up Thel to fetch us downstairs. The dark man said something to Thel pointing to Kiko and me. Thel smiled and said, "No, me wife; she friend." Apparently, the reason why we were not allowed to enter was because the guy thought that Kiko has two wives. Kiko asked me to call Therese, a Filipino colleague who lives in the same building. When Therese came down, she explained that I came to visit her and I would stay in her flat and not in Kiko's. That settled the problem. This showed that Zletin is a conservative place.
Therese stayed with Kiko and me in Tripoli for several months during our first year. She's like a sister and this visit gave us time to update each other. She had two flatmates, both English lecturers, but one of them, Malou, left two days ago for the Philippines together with Dario (also a tenant in the building), and Ate Remi from Mesolata, Edna's flatmate. They were pressured by their families that's why they decided to go back to the Philippines.
At about 5:00 AM Sunday we woke up with a start after hearing bursts of gunshots and the honking of cars. Therese had an 8:00 AM class and she was not sure whether she would go or not. One of her colleagues called up saying that the gunfire was in celebration of the liberation of Benghazi from rebels. It was held simultaneously in all pro-government areas. Later, we learned that it was just counter-propaganda. Benghazi celebrated it's freedom from the regime's clutches so the government conducted the mock celebrations just to create an impression of victory to the outside world and to the Libyan people.
When Therese left and I was alone in her room watching television, I realized that more than anything, the government was pre-occupied with protecting its image to the outside world. Where on earth would you find patrol guards who would confiscate laptops and cell phones (for possible pictures they could produce) instead of searching for guns, grenades and other firearms? And what government would have time to bother with covering up anti-regime graffiti on walls by repainting them within hours after they were written? Well, as Kiko said it, "It's only in Libya."
Lunch and supper were soulful meals, shared by people who had common sentiments, that is, to brave Libya's rebellion in order to earn money for families back home. The presence of Kiko's kids, Kithe and Khyce, was a welcome respite from the seriousness of the situation. Yes, Zletin was definitely peaceful, but there was something amiss which my heart could not identify.
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