#Libya #Tripoli

The situation in Libya is deteriorating by the minute! Honestly, it just breaks my heart. I try to do my part; I study hard as a student and I try to spread positivity wherever I go. Unfortunately, from what it seems, that's not what everyone is doing. And the reality is that there's more of these inconsiderate, devilish thugs than those of genuine piousness and patriotism :/ These outrageous power cuts that last for hours beyond belief and tolerance are just a minor conflict that everyday Libyans have to deal with. Kidnappings and senseless murders that occur on a daily basis are the real horror stories of the aftermath of the revolution, which is something that should never be regretted because a dictatorship is as horrendous as its aftermath. One of the kidnappings which ended with an unmerciful murder is that of an infamous and respected shaykh, Nader Al-Omrani, really shook me to my core. It still infuriates me how his murderers, these bastards that don't deserve any goodness in the world, are still living (possibly, among us) with no punishment to their vicious act. No counter-back movements. The other kidnapping, which was a more realistic portrayal of what kind of anarchy we are dwelling in, is that of Dr. Ahmed Belhaj, my previous Anatomy lecturer. Every time, I remember him, his passion for teaching, his enthusiasm, everything and anything in fact it just BREAKS ME. It gives me the painful realization that any of us, anyone of our loved ones could be picked up in the streets and seen no more after that. No information about their disappearance, no sense of what kind of misery they're living in. In this freezing cold, God knows where they are making him spend his days and nights. I hear stories of a child being placed in a kitchen for months with his hand tied to his foot so he won't pray and a man who's just working hard to feed his family placed in the bottom pit of a well. And I pray to dear God that my own lecturer, one of the BEST anatomy lecturers Libya has to offer, isn't suffering; isn't DEAD ;(

Faith

By Nuha Dadesh

I was feeling conflicted and torn.
"Why am I here ?" "Why was I even born?" 
Pessimistic thoughts were taking over once again;
Life was getting boring and mundane!

But a hopeful thought started to flicker around
And I started to feel safe & sound.
Remembrance of my lord
That's what moved toward
Utter enchantment
Tranquility and contentment.
Relying on Him makes me secure
And my faith is what lets me endure
Whatever calamity comes my way!
And what a grace it is to pray
To the Creator of it all:
The skies, mountains & each rainfall

Power is Out. AGAIN!

By Nuha Dadesh
     A simple switch off could have the power to control an entire nation.
     As soon as I set foot in the, now destroyed, airport, I was welcomed with a power outage. And that was how my story with Libya’s infamous power cuts started!
     A baker making bread, a professor giving a lecture, a mom ironing clothes, a girl straightening her hair for a party, or a student having a late night studying session: they all come to a halt as the provision of electricity does too.
     Because life must go on, resolutions emerged. A prominent one is the power generators, and it didn’t take long for them to become widespread. However, their disadvantages led to further problems rather than a resolution. Firstly, their prices, never mind the need for benzene to fuel them, are absurdly costly. Moreover, a pounding stress results from the responsibility of maintaining them. In addition, they are an alarming hazard to the environment and dangerous. For instance, a man once lost a finger or two while trying to operate on one. Furthermore, a house burned down recently due to a power generator malfunction. Conclusively, Libyans have this thing where they don’t solve a problem from its roots; rather, they come up with solutions that center the problem without ever really eradicating it.
     Nevertheless, those with power generators are considered the “lucky” ones. When the blackout hits, the unlucky folks get to inhale the toxic air from the neighboring obnoxiously sputtering generators. The amount of hours that need to be endured without electricity usually coincides with the extent of dependency on it. For example, if it’s humid outside and an air conditioner is a desperate need, then there will be a power cut with a duration of eight hours or more. On more than one occasion, families had to deal with no longer functioning house appliances because a moron enjoyed pressing the switch on and off over and over again. Moreover, numerous businesses collapsed and others shut down. Ultimately, the power cuts’ torturing impacts exclude nobody dwelling in this North African land.
     The effects of the immense power cuts are endless. One of the incredibly frustrating consequences is the tedious Internet connection. Furthermore, countless homes end up with another shortage: water shortage. As for students, the will and zest to study diminishes as soon as the power goes out.
     The power cuts’ crucial timings and settings left the nation feeling cynical. There are areas that barely get to experience the misery of prolonged power cuts. But then again, how would a country indulge in a civil war if there wasn’t something vital for a living to skirmish over? No one genuinely knows the reason of the outrageous power cuts, but maybe it’s as one woman put it, “Our ticket for overthrowing Gaddafi.”
     “Better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.” Every family has become accustomed to a solution or a routine for the inevitable power outages. Oddly enough, the antipathy and the bitterness turns into radiating energy as each house gets its lights back on.

College Life in Libya ~ Part II

By Nuha Dadesh

    You can bomb a building. You can bomb a city. You can even bomb a country. But the one thing you can’t just bomb out is the intriguing passion of education seekers of a nation.

    I started my second semester at the Pharmacy faculty on the second day of April. It was a sunlit day that rendered a prosperous omen. I ended up sitting on one of the stair steps that led up to the seats of the auditorium due to the crowdedness at the first lecture of Physical Pharmacy. Little did I know that I would find myself struggling to find an appropriate spot for the upcoming lectures as well!

    Apparently, a hectic administration can be found within every aspect of a system in Libya. There weren’t legitimate adjustments affixed with the new alterations concerning the schedules, lecture settings, and the timing of the examinations. As usual, the ones with the least power to do anything are the ones that get to taste the bitterness of consequences. For some reason, the class before mine was held back a semester and so there was a larger amount of students for each course than usual. Therefore, students commenced to wait right in front of the lecture doors in the tiny hallways; desiring a seat that would provide a suitable environment for learning something- if anything. In addition, outrage and infuriation from those who were held back caused an unfriendly atmosphere. Subsequently, signs were posted on the walls warning those who were causing jams in the corridors. Fortunately, amendments were made weeks later that suited us better.

    They seemed perpetual; the amendments that is. All throughout the semester, almost every week, there was an alteration that had been put into place. It was either changing our lecture hall settings or our course, lab, and/or examination schedules.

    Without a warning, exhaustion swiftly ensued. A six days a week attendance was strenuous to maintain. Moreover, quitting, which was an insistent thought, sounded much better than studying the piled up packets. However, as the first assessment started to approach, so did my zest.

    The laboratories depicted the lectures in a further fascinating way. For instance, during one of the Pharmaceutics Labs our assignment was to analyze prescriptions and reason which ones would be dispensable, which portrayed a mental picture of what working in a pharmacy would be like. Furthermore, the Physical Pharmacy Labs always offered the opportunity to deal with the instruments we so often heard about during the lecturers. The Organic Chemistry lab’s professor, the most enthusiastic faculty member out there, continuously astounded us with new information.

     Dr.Gabbaj has an ambition to bring out the best in his students. For example, individual oral tests were his special way of getting to know the potential pharmacologists’ level of knowledge in Organic Chemistry. Likewise, when I stood face to face with the Chemistry genius that once upon a time was honored by the Queen, my brain tended to forget everything it ever learned about Chemistry. “Next Monday, I want you to explain to the class which is more acidic: the Benzoic or the Salicylic Acid,” he spontaneously requested after I was apparently done with the oral test. “You will be the one reminding me!” he added. The unsolicited opportunity to give a presentation triggered eagerness from within me, and consequently I did my research on the Acids. The following Monday I took a front row seat. After he was done with his teaching, I raised my hand. “The Benzoic Acid thing?” I reminded him. “Oh yes, come talk to us,” he acknowledged. Confusion diffused throughout the seminar and all eyes were on me. I asked him one last time if I could give the presentation in English, which he replied to, “English, Arabic, whatever you want.” I wasn’t as nervous as I was during the oral exam. “I’m gonna tell you about the difference between,” I started off. “The differences,” he corrected. “The differences between the Benzoic Acid and the Salicylic Acid.” I continued. Long story short, up until I was done with the presentation, he was attentive as I spoke and corrected me when I was at fault.

    The faculty unequivocally became my second home. The persistence, courage, and enthusiasm that exuded from my fellow classmates made the challenges bearable. Furthermore, the kind gestures given by the guys that sold our “Sheets” always put a smile on my face. Whether it was the janitors or the head of the faculty, almost all members of the department worked hard and with pride, which rubbed off on me and put those pessimistic thoughts to sleep.

    “Without struggle there’s no strength.” The sleepless nights, studying, and exams during Ramadan were wearing and fatiguing, but they made us better students. In conclusion, as I ate my last Shawerma sandwich of the semester with my new college besties, I realized that what my dad advised me once was beyond true; “Humans are adaptable.”

    

Back Home. #Libya #Tripoli

By Nuha Dadesh

    An ordinary girl with an extraordinary life journey; a perfect description of the past 16 years of my existence on this planet.     

    Tripoli, Libya is where my first ten years were spent. Correspondingly to everyone, my childhood had its ups and downs: from new siblings, good grades, and new friends to my grandfathers' death, getting in trouble, and bullies. Overall, I was settled and happy.

    My life drastically changed when my parents, siblings, and I traveled to the United States of America. My family immigrated so that my father could acquire his Ph.D.

    Fast forward five and a half years of adapting to what became my second home, I found myself back to the same city that built me. I returned all grown up, with a new first-language, a distinctive viewpoint on life, and loads of stories to tell.

    It was a bittersweet day due to my devastation of leaving Dearborn and happiness to see my family and friends again. The airport welcomed me with a power cut on that very hot September day. I was sitting on a bench still traumatized by the fact that I actually returned to Libya when I saw this man coming in my direction. Fortunately, I didn't scream or do anything embarrassing 'cause that man turned out to be my uncle. After we shook hands and exchanged glances of each other, he did what he does best and started to mock me. Minutes later, I started to recognize faces that were so endearing to me.

    I can still vividly recall that car ride with one of my uncles from the airport to my grandmother's house, where everyone was welcoming us. The first person that I saw once I got out of the car was my grandmother in tears of joy, of course! She hugged me tightly and I would've been in tears as well if only I believed what was going on at that moment. I remember thinking to myself, " Wow! Grandma is really short!" In fact, she was shorter than me. As I stepped in the house, my three aunts were all gathered up, and more than one voice was saying, " She looks like Masaraa!"

    There were many welcomes from loved ones, and each encounter was unique; some people changed greatly, but others stayed the same.

The first week back in Libya involved lots of sleeping. Plenty of times, they'd try to wake me up because friends and family were still coming over to see us, however, that was an impossible task. I did lose a lot of sleep during the last days in America, the airports journeys, and on the multiple airplane rides, but I suppose that it was my way of escaping reality.

   After a week of staying at my grandmother's house ( from my father's side), I went with my other grandma to sleepover. That night became days , and they were doubtlessly the most exciting five summer days of my life. My uncles and grandma spoiled me, to say the least. In fact, they even took me with them to the pool house they owned. During the day, like the sun, I would be full of light and energy, but as the daylight turned into darkness so did my thoughts, and I'd usually cry myself to sleep. I never wished for my life to change, thus when it did, I didn't accept it.

    My dad came and picked me up back to my grandmother's house. Another week of unforgiving summer heat and frequent power cuts passed. I mainly spent the daytime using my phone since it was the only thing that kept me connected with the western world. I would text my friends if they were up, listen to American music, or look at the photos of me in the USA.                    

    Junior year of high school started after residing in my hometown for less than two weeks! My anticipation for school was as low as how I was feeling. A few days earlier I swam carelessly in the pool, and I got the most unfortunate sunburn of my life. I realized how unflattering I appeared which made me despise heading to school even more, but my dad was stern as ever and forced me to go.

    My father and I went into the office to tell the principal that my papers for school haven't arrived yet and if she would let me in until the papers came. I was astonished by her acceptation of his request. As a teacher guided me to one of the classrooms, she asked me a question that I didn't know would be asked hundreds of times more. "Why did you come back?" she asked. "My dad brought us back because he wanted to live in Libya" is the answer I kept giving. I never understood his way of thinking. As I walked down the corridor, many thoughts were erupting in my mind. "Can't believe I'm here." " Why am I here?" " This is definitely not Edsel Ford High School!" Those thoughts came to a stop when I saw this girl jump out of her desk and literally scream out, " NUHAAAAA!!!" It was Ritaj. She was the girl that became one my best friends in fifth grade, shed tears when she saw me leaving Libya years ago, I talked to for an hour on the phone months before I came back. For some reason, I just stood there so oblivious to everything. Our conversation was the typical chat between two best friends that haven't seen each other in over five years. Another companion that I realized was sitting in that classroom was Khawla. She didn't recognize me but she remembered who I was when I told her, "It's me! Nuha Dadesh."  The first day of school wasn't as dreadful as I thought it would be. That day I walked home to my grandma's house since it was closer than where we were staying.

    The second day didn't start out well either. Finding an outfit to wear was a bit of a disaster since half my clothes were at grandma's and the other half was in my suitcases at home. Luckily, I managed to find a black dress with a black cardigan and a gray scarf. Apparently, I was late because a teacher was yelling at some students and I. No one told me when school officially started. I stood in the morning line with all the students as we did some exercises and listened to the national anthem. I saw a teacher picking some girls out of the line, but I didn't give much thought to what I witnessed.  It turned out that those girls were chosen since they weren't wearing the school uniform ( I got lucky!), but once more no one informed us that the uniform was obligatory the first week of school. Out of those girls that got verbally abused by this "counselor", was my best friend since first grade. Doha: the girl that sat next to me on my first day of school, threw a surprise party for me in fifth grade, also was in tears when she hugged me goodbye. This time, I was the one that did the recognizing, and once again she sat next to me. As we were talking, she reminded me so much of my best friend Sara. Moreover, the English teacher walked in and asked the class about their summer vacation. Everyone randomly blurted out answers. Then, suddenly,  the class was a bit quieter when I shared with them the states I visited during the summer. The uniqueness of my summer wasn't the cause of the silence, rather it was the fluency of my English and my American accent. With a sweet smile, the teacher commented, " I like your accent!" As it became a routine, I also walked home to my grandma's house that day.  

    The following two days didn't prepare me for what was coming. I started to get to know my companions better, thought I was blending in, and tried to accept reality. I sat next to a darling named Tasneem, who also was a classmate of mine in primary school. As friendly as possible, she would try to start conversations, but I kept responding with one-word replies. My misery disguised the fact that I was a loquacious individual. Furthermore, I mainly listened to people and made plenty of observations.

The first Thursday of the school year was an unpleasant one. The school required that all girls must wear white scarves, which made any beauty on my face disappear. I took a look in the mirror, and the reflection it provided was not an attractive one. The sunburn that I got days ago didn't help either. To make myself a bit more confident of the way I looked, I put on a bit of eyeliner. But I immediately wiped it off  'cause I remembered that that wasn't allowed as well; besides, it didn't even help much. It was the typical chaotic school day in Libya. The third period was supposed to be gym time, however since there was no gym, we went outside to the courtyard that was filled with sand and garbage. We were all thirsty for a cold drink due to the summer's high temperatures. One of the girls went to ask the teachers for a cup of water, while we waited patiently in the hallway. Out of the blue, as I was having chit chat with Doha, a hand grabbed me into a room. I comprehended what was going on whilst remembering the rumors I heard earlier. She got out some wipes and started to wipe my eyes out ever so aggressively. She took a look at the tissue and saw a dot of leftover eyeliner on so she started wiping my face too; hoping there would be some bronzer on. I was in a frantic panic. Two women walked in and sat down. The most uncompromising woman I have ever met was cursing me and I couldn't dare stand up for myself. Her words were harsh. She asked for my name and said that she was going to show the paper tissue to my dad! Obviously, she wasn't having enough fun because she decided to take a look at my scarf in addition. She invaded my private space for the second time and asked how many scarves I was wearing. Confused at the question, I answered "ONE!" Apparently, there were girls that wear double scarves so their Hijab would look puffier. After she wrecked my scarf, she ordered me to go fix it. My whole body was shaking as I was trying to put it back on. She came next to me, took my hair tie, and told me that I couldn't wear it anymore!! One of the teachers commented, " I know her sister Nada that goes to the nearby Middle school! She wears her Hijab in a modest way, and she is a respectful girl." I mistakenly thought that she was going to get me out of this mess, but she continued, and I realized that she wasn't on my side neither. " This girl, well, she's the opposite of her sister! I couldn't even recognize that they were related." I finally got the urge to say something; " What are you trying to call me?" I guess I shouted ,and the monstrous female yelled at me for disrespecting a teacher. Afterwards, she continued to screech at me for not putting my scarf on the "proper" way. I kept apologizing for no good reason. " I was in America and I don't know the rules for this school. I promise that I will follow them from now on," She replied, " I know what these girls that come from America are like!" With her head held high, she stormed out of the room.

    Every single tear that was found in my body exited out of my eyes seconds later. Shouting uncontrollably for my dad to come take me out of school made the two teachers that stayed in the room fear me in a way. Ironically, they brought dry napkins and wiped my tears. " There's no need for your father to come," one of them answered in a scared tone. I persisted my demand. One of the teachers took me to a really disgusting bathroom to wash my face. Without consciousness, I found myself in a room with a bunch of other teachers and my friends calming me down. Nonetheless, it was too late to stop my crying. They took me back to the classroom, and I continued to cry in front of everyone! During lunchtime, I went up to my uncle, who was a teacher, weeping. I told him everything in detail. I was again in that room with the counselor and uncle Hassan. She was being nice to me and asking me why I was crying. " Look, sweetie, if you need any help this school year just come to me!" My crying, sobbing, and weeping ended when I unbelievably witnessed her act. " Tell her Ok," he said. I looked at him in disbelief too. "OK?" I got out of the room. My uncle took me home 'cause I couldn't handle any more Libyan drama.

    "Uh oh! She's crying!" My aunt, Hanan, and grandma came to see what was wrong. I went upstairs crying. I called one of my best friends back in Dearborn, Luma. She was in the car heading to school when I complained about my school day. " Nuha stop crying! I'm gonna start crying." " It'll be ok trust me." Those comforting words were my reasons for calling her. Another two to three hours of crying passed. My dad came and picked me up. By the time I got home, I was already tired of reporting the sickening story. I gave my parents a brief summary.  

    The whole Dadesh family was invited to my great aunt's house to celebrate the birth of her daughter's newborn baby. I managed to forget what had happened earlier and dressed up. I was excited as it was my first party in Libya. Once I got there, there was this selfish, mean woman that told me, " Why didn't you straighten your hair? Oh, it's probably the humidity that is making it look that way!" I managed to ignore her since I knew that she says those kind of unkind words to make herself feel better. I ended up having plenty of fun that night with the teenage relatives of mine. I went home feeling better.

    Uncle Hassan's wife told me the next day that he had had a stern talking to with the counselor, and that I should not worry about her anymore.

#Ramadan2016 in #Tripoli #Libya

By Nuha Dadesh

     Ramadan: a blessed, preeminent month, Muslims all over the world anticipate it enthusiastically, and is the incentive for bettering oneself to those participating in it. The holy month’s advent this year was on the sixth of June.

     The month of forgiveness, charity, worship, and supplication to the Almighty is uniquely celebrated among the diverse cultures that inhabit this planet. Nevertheless, shared customs and traditions are also evident.

     Substantial transformations have been plummeting on the capital city of Libya, Tripoli, ever since the 2011 Revolution. Primarily, prolonged power cuts have, nowadays, been the norm for the denizens of the city during Ramadan. “Coincidentally,” the power outages almost always coincide with Iftar time! In addition, an obnoxious sound of power generators is what Libyans listen to while ingesting their meals due to the desperate necessity for electricity, which can be absolutely infuriating!

     Considering Libya is a Muslim country, one would assume that Ramadan has an impact or interference on schools and universities, but it doesn’t. Students are obligated to carry on their normal activities, whether it’s attending classes and/or lectures or examinations. Although the experience is somewhat tedious, nothing can impede us indomitable Libyans.

     Customarily, candid camera prank shows and sitcoms air on Libyan Television. However, this year’s theme for most of the displays was violence. Perhaps, it’s the effect of the aftermath of the wars the country has vividly witnessed.

     In addition, the prices have once again skyrocketed. Thus, it isn’t uncommon to perceive beggars on the streets. And the current cash liquidity crisis flares up the Libyan struggle.

     Sun set, calls to prayer echoing from minarets, the hustle to get the food ready on time, family gatherings, Taraweeh Prayer, and late night snacks are a brief summary as to what Ramadan encompasses. Just like any visitor, Muslims greet it with their best behavior (for the most part). As Ramadan fades away, worshippers spend time reading the holy book, Quran, and praying at the mosque; generally intending to increase the amount of good deeds. Moreover, Eid preparations mark the end of the beloved month and include baking sweets and shopping for new outfits. 

Life

By Nuha Dadesh 

   

I'm crumbling

I'm dying.

Everything is frustrating, 

Utterly defying!

No more hopes

And no more dreams

Sadness is what seems 

To be exuding out  me.

I want nothing but a good afterlife eternity.

But I have to live

I have no choice 

Tells me a faint voice.   

I have to survive

I have to revive.

And who knows ? 

Maybe only out of this misery 

Will I ever thrive !