At the airport in Tripoli, February 22, 2011

Some of the crowd of people trying to leave Tripoli.

February 22, Trip to the Airport Part 2

Please read part one before reading this entry:

      The crowd that had collected in front of the airport was immense. It is hard to estimate how many people had collected by the time we reached the airport.  As we pulled up in the taxi a constant stream of people were getting out of cars. We walked about half a mile to reach the front of the airport. The closer we got the denser the crowd. On BBC we later heard estimates of 50,000 people at the airport that week. By 1:00 p.m. on Tuesday February 22, I would estimate two or three thousand people were waiting; although I could be way off. By any standard there were lots of people there. Near the entrance to the airport the crowd was dense. It seemed totally insensible to try and enter the airport, but with urgency and the idea that we had tickets booked on a flight, we began to fight our way through the crowd. We had three carry-on suitcases, and three other smaller bags that we were carrying, plus our six year old daughter Katyann. Although not much considering that thiswould end up being all our worldly belongings, it was enough to make manuevering complicated.  Finally when we could go no further, Lenore picked up Katyann and I grabbed all the bags except for Lenore’s daypack and we started to push forward. Evidently our determined looks, our young child, and our western look combined to part the crowd. We somehow managed to pass through while so many others were unsuccessful.

                I still marvel that we were able to get into the airport that first time. When we were dropped at the airport, it is true we had no ride back home, we were in fear of the impending revolution, we heard the rumors of people being shot and beaten, and we had a driving desire for survival to drive us forward. Our urgency was multiplied by our need to protect our child. Yet our need was no more urgent than the hundreds, possibly thousands of people already gathered there. We were not the only family. There were many mothers with babies and families with children. Many were weeping, most were lost with no where to go. We all had one purpose: to get into the airport and onto a plane to safely. Even though we were one of thousands with the same goal and in the same circumstances, we made it through and so many others did not.

                I think two factors made it possible for us to enter. First, we had a young child. Not only Libyans, but most North Africans have a special love of children. Although there were many families, the majority of the people waiting at the airport were young males. They were probably oil workers, mostly from Egypt and possibly Turkey as well as every other country in the world. These young men, not only often let us by, they sometimes helped pass our luggage forward also. Having a young child certainly helped but there were also other families with children that weren’t so lucky and probably were just as determined.

                The second reason is somewhat less clear but I believe because we were well dressed, confident, and western we were allowed through. It is as if people assumed we must have a flight. When we got to the door, there were soldiers guarding the entrance and only letting certain individuals through. As much as others may be discriminated against and probably exploited by the west, these individuals of darker skin and less income usually let us pass.  If they said Turkey, we said yes we are going there. What ever they called out, we said yes and pushed forward. At the door, Lenore pleaded that we had a young child; they let her in but stopped me. She kept yelling “that’s my husband”. Half way in and half way out they tried to push her back out.  When she wouldn’t budge, they finally let me follow. The inside of the airport wasn’t much better than the outside. Again pandemonium greeted us in the foyer.

                First, we had to pass our luggage through the baggage x-rays. They were being especially diligent and at this point, I lost my Swiss army knife, a multipurpose tool, and my nail clippers. You couldn’t blame them. Even though these items were in luggage that was to be checked, they really needed to make sure no potential weapons entered the airport. After this security check we were met with another mass of people trying to enter the check-in area. Again, people were fighting to get into the gate area which was being monitored and guarded by another set of security staff. I am not sure what the criteria was to get in, but when someone waived some British passports and said “British” they were let through. We waived our American passports and yelled “British” as we pushed behind the couple into the check-in area. Now at about 2 p.m. we began our search for the ticket counter for our flight. We couldn’t find it.

                There were long lines for every airline. We made our way through the crowd to the counters for British Airways. Even though this wasn’t our airline, we thought they might be affiliated with British Midlands Airways (BMI). There was no one at the counters although there were several people waiting. A sign written in crayon said London. Eventually though an airport official pulled the sign down and threw it on the floor; telling us that no flight to Britain would leave through that gate. We could find no one in the crowd that was scheduled to fly out on our flight. In fact we could find no sign of British Midlands Airways. Katyann and Lenore were exhausted. Lenore said that she felt faint. We found a place were they could squat while I went looking for our ticket counter.  I found people here in there who could speak English. None knew of the airline I was looking for. Some of the people had been in the airport for two days trying to get a flight. Hours earlier when we left for the airport, we had known nothing of the chaos that awaited us. Even after searching for over an hour without any sign of our flight we still had hope. At three p.m., it appeared that all the flights had been delayed by several hours. It was possible that our5 p.m. flight had not been posted yet.

                Finally, I found a Dutch person who flew out of Tripoli regularly and he informed that BMI shares with Austrian airlines. I made my way through the crowd and asked the gentleman at the Austrian Airline counter about the BMI flight at 5 pm. He laughed and said it had been cancelled. His laugh should have upset me, but he didn’t laugh at me. It was the laugh of the absurd. So many people trying to leave and there just were not enough airplanes or staff to accommodate them. His job was overwhelming. Hundreds of people clamoring to get on a flight; any flight to any country would have been fine.

Finding out that our flight was cancelled, that we were marooned in the airport, that we had no ride home, or really no safe home to return to, was one of the lowest moments. For an instant my eyes watered my knees shook. I felt hopeless, but I needed to pull it together for my family. Before I talked to Lenore, I needed to have a plan. Many years ago, I had found myself clinging to the side of a mountain with a similar feeling. Stuck on the side of a crumbling tower of rock, I had figured I was finished. No way up and no possibility of going back the same way I had gotten there, a fall to my death seemed inevitable. At that time, with no other options, I decided it was better to struggle forward than to die frozen in inaction. I survived and had learned a lesson. Here, again in the Tripoli Airport, with no way to go forward and not wishing to go back, I knew I needed to find a solution.

 At that point, the best option seemed to be to get out of the airport and walk out of the crowd till we got to where people were being dropped off. I figured we could probably find a taxi that was dropping someone off and get a ride back into Tripoli and to the school. This would seem fairly simple but remember, we did not speak Arabic and most of the regular taxi drivers did not speak English. There are no street signs in Tripoli, so communication can be a problem. Getting into a random taxi in Tripoli is also somewhat of a risk. We would have to go through army check points that were getting more and more dangerous with no one to translate. It was not a pleasant prospect, but at that moment it seemed the only option. We needed to do this before dark. Once it got dark, no one would be driving and the airport might become a very dangerous place.

Part 3 will be posted soon

February 22, Trip to the Airport Part 1

The following is an account of our trip to the airport in Libya.

February 22, 2011

After spending the night camped in our classroom, we left the school about 12:10. We were booked on BMI flight 470 at 5:15 p.m. Mohamed our driver explained that he was just about out of gas but he thought he could make it to the airport and back.  He informed us that all the gas stations were either closed or the lines where so long that it took hours to get gas. He had waited for two hours the evening before only to have the station close right when he got to the pumps. As we passed the first gas station on our way to the airport, sure enough, the lines were blocks long. This scene would be repeated as we passed two more gas stations. He told us that most Libyans had stocked up on plenty of food as soon as it seemed like there might be problems.  He himself had enough food for several months. He thought, only bread and gasoline were going to be the main problem for most people in the near future.

                This was the first time that we had ventured out since taking refuge in the school on the night that the conflict actually erupted in the capital of Tripoli. We had been following the uprising in Benghazi but the embassy had assured us that there was very little chance that the unrest would get very serious in our part of Libya. In the Taxi, my wife, six year old daughter and I were heading to the airport to catch a plane to Great Britain where we had friends. We were hoping at that time to return to work in a few days. I was nervous about traveling alone in the taxi with my family. I would have preferred traveling with one of the schools security guards or staying with the rest of the faculty as a group. We were advised that it was best to get out as soon as possible and that having a ticket and reservation was better than staying. Most of the other twenty or so teachers at the school were not able to book a flight until Wednesday. We thought that we were on of the lucky ones who were able to book a flight on Tuesday. We would later find out that we were not so lucky.

At the first check point the soldiers peered into the car and waived us through. I wasn’t even sure they were soldiers, but Mohamed assured me they were. He was ex-military himself and seemed to know how to get around. The soldiers had guns but were pretty much dressed in civilian clothes except maybe for a military beret or jacket worn my one or another of the 20 or so soldiers. It all seemed rather informal and not that threatening. I had been through Central America and Nicaragua during that conflict in the 80’s. In leaving Nicaragua to Honduras, the Honduran soldiers were very intimidating and threatening. The Libyan soldiers seemed polite and congenial by comparison.

That is one of the things I have always liked about Libya. The soldiers always seemed like they were trying to keep order and were more concerned about doing their job rather than threatening anyone. I would not hesitate to ask a Libyan soldier for assistance if needed; something I would be intimidated to do in other countries where the soldiers have more of an attitude. It always seemed that they didn’t want to inconvenience you anymore than necessary. Often they would just wave us through check points.

This is not to say that the military or the police in Libya are always friendly. There was a short period of time when I and a few teachers were pulled over at these check points. I had my car papers confiscated because I did not have a Libyan driver’s license but a friend was able to get it back without too much trouble. This practice only happened a couple of times. I had also experienced evenings where it appeared that there was an attempt to round up illegal immigrants. A few evenings we had witnessed large roadblocks were the soldiers appeared to be checking the papers of certain individuals and putting them in trucks. Those evenings were a little scary but they always waived our car through. The blue square and number on our license plate indicated that we were foreigners from the United States. The soldiers on these evenings had a much more serious expressions and I was glad that they did not ask me any questions.

This day on the way to the airport was bright and sunny and the temperature was cool but pleasant. It appeared that many shops were closed but on the other hand many were open. The traffic was lighter than usual. Everything appeared fairly normal except for the long lines at the gas stations that we passed. That day at that hour in that location, there was very little indication the country was in the beginnings of a violent struggle for change.

Mohamed explained that he was saddened by the whole state of affairs. His first comment was that the media was all lies. “The Libyan press, Al Jazeera, CNN, the television, do not tell the truth” he vehemently exclaimed. He further expounded that the Libyan TV “shows everyone happy and waiving Khadafy flags” and the foreign press was the worse; making it appear “like the whole country was falling apart”. Mohamed further explained that there had been some violence but that in Tripoli 70 to 80 percent of the people did not want the conflict. He explained that he did not approve of Khadafy but that “the blood” served no purpose. He said that maybe 20 years ago a revolution would have been an alternative but not now as the country and life for many was improving.

He didn’t see a swift end to the conflict. He said that Libya was different than Egypt. Khadafy would not go easily. That first night of trouble in Tripoli, February 22, a police station had been set afire and another government building burnt, but he did not feel this reflected a popular revolt. Even so he was very concerned where the conflict was going. He felt that the people who started it would not be able to stop. Once they began, they would have to see it through or Khadafy would hunt them down and kill them. He reiterated that Khadafy would not back down. He predicted that neither side could stop and that most people did not want the conflict. He repeated “They don’t want the blood”.

Nearing the airport, we passed a herd of sheep attended by an old woman holding a wooden staff and wearing a yellow dress and a white veil. The bright desert sun, deep blue Mediterranean sky, red sand and palm trees stuck between block houses surrounded by piles of plastic bags and other trash was a strangely beautiful and a typical scene demonstrating much of the incongruity and growth of modern Tripoli.  The second and last check point was much more businesslike and the traffic slowed considerably. At this check point, the soldiers, still in civilian clothes and carrying automatic weapons, were searching the trunks of cars and trucks. Again when they saw that we were European or American, they waived us through the check point without any hassle.

As we approached the airport, Mohamed became very concerned. There were droves of cars pulling off to the side of the road and letting out their occupants. Mohamed said that things had changed considerably since this morning. The scene reminded me of the movie “Close Encounters” where people from all over congregated without knowing why waiting for something to happen. In this case it was very different. These people were afraid of what happen if they stayed. The hundreds of people converging on the airport were hoping for a flight that would take them to their home. Without internet and with all the phones being down, people who wanted to leave had to go to the airport to buy tickets. They had no choice, they were afraid, and they were desperate to get out of Libya.

My next entry will tell more of the early scene at the airport.

My Response to the Call for a No-Fly-Zone over Libya

My personanal opinion is that many of the people calling for a no-fly-zone do not necessarily have the best interest of the Libyans or the American public at heart. Especially some of the more conservative members of the US Congress. Below is the e-mail that I sent to the United Nations Security Council.

Dear United Nations Security Council:
Please exercise caution in calling for a no fly zone. My understanding of the no-fly-zone is that you would bomb airports and shoot down planes and helicopters. This would only lead to more people dying and doesn't exactly foster any sort of good will. Pilots and people at airstrips have families.

I lived in Liybia and was recently evacuated. From what I understand most Libyans don't want or like the present violence. Your actions would only lead to more chaos and more loss of life.

Use your good sense before initiating any sort of military action. Most of the people calling for the no fly zone either have their own self interest or are reacting to an over-sensationalization of a very sad situation.
Sincerely,
Michael E. Baldwin

Safe ın Turkey

After a harrowıng tıme ın the Trıpolı aırport, we made ıt to Rome. From Rome we traveled to Istanbul, from Istanbul to Cappadoccıa. I am carefully documentıng our exodus from Trıpolı. I wıll be postıng ıt as soon as I am ın a more stable locatıon.  For some reason, I was not able to post on the blog from our hotel. We should be ın the UK around the 10th of March.