Evacuation From Tripoli: Part 5

This is the final chapter on our exit from Tripoli. Please read parts 1-4 before reading this conclusion to our exit from Tripoli.

Part 5: Please read parts 1-4 before reading this.

Our friend from the United Nations had wondered off, probably to check to see if his wife’s flight had left. We understood airplanes were standing on the runway, just sitting there because of the lack of organization and the chaos in the airport. He returned to us and with a big smile and he said to my wife “How would you like to go to Rome?” He explained that he had been visiting with the Italians and that he thought we might get a spot on their evacuation flight. I cannot express how excited we were. The Possibility of leaving Tripoli had seemed so remote only moments earlier. 

We made our way to the opposite end of the airport. This took some time, but eventually we came to a group of people. One tall gentleman was holding up an Italian flag. Since there was no cell phone service, people would make their way to the airport with the hope of buying a ticket. Most people would arrive to find the same chaos we found when we arrived earlier that day. If they were lucky, they belonged to a country where there was an embassy representative to help them. In the case of the Italians, they had organized an evacuation flight and were busy gathering their citizens. Our friend from the United Nations introduced me to this man. He explained our situation again and asked if we could go with them. He didn’t hesitate and said sure. We showed him our passports and he said fine. At any moment I was expecting a problem or some sort of red tape, but this group was there to help. We were soon joined by our friends that we had been visiting with earlier. It turns out that they were also Italian.

They took our information, introduced us to a few people and took off to get our boarding passes. A true miracle had transpired. Our friend from the United Nations said that he would stay as long as he could but that he would have to leave before dark. He explained that someone he knew had been shot at during the evening before. The said his friend had ducked and that the car had been sprayed with bullets. One of the bullets had lodged in the headrest behind the driver’s seat. This episode had taken place near a location called the Regatta where many expats lived. It really wasn’t too far from our school where one of our teachers had left for the airport that same night at 12 pm. She had made it without incident. He did not wish to be out after dark because of this and other stories.

 The wait for the boarding passes seemed to take forever. When we first arrived at the Italian rendezvous a group had just gotten their boarding passes and had left to board the plane. We waited patiently for our turn. Next to us a young woman became ill. She looked very faint and people were asking for food. Lenore had packed enough snacks to last us several days. We quickly provided chocolates, cookies, and an apple. I don’t know if the young lady was diabetic, exhausted, or just freaked by the whole situation. Anyway the snacks seemed to really help. As we waited it got later and later.

At one point a huge portion of the crowd erupted in cheers. It reminded me of a professional soccer match. I thought that maybe a large group had been listening to a match and that their team had scored a goal. It turns out that there was a rumor that a plane bound for Egypt had landed. The large number of Egyptians broke into cheers. Later at some point they began chanting. I am not sure what it was but everyone around them including us began holding up our cameras and filming and taking pictures of the spectacle. Eventually, a plainclothes military officer began roaming through the crowd telling people to stop taking pictures. People lowered their cameras until he passed and then raised them again as soon as he was looking elsewhere. It was just like in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican. There a man stands in front telling everyone not to take pictures as thousands ignore him and take pictures of Michelangelo’s masterpiece. It was the same thing at the airport in Tripoli. No one was taking the security serious. There were just too many people to control. In some ways it was exhilarating, in other ways it was very scary.

What happened in that crowd of perhaps twenty to thirty thousand people, is probably similar to what happened in Egypt and Tunisia. We were all in the airport together and as a group we felt a certain sense of power. I believe all those people who had gathered to protest in those countries were empowered by their numbers and convictions. We also knew as a group in the airport in Tripoli that the lonely soldier was no match for us as group; we could take pictures if we wanted too. I can imagine the exhilaration of the people of Egypt standing in front of the soldiers in the square. It is great to be on the side of the crowd.

Eventually, a man returned with our tickets. We were some distance from the entrance to the airport. To enter we would have to go around the main body of the crowd and then go straight through the middle of multitude. We were told to stay close and to not get out of line. We needed to move quickly and keep next to each other. We had three carry on suitcases, a laptop bag containing our computer and two IPads, one adult backpack, and Katyann’s backpack full of Barbie dolls and her stuffed tiger and ‘pillowpet’ dog. My computer case also contained about five to ten pounds of student papers to be corrected and a number of educational CD’s so that I could teach my classes if we were not able to return for several weeks. This was not much if you counted it as all your worldly possessions, but it was quite a bit if you had to carry it for a long distance through a mob of thousands of people. A huge Italian security guard wearing a bright yellow vest with “Crisis” written on it scooped Katyann up and told us not to worry; he would keep her safe.

I almost said no to permitting the man to carry Katyann. She allowed him to carry her but you could tell that she was very afraid and about ready to cry. I thought, “it is our best chance if he is carrying her. He is much bigger than me and will be able to get through if I cannot.” As the sun set, we set out to follow the extremely tall man wearing a nicely tailored Italian suit and waving a small Italian flag. There were about thirty of us in our group. He yelled “Italianos” and we were off. We were accompanied by Italian security in bright yellow vests labeled Crisis in black letters. We were near the end of this Italian evacuation conga line with the big man carrying Katyann eventually working his way to the back to keep everyone going. I kept looking back. You could see that Katyann was terrified. Even on the outskirts, the crowd was dense. The security urged us on and we kept our eyes on the small well-dressed thin man holding high the Italian flag.

Most people on the outskirts of the crowd knew they weren’t going anywhere and parted to let us through. The Italian security were very forceful but very polite. Finally, we reached the last hundred yards right in front of the door. They told us again to stick together and not to stop for any reason. Here the crowd was not forgiving. These people were desperate to get into the airport. The masses at this point had lost their patience. Why should we enter and they could not?

As we pushed our way forward, the crowd began to push back. Libyan Soldiers appeared on either side trying to hold the crowd back. The Italian security and the Libyan soldiers dug their heels in and pushed back against the crowd. We pushed forward, they pushed back. Every once in a while a soldier would use his baton to beat back the crowd. We were almost to the door; in fact the first fifteen of our party of thirty made it through when the crowd finally broke down the security. People poured into the airport as the security beat them with their batons. You could tell that the Libyan soldiers were overwhelmed by the crowd. They closed the doors and we were stuck outside. We had almost made it. The crowd would surge forward and the soldiers would beat them with their sticks. We were stuck in the middle right in front of the door. I could see that the man holding Katyann kept talking to her as she cried and the people screamed on either side of her.

At one point a man would just not stop pushing and yelling. He was crying and clawing at the soldier who was trying to keep the crowd back. The soldier finally beat the man to the ground and started kicking him. It was impossible to know what to think. It was violent. There was blood and I wished my little girl was somewhere else. No one her age should witness such violence. I couldn’t even reach her. I wished she would just keep her eyes on me, but the sounds of the beating were too much she watched, cried, and reached for me. I couldn’t reach her with my arms. Only with our eyes could we connect.

The thunk of the stick connecting with a fellow humans was almost but not quite drowned out by the cries of crowd fighting to get in the airport. Saliva, sweat and possibly blood splashed off the victims into my face forcing me to wince and look away. These men, women and children were fighting to get out. The Libyan soldiers caught in the middle. For the most part they pushed back and tried to do their job. It seemed like only a handful had lost their cool and used their clubs. And here we were: the privileged and the chosen. We had a flight and they did not.  We were stuck on the outside for at least ten minutes but it seemed like hours. I could see the Italians arguing to let us in and the Libyan Airport security afraid of what would happen if they opened the doors. We waited to see who would win the argument.

Finally, about twelve soldiers and several Italian security guards reformed the corridor, the doors opened and we surged forward. So did the crowd. I remember squeezing past another huge Italian security. My eyes left my daughter for an instant to see him braced and pushing with all his might against the crowd; hands reaching past him, reaching for the safety of the airport.  Soldiers on either side were pushing back the crowd, beating them back with their clubs. They couldn’t hold so many back and people were breaking through. Several more people got between me and my little girl, but we were almost in. As we broke across the threshold, a Muslim lady in black with a white scarf covering her head squeezed under the security and entered behind me. She screamed for her family that had not managed to get in. What was she going to do now that she made it into the airport and her family was on the outside? Did she have money for airline tickets? Would she be able to find an airline that was selling tickets? Maybe she had lots of money and could get tickets for her family. If she did; she would have to go back out find them? Would they have to all fight their way back in?  The situation was so hopeless for so many.

Once we were back inside the airport, things were much simpler. We followed the line of Italians. Along the way the airport security would say “Italiano?” and we would hold our US passports in the air, waving them so they couldn’t see what country they were from, and say “si Italiano” in our best Italian accent. We snaked our way through the various levels of security with our boarding passes and no bags to check, we almost went right into the boarding area. We just had one more security check to go.  If we weren’t so desperate, it would have been funny. We had passed security into the boarding area and we were at the last immigration check point. Here about two hundred people patiently waited while about four Libyans checked passports, checked their screens to make sure we were not criminals, and stamped our tickets. It was excruciatingly slow.

We knew that at some point, that if it got to late our plane would not leave. Yet here, with all the patience in the world these four individuals were holding everyone up. We waited and we waited. Finally, someone said, you have a child. Go ahead.  Go to the front. At this moment, we only wanted to leave, to sit, to sleep, to not have to worry about our beautiful little girl. We picked up our bags and pushed our way to the front of the line one more time. Our beautiful daughter once again got us through and we were on to the plane. As we walked towards the plane with a group of Italians, a young Libyan airport worker kept saying “Why are you going? Everything here is fine. I live right down town by Green Square. Do you think I would be here if it was dangerous?” His convictions and concerns were true. He could not understand our panic. I pray that he is safe. He was a good person.

We passed right into the plane and found our seats. The plane was a very large Air Italian jet with a professional staff of stewardesses to make sure that we were comfortable. It was as if we were on any international flight. Eventually, the rest of the passengers made it through security. We had a long wait. It was very dark outside and at some point I began to have concerns that we might not take off. After some time, we eventually did take off and we were on our way to Italy, and then we went to Istanbul, then to Cappadocia, back to Rome and the Vatican, eventually settling in the United Kingdom to  begin rebuilding our lives. From that moment on I realized I can only root for Italian soccer teams and that I cannot hear anyone speak Italian without wishing to hug them. Viva Italia!