Around the Old City

It’s been a long while since I last posted something, January was a bit of a slow month for me, but by the end of it started to pick up – starting with a little trip long over due.

JG and I have been wanting to go around the Old City since we came to Libya, it was after a few minutes from where we live, and should’ve been the first that we went to before going to farther places. But I suppose the mundane necessities of life got us sidetracked so what was suppose to be done a week or two after we arrived took six months.

Anyway, we hitched a ride with one of JG’s staff who took us to the Fist Market every Saturday morning. From there we walked towards the Arch of Marcus Aurelius. JG is the history geek between the two of us, so I’m not very familiar with the facts, I just know that the arch dates back from about 160 AD and that it is a remnant of a the might of the roman army. And since I am not very familiar about the history and background behind the well-preserved archeological artifact, it is easy to assume that I wouldn’t find it interesting. However, what I find fascinating about it is the fact that one can find an ancient treasure surrounded by a developing city. I always thought that preserving such artifacts means showing value for the past and the history, what it teaches or reminds us, and for your culture and in some ways who you are and where you come from. That way you have strong sense of identity and are able to gauge at how far you’ve come, even by just keeping an old monument standing. Some places, some people don’t have that because they get so caught up in moving forward and keeping up with everybody else, and end up confused and lost because they forgot where they started. I am over thinking it I know, but that’s why I appreciate such things.

Anyway, around the arch are nice hotels and restaurants that you can go to. Most of them weren’t open yet so we just continued walking. Also surrounding the arch are small pathways that lead inside the Old City. I was afraid that it was going to be surrounded by people and we wouldn’t be able walk around because we’d make the people living inside uncomfortable, but it was quiet at times even empty. Perhaps the residents were still asleep of our somewhere, and the people we often passed by are even friendly and just let you be. It was nice to be able to slowly walk around and look at the old style and architecture within the walls.

One of the nice surprises we found inside was an old Catholic church. JG’s mom who was with us came inside for a short prayer so I was able to take a picture.

Aside from the Old French and British Consulate, there were also these cobbled residential streets that made you think of Europe or Italy.

After which we came around wall outside the Museum, to what they call here in Tripoli as Cornish. I dare say that I seemed to have noticed a lot of couples and some families either sitting or walking around the big pond. There were a bit of mosquitoes there, and I wondered why they weren’t bothered, perhaps they were too happy in each other’s company to care.

Since I’ve been there a couple of times, I took JG and his mom to Babalhiriya, amidst the souks and shops that sold everything from scarves to toys, from spices to rugs, to jewelries of shapes and sizes.

A few more minutes of walking and picture takings being the Filipinos that we are (and Filipinos love taking pictures), we ended our tour to have a nice fancy buffet lunch at the Corinthia Hotel. I personally enjoyed it, especially the sushi bar and fresh fresh oysters, fish, and corn (don’t ask why).

So there, my first trip around the Old City, there are still more places in it that we haven’t explored like the Mosques, the restaurants, and the museum; not to mention the other alleys were they say is the best place to buy souvenirs and Mediterranean trinkets of all sorts. So I plan to come back, maybe a few times more…

The Year of Travel – My 2009 Year End Special

Everyone seems to be in the year-end-special feel; and I too think that it is something one must do when they have a regular thing in their lives, just as the blog is to me. So here goes…

No doubt 2009 has been a memorable one for me, mainly because it is the year that my life as the Diplowife began. But most importantly, 2009 will always be significant in my life, because it is the year of travel. One might think that I am over-reacting about how I now find myself abroad, in a country so very far and different from the country I grew up in, so allow me to explain how amazing this is to me and why 2009 was a great year for someone like me.

I grew up in a very average Filipino family, and like most average Filipino families, money was always the main concern. We always only had enough for the necessary things, so travelling was never a big part of the yearly agenda. In fact, going out of town was even a rare occasion. Sometimes we get to go on excursions with other relatives, but never on our own to wherever we want, never ever on a whim. Perhaps when I was little we did, but that was before my mother (who may I say, still did the best that she can) wasn’t that much concerned over tuition and bills, and besides I was too young to remember.

This is also why I have such a soft spot for beaches. My birthday is in the summer season in the Philippines, so it was almost always expected that my party would have something to do with leaving the city to go swimming. We used to do it years before, again when I was too young to recall; but when the times got a little rough, it was a long time since I was able to go to a beach again. I do have some vague memories about our trips to the beach, which always seems very happy ones -thus, my attachment over it.

I used to dream about going to New York or Paris one day, or (since I have a repressed longing for it) live in a beach in Hawaii perhaps. I thought maybe if I find a good job after college, I can save up and travel the world, or at least Asia. But I also know that was a near impossibility. Yes, it is possible, many OFW’s have done it, but like many of them as well, they had to go through the eye of a needle, to find a descent work first, and then borrow a ridiculous amount of money to be able to get there. And I for one cannot bear to leave my family in debt whilst I run off to uncertainty. Many have done so, and got lucky, but many weren’t so lucky too – and I am not the lucky kind of person. Truthfully, I would have been thankful, if we had the means to see the entirety (or at least most) of the Philippines. It is a shame that many dream of leaving for another country without even trying to explore our own. So I just set my sites on that more reachable goal, and hoped that I can one day start to travel around sa Pilipinas kong mahal (in the Philippines that I love).

When JG passed the Foreign Service exam, it seemed wonderfully surprising to think that the once impossible thing, has turned into a big/major/very possibly possibility (of course he hasn’t proposed that time yet, but I was always positive about that). So come 2009, two years after JG was sworn into office, I urged him that it is imperative that we see as much of the Philippines as we can. As you may read in several previous posts, that is exactly what we did.

April 2009 was also a very special time for me, because for my birthday JG took me to Boracay, one of the most popular beaches in the Philippines (which by the way, was also my first plane ride).

At Boracay, savoring the beautiful beach

We went to Zamboanga in Mindanao the month after.

On a tree house in Pasunanka Park in Zamboanga

And to another beautiful beach in Moalboal in Cebu, that time with close friends in June.

Moalboal beach in Cebu. That little speck on the upper right part is me snorkling.

We also went to Baguio and Tagaytay, earlier that year, so I can pretty much say that I have at least been to all three, Luzon, Visayas, and Mindanao. It made me feel proud to say, that I was able to explore my country first before flying off to another.

And as they say, the rest is history (well historical to me at least). I am here, in a beautifully developing country, and Insha’Allah, as they say here in Libya, get to visit in others more in the years to come.

Diplowife in the ruins of Sabratha

My only regret is that I still haven’t had the chance to travel with my family yet, especially that I want to be able to take my Mom to a trip. But I will, as soon as we get back. Who knows maybe she may even come visit me here?

So years from now, I will look back and think that 2009 was indeed a great year for me. I have many other things to be thankful for, and many other things that I would rather forget. Nevertheless it was a great year simply because it is the year when something that was once an impossible dream, really came true. Who would have thought that I am somewhat lucky after all.

Happy new year everyone!

Missing the Commute

I miss commuting. There I said it, I do. Before we left Manila, I was so thankful that I was finally getting away from all the heavy traffic and congestion that the everyday-commute brings. I hated lining up to get inside a jeepney, I hated being cramped inside the train, I hated sitting beside people who sit sideways (thus occupying tow seats instead of one) while they loudly chew a swad of bubblegum.

But living here in Libya has made me realize that I took for granted the great thing of being familiar of the place. One of the things that JG hates about me is that I always sleep when we’re commuting, something I miss being able to do as well. At home, even if I sleep inside a jeepney or a bus, I know I wouldn’t miss my stop. And even if I did, I know what I would do and where I’d go. But here I can’t just go where I want to; I am thankful don’t get me wrong, nevertheless being at the mercy of others people’s driving skills and schedule is not the same.

I would like to learn to commuting here in Tripoli, but I can only imagine how hard it would be for me since I don’t speak Arabic. Besides, it might just be me, but I always chance upon passing IVECO’s who either have wobbly hind wheels or having machine problems. Maybe one day, when I have at least a bit of grasp of some Arabic words and see less of the broken down IVECOs, I can learn to avail of Libya’s public transportation services. As of now, I am not ready yet.

One might ask, why doesn’t a diplomat’s wife buy her own car? In the future we do plan to, but that still leaves some doubts. I suppose it is common knowledge that one must be an experienced driver when getting behind a wheel here in Libya. And that is someone I am not. As mentioned earlier, I have been a commuter my entire life; and also mentioned earlier, just like a little baby, I often find myself dozing off when in a running vehicle (especially in the morning). On my home, I often think whether I can drive the highways of Tripoli. Yes, yes, I can always learn. In fact, I was becoming confident of that notion and was thinking about getting some lessons; until one day, when I saw a small Suzuki suddenly swerve from left to right, fly off the road to the sidewalk, somersault in the air, and crash top first. I gasped in shock, and I really thought the driver was done for, but I was even more shocked when he got out of the car. The teenage boy who was driving, seemed dazed, but was very much alive.

The unfamiliar streets of Tripoli

The only time I was able to see something like that is when I go see an action flick. Of  course it can happen anywhere, to anyone, but I’m not going to lie, I have noticed that a lot of drivers here seem to not like following proper traffic safety rules. Then again, who am I to say what the proper way to drive is? But even my Libyan friend who drives for me sometimes, always says that in Libya, you have to have ten eyes when driving. He often points out other drivers who turns first before signaling, or the ones that speeds down the highway like a maniac on the lose, and special mention to the accidents we pass by almost everyday.

These, I know are but ramblings of a new girl, in a new place. I apologize in advance if my observations seem rash, or if it seems that I am comparing my home to Libya who obviously have a different way of life.  But I do miss commuting; I miss being able to read a book, or look back at a street in which someone I know lives, or be able to decide to walk on a whim stopping by a favorite store. Perhaps this is homesickness, perhaps this is impatience over being able to be familiar of a place. Maybe I’ll get over it, and one day I’ll get to know Tripoli too – I don’t know. Right now I can’t help it, I just do miss it.

In Manila, it's like this everyday - Oh how I miss it.

Christmas Post

I must admit that I am a bit sad that I am away from home during the holidays. As I was telling a friend the other day, I have this notion that I am entitled to have Christmas blues since this is my first, away from my loved ones. Truth is I am not the yuletide type of person, but Christmas for me has always been about family which is why I cannot help but feel a bit melancholy.

Another reason is that December 31 is the birthday of my most favorite woman in the planet – my mom. This is her first birthday that I won’t be there to give her a great big hug, and as expected, the first is always the hardest. As much as I enjoy every new experience here in Libya, a great big part of me is left with my mom back home.

Still, as a friend told me, I find solace in knowing that I am still blessed to be here with JG. As many of you know, many Filipinos choose to work abroad in hopes  of finding greener pastures. And unlike me, they must endure homesickness all by themselves. So I am still thankful for what I have.

It is not all that bad, like I said, I suppose this is a natural reaction; I will get over this and just look forward to the day that I can once again spend Christmas at home. Besides, Pinoys here in Libya are doing the best they can to at least keep the Christmas spirit alive.

The other day, the embassy had a small party. We shared a nice dinner, had parlor games for the kids, and of course no Pinoy party is complete without the videoke.  Everybody sang, including JG who rarely does, broke out his most heartfelt rendition of “The Impossible Dream”. I almost passed out laughing, and the staff was probably shocked to see their often quiet Vice Consul show-off his singing prowress – or lack there of. Yes, I did sing as well as I agreed to, in the condition that JG does (which I really thought he wouldn’t).  A few weeks ago, we flew to Benghazi for the second time to attend another party for a  Philippine school, which was a treat since watching kids perform in all their cuteness is always fun for me. Also tomorrow we will be going to another party for the Philippine Community.

And I think it actually helps that as some parts of the world celebrates, it is but a normal day here in Libya. It feels a bit weird I must admit, but it helps that there is not much to remind you of what is happening back home. And the locals, as well as our Muslim kababayans, are nice enough to respect our Christian tradition, some even greeted me “Merry Christmas”. My new friend from work, even helped my buy some toys for the embassy kids, guiding me through Babelhiriya and the old city so I won’t get lost.

So yes I am sad about being away from home this holiday season, but there is much to be grateful too; which after all what Christmas is also about. Maligayang Pasko po! (Merry Christmas!).

Working Girl

I recently found work. I’m not going to say what, I’m just going to say that it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Plus the fact that it required me to see more of Tripoli, getting me off my butt, forcing me to get in cabs (all by myself), and meeting interesting people.

The truth is, the job is not practical at all for me because I agreed to do it with minimal pay. Being the bad-in-math that I am, I only realized today that my salary will mostly go to the driver I hired to take me everyday. JG has pointed this out before, being the smarty-pants that he is, but I told him that I’d rather do this than get stuck in the house all day.

Nevertheless, I love how I am finally able to walk around the Tripoli and see more of it. A new friend took me to see the Medina and walk around the Old City a couple of weeks ago. The streets were bustling with people crowding the streets with the vendors, selling everything from socks to hair products, some as low as a dinar. It reminded of Divisoria from the Philippines, where millions of Pinoys go to for bargain shopping. At the Medina, I bought two kinds of scarves and trinkets for my family back home. I was supposed to buy boots but one of the vendors was honest enough to say that I will probably find it hard to find shoes for my tiny feet.

My new friend is also my first female Libyan acquaintance. She speaks perfect English and happily answers my questions regarding their culture especially about the women in this country. Sometimes she teaches me Arabic phrases, like the other day, she taught me “Shinyalgo” (hope I spelled that right) when asking a friend “How are you”. But forewarned me that I only use that among friends, explaining that it’s slang here in Libya and saying it elders and others I don’t know is a bit disrespectful.

My driver friend has also been helping me get familiar with the city, teaching me location names. At first I wasn’t really paying attention, until he suddenly asked me one morning where we were, probably noticing that I was dozing off in the car. The pop quiz got me and I answered the only road I knew. “Gargaresh?”I said. My friend goes, “No! You are not listening; I don’t talk to you anymore.” He eventually forgave me, and started teaching me again. I in turn wrote down what he said, placing landmarks in my head. I still haven’t perfected it, still consulting my list from time to time; but at least I now know where Gargaresh actually begins and ends.

Hopefully things work out for me, it’s still hard, especially since I don’t speak Arabic, but I will do something about that. Still if it doesn’t work out whatever brief experiences I gain from this work, I will be grateful for. So here’s to hoping, I’d hate to miss out on anything else I can learn.

One Year

A couple of weeks ago, JG and I celebrated our first year anniversary as a married couple. I must admit that six years ago, I never imagined that we would be spending it thousands of miles away in a place with such a different atmosphere, with a very different culture. As if adjusting to married life and the discoveries we make about each other is not a challenge enough.  We also have  to adjust to culture shock. But I  take it as a learning process.

On a more personal level, there are things both negative and positive that I learn about JG. And in fairness to him, I’m sure he has learned new things about me, that probably has hopefully made him love me more, or God forbid, love me less. Especially when it comes to my futile attempt to cook, (its a good thing his mom is here with us, I leave the cooking to her. [which is good for me too]); I have always said that I have never been the domesticated kind, so I find comfort in thinking that I warned him before we got married.

In the year we’ve been married, I admit that there are lots of time when I lose my hold on my temper. But I must commend myself in the improvements I notice in times “misunderstandings”; in the past I would really just push it, now I just brood… kidding.

Also the statement, “mothers know best” is a big factor in my life this past year. Before we left, I take time to see my mom who also served as my therapist. Every weekend when we see each other I tell her my grievances, and she gives me sound advice, funny because most of the time she takes JG’s side. These days she does her counseling via the internet, found in our long trend of 95 exchange of emails. One of her best advice is when I complained about how much JG and I still find ourselves out of sync even though we’ve been together for 7 seven years. My mother then told me to take away the number of years I’ve known him to his current age; which leaves 20 years. She told me that I am trying to understand someone who has been living his own life for 20 years before I came into it, so I shouldn’t expect to know everything about him with the mere seven that we’ve been together; she told me to complain when I’ve at least covered that 20 years. She added that its the same with him, that the 18 years of life prior to meeting him can’t easily be changed. And that made a lot of sense to me.

And then there’s Libya. We didn’t really know what to expect when we arrived here almost six months ago, despite everything we read about it. I must admit that we both see our current post differently; I see it as an adventure, JG on the hand, at least I think, looks at it as a challenge. The Libyans, their country, and culture is an interesting learning arena for me, something new to embrace. JG sees it as a challenge, probably because this his first assignment and he wants to do his best to do this right; and that includes making sure I don’t get into trouble with my insistence to explore as much of it as I can. I have to give it to my dear husband, his job in the foreign service is no walk in the park; and I understand that the least I can do is to not add to his concerns.

Look out here’s the mushy part: In the end no matter how much we get learn about each other, good or bad; or wherever FSO life takes us, I wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else as JG. So here’s to another year…

My First Eid Al-Adha

After Ramadan and Eid Iftar, comes Eid Al-Adha. One of the major holidays in the Islam community, it is of course revered here in Libya. I was hoping to see how the Libyans celebrate this event; unfortunately it wouldn’t look nice if I invited myself to a very personal event, since I learned that Libyans celebrate this holiday with their family. Fortunately, JG and I were invited to celebrate it in a party hosted by Filipino Muslims here in Libya. It’s is too bad that I might’ve missed out on experiencing some Libyan culture, but it is rather nice to think that I spent my first Al-Adhar with my Kababayans.

Couples of days before, one can immediately feel the buzz around the city in preparation for the festivities. My friend Omar, who drives me around was explaining to me why traffic was getting heavier and drivers faster than usual, mainly because people are busy preparing. Buying ingredients for their menu and most importantly ensuring the purchase of Kharouf meat – the most essential part of the the tradition of what they call The Feast of Sacrifice.

Sorry but I have to get this right so… According to wikipedia:

Eid al-Adha (Arabic: عيد الأضحى‎ ‘Īdu l-’Aḍḥā) “Festival of Sacrifice” or “Greater Eid” is a holiday celebrated by Muslims worldwide to commemorate the willingness of Ibrahim to sacrifice his son as an act of obedience to God

Eid al-Adha annually falls on the 10th day of the month of Dhul Hijja (ذو الحجة) of the lunar Islamic calendar. The festivities last for three days or more depending on the country. Eid al-Adha occurs the day after the pilgrims conducting Hajj, the annual pilgrimage to Mecca in Saudi Arabia by Muslims worldwide, descend from Mount Arafat. It happens to be approximately 70 days after the end of the month of Ramadan…

Men, women, and children are expected to dress in their finest clothing to perform Eid prayer (ṣalātu l-`Īdi) in a large congregation in an open area or mosque. Muslims who can afford to do so sacrifice their best domestic animals (usually sheep) as a symbol of Ibrahim’s sacrifice. The sacrificed animals, called uḍiyyah (Arabic: أضحية‎, also known as “al-qurbāni”), have to meet certain age and quality standards or else the animal is considered an unacceptable sacrifice. Generally, sacrificial animals must be at least one year of age.

For those who don’t know, Islam traditions are calculated following the lunar Islamic calendar. Unlike Christmas for westerners, Islam holidays are not fixed on the same date each year. Nevertheless, Muslim communities worldwide still celebrate it the same time all over. This year however, Libya celebrates it with some changes as explained by blogger On the Edge.

My Muslim Kababayans held the traditional prayers a day before and we were invited for the symbolic killing of the sacrifice and partaking of the feast. We came just in time to see the actual “preparations” (sorry I don’t think its a good idea to post pictures of it), and it was really a something new to me.  JG said he’d pass, as he is not one with a tough stomach, but I suppose curiosity got the better of him and watched still. The surprising part of the whole ritual was how easy it looked to do. How the honorary butcher of the year was merely pulling out the wool off the animal, just like taking of a tight shirt off someone. There was a bit of a stench, but I’ve had Kharouf before and I liked it a lot, a thought I concentrated on to get over the smell.

For the benefit of non-Muslims and never had the pleasure of eating Kharouf. The younger the sheep, the better, and right after it is killed and properly chopped for easy consumption, no washing or marinating was done. This is due to the fact that it wouldn’t taste as good if you do.

Grilled Kharouf for everyone

So while the men continued to prepare the center attraction for the day, the gathering went on. But before we partook of the blessing, another treat for me was witnessing an Aquiqa. It is likened to a christening a baby, but in Islam, it is the simple tradition of officially naming a new born into their faith and to the world. Men were asked to gather around the mother carrying the new born baby girl, (The Ambassador and JG included) and took turns cutting a small lock of the sleeping baby’s hair, putting honey on her mouth, and perfume on her head. According to the expert in the house, the hair cutting symbolizes making sure all evil around the baby separates with the cut hair, the honey is so it can have a sweet life, and the perfume is of course for a fragrant existence. With her new guardians around her, a prayer was said for her, and thus she was officially named. A few words of welcome and a few more minutes of pleasantries, and then the feast began.

Also my first time to witness an Aquiqa

After eating rugs were set so the men can pray. As I watched them solemnly prayed, I looked around and tried to take in the things that I experienced. I always found cultural traditions and practices interesting and being here in Libya among its Islam residents, has been truly filled with new educating experiences for me.  And this year’s Feast of Sacrifice is definitely one to remember.

Eid Mubarak!

Pinoy Named CNN Hero of the Year

I was thinking about writing something about how tired I am of hearing news about Manny Pacquiao and everything (or everyone) he is getting himself into. But I thought that I would be contradicting myself by saying that he is getting over-rated and over-exposed; when writing about him, negative as it may be, would still be additional attention for him from me.

It’s a great thing Efren Penaflorida won the prestigious CNN Hero of the Year Award yesterday, because I found something better to put my attention on. I am impressed with Manny Pacquiao and his achievements, thankful as one of the Filipinos he always dedicates his fight to, but I personally has never been that moved by him. Same goes with the many other Pinoys who have currently made a name for themselves in the international spotlight; like Charice Pempengco, Arnel Pineda, etc. Their popularity has indeed shed some positive attention to our country; but unlike Penaflorida, they didn’t do it through means of selfless service and noble goals.

Pempengco, Pineda, Pacquiao to me have nothing on Penaflorida (funny how their last names all start with a letter P, isn’t it?). They are all skilled and talented in their own rights, but they all bank on fame and fortune as means to inspire others.

Hearing about Penaflorida’s nomination in CNN Heroes, was around the same time everybody was clamoring about Pacquiao’s latest bout. As my fellow Filipinos ate up Manny’s self-proclaimed humility, bad singing, and his mother’s colorful way of aging gracefully; I decided to take part in something a bit more meaningful in my opinion. I made sure that I allotted at least five to ten minutes a day in the internet voting for Efren as many times as I can. I never expected him to win though; I kept watch at the competition who all seemed worthy of the title. I just wanted to seriously take part in supporting a Filipino I can truly and irrevocably be proud of.

I had heard about Penaflorida and his portable class before and thought great of it. I have always been a fan of the making a small difference principle, and had I been a bit younger and braver; I would’ve probably joined his organization. Less than a decade ago, I did some community work myself, as a story-teller to impoverished kids with my aunt. With cardboard drawings by my brother, stories of David and Goliath and Sleeping Beauty made those kids gawk at me, attentively, some with their mouths open. I was surprised at how hungry to learn those kids were, that I felt so appeased of being able to share a bit of  that to them. But even with the sense of fulfillment it brought, it is something I cannot do on a regular basis. I had my own selfish goals to attend to; friends to see, hobbies to work on, and dreams to fulfill. And that is another thing admirable about what Penaflorida and company is doing. It seems like something everybody can do, but when you seriously think it over, it isn’t as easy as it seems. There is nothing easy about giving up what you can have for yourself, doing something for others with nothing but a smile of thanks in return.

Efren Penaflorida and his Kariton Class; lower image, Penaflorida accepting his award

When I read that he had won Hero of the Year, I couldn’t help but smile. The last time I felt that proud to be a Filipino was when they ousted Joseph Estrada, and that was what, eight years ago? It also felt good to know that the world, especially Filipinos, still recognized selfless acts and ideals. For a while there, I thought my future children will have nothing but singers and boxers to study about in school.

I salute Efren Penaflorida more than the others because he showed the world that recognition can also be found not just in talent and strength but by benevolence as well. I salute him because what he chose to offer isn’t entertainment or greatness, he offered something you can use even though you have the singing prowess of a walrus or can’t (or won’t) throw a punch if your life depended on it – he on the other hand offered knowledge.

Meeting the Counterparts Part 2

Last week I was invited to have lunch with a group of Diplowives. I was, as always a bit hesitant, but opted go for two reasons.

One is that I thought I was invited to have a private dinner with one of the heads of a ladies group who also happened to be a very important lady here in Libya. I wasn’t really up to go socializing, but didn’t want to turn down her invitation, afraid that she might think of me snotty and disrespectful.

Even though I later found out that it was a group date, I still decided to go because I didn’t want to stay home and be saturated with news of Manny Pacquiao. I am proud of his victories as a Filipino, I just think that he is starting to get over-rated. Plus I hate, seeing his huge entourage composed of ass-kissing politicians and others who just want to get in on some exposure.

Anyway, the lunch was held in a villa outside Tripoli. I’ve never been to a villa before, and must admit that I never really thought of visiting one. I suppose I now have an idea what Elizabeth Bennet felt the first time she saw Mr. Darcy’s estate. It was like being in a Good Housekeeping magazine cover. The actual houses (emphasis on the plural) in the villa are placed after another drive-way, where I passed a mini-zoo, a tennis court and an orchard of oranges and tangerines.

I was the first to arrive and was greeted by the hostess. I had met her once before in a more formal gathering, but didn’t really got the chance to talk to her, except for the usual small-talk. When I arrived at her villa, I was surprised at how warm her welcome was. It was if she was welcoming a relative. After she kissed both my cheeks, she looked at me with a smile and asked me how I was, she held my hand and didn’t let go as she lead me inside. In another incident, the unavoidable how-young-I-was factor was mentioned, and when I told her I was only 25 years old, she heartily laughed and suddenly hugged me. I was taken aback, struck at her warmth towards someone she barely knows.

Eventually the other Diplowives arrived and we soon found ourselves having delicious Libyan meals. We had Shurba, warm Libyan soup for starters; their version of Libyan spinach Lasagna, with rice and meat wrapped in cabbage leaf, broiled chicken; and Ashura (I think its wheat, boiled with milk topped with pomegranates) for desert.

I found myself silent and contented to be a listener, as they exchanged views and tips on random things, from where to fly to next, to shopping tips, to where to get the best highlights here in Tripoli. All this they talked about transitioning from one language to another; I so envied how they would be speaking in French at one point, look to their right and change to Arabic for another.

The conversation wasn’t all light. They also talked about changes they’ve observed in Libya over the years that they have been here; how its development also brought some challenges like heavy traffic in key roads.

Like I said, I didn’t mind not talking because I knew that I was in a different kind of league. As I sat there and slowly soaked in everything they said, I admired how everything seemed so natural to them as if they’ve prepared for this all their lives. I wondered whether their being so wonderfully cosmopolitan was polished naturally as part of marrying a diplomat. I wondered if they were once like me; lost in translation amidst a group of fancy, trilingual, well-traveled women. Was this going to be my future? If it is, it wouldn’t be so bad at all.

After lunch, we were invited to take a tour of the villa in carriage.

 

 

 

Out of Towners – Benghazi

Part of JG’s job is to represent the Embassy and the Ambassador whenever he cannot attend functions or programs. Last weekend JG was sent to Benghazi to do just that. And since we both haven’t there, he took me along.

Benghazi is an hour’s plane ride from Tripoli where a number of Filipinos are either stationed there for work or has found their true calling and made it their permanent home. We were told that the program would be an awarding ceremony for a basketball tournament that they organized for the Filipinos there. When we arrived, they also explained to us that it is also a fund-raising event, but most importantly a way for them to bond and celebrate the spirit of camaraderie.

I’m not going to go into details, but I would like to mention how much of the camaraderie they spoke of shinned not only in the program but also in the small unguarded interactions I noticed among the people there. Awarding programs are usually formal and at times very serious, but it felt more to me like being a guest in a family reunion; everybody seemed so tight and warm amongst each other. I also can’t help notice how truly simple everybody is there. Even the way everybody spoke is so grounded. Those who know me well would tell you that I can be very boisterous; but because everybody there spoke so softly, I couldn’t help but watched how I spoke, it was so contagious.

As I sat there and watched JG hand out trophies and medals, I looked around hoped that every Filipino community (especially small ones such as in Benghazi) has the same kinds of gatherings as what I was joining at that moment. I can only imagine many of Filipinos abroad living alone, away from their loved ones and family. But because of communities coming together like that, at least they can find solace in the company of others, and join an extended second family.

The Khamsa-khamsa store was a treat for me; khamsa is Arabic for five and the store is a bargain clothes shop that retails different kinds of apparel for as cheap as five dinars. In the Philippines, stores like these are called Ukay-ukay. Unfortunately, since owners are only selling bargain products, you really can’t expect the stores’ ambiance to be of the posh kind. But in the Khamsa-khamsa, bargain shopping was such a comfort because the store was as clean as any signature shops in malls.

Unfortunately, due to unexpected minor health issues, JG and I wasn’t able to see as much of Benghazi as we had hoped to. Mind you, we tried; well at least JG did. See our perhaps perpetual challenge as a couple is how we always have two different ideas of how to go about things. But since this my blog, I must insist that my dear husband (no matter how much I love him) can be really difficult sometimes. He makes up his mind and nothing can talk him out of it. He insisted that we explore the city (despite him feeling sick), but also wanted to do it after we checked out of the hotel with only an hour to spare since we were going to be picked up by then.  We didn’t bring much, but I already foresaw how things were going to go. He would complain how heavy my bag pack is, making me feel guilty since he’s sick eventually carry it anyway, walk slowly in the heat of the sun, and then be the grouch that he is when he isn’t feeling 100%. To which all this I’d rather avoid, and just hope to come back some other time. Nevertheless, being the supportive wife that I am, of we went.

We stayed at the Tibetsi Hotel and got as far as the bay near the July 23 Lake (Yes, some places here are named after significant dates like the September 1 road in Tripoli. So don’t get confused when you ask where and be answered when). By that time he was starting to show signs of fatigue and grouchiness, ignoring my attempts of small talk. With his Lonely Planet in hand, he asked me where I wanted to go. Hesitant but still cooperative, I pointed to the Old City and thought that could be interesting to see, but mostly because it was the closest thing for me enough to set a realistic goal to go to. At about 30 paces per 20 minutes, I kind of thought that there is no way we can get to the Old City at that rate. So I suggested we just try to eat at the Italian restaurant close by, to which he thankfully agreed to do. Five more steps and another ten used up minutes, we realized that it was a Friday morning, which in Libya meant, no store open yet. So I asked him if he was still up to this. Defeated, he said no and we ended up settling for the backyard of the hotel and then found ourselves back at the lobby.

The rest of the afternoon we spent in the living room of the nice Filipina who invited us, eating an entire lobster, and watching The Filipino Channel.

It was kind of frustrating that we weren’t able to see much of Benghazi, but unexpected things sometimes just really happen. But it is always nice to be part of a coming-together especially where there is obvious warmth and camaraderie. The site-seeing part, we can always come back for.

View of Benghazi from out hotel room