The Road Trip Out of Libya

So as closure to my experience during this whole Libyan crisis, I’d like to share the day when we headed out of Libya about a month ago. It’s nothing like in the movies of an epic, perilous, dramatic journey to escape a war torn country, I have to stop your imagination there. But for an ordinary person like me, who about a month before that was eating street food in a lower-middle class Filipino neighborhood, it was I admit a bit dangerous and nerve wrecking of an experience.

The even sadder part about that was the day before we left was when JG finally returned from being away for ten days, assisting in the repatriation of other Filipinos who wanted to leave. My joy of finally being able to see my husband again was immediately replaced by a sudden realization that I was going to be apart from him again, after only a day of seeing him, and this time it wasn’t going to be just for ten days.

And there was no time to waste catching up, we had to prepare our bags and think about the stuff that we could and want to take with us. We were leaving via what was supposed to be a four hour drive to the Libyan-Tunisian border as it was impossible to get flights in the chaos then going on at the Tripoli airport. And if you didn’t follow the news, it was widely known that any electronic device spotted in your possession by the Libyan border control was either confiscated or purposely wrecked as damage control to keep any video you might have taken in the country from leaking out. So careful packing had to be done to make sure our laptops, phones, digi-cams were not found in case our bags were asked to be opened.

The next day we woke bright and early, and at the last minute decided that we leave more items behind because it seems we might have over packed. The problem there was that JG says we might have to make a bit of a walk from the Libyan side of the border into the middle that is no man’s land, towards the Tunisian side; and that would be quite a challenge if we were bringing three huge luggage each.

It was by that time three weeks until the unrest began, many days later since the crisis of the exodus happening at the Libyan-Tunisian border. So I thought that our group would mostly consist of us and the other embassy staff and their families, I had thought that most of the Filipinos who wanted to leave have been evacuated by then, but to my surprise there were still a number coming along. Among them was a family of four with a nine-year old girl and her two-month old sister. The dad explained that they wanted to leave as soon as things started but the little baby was sick so they had to wait until she was okay to travel. I consider those encounters God’s way of telling me that I shouldn’t complain or ask why this had to happen to me, meeting them I seemed to have it easy.

We did not have a car; thankfully we had Mr. T, a Libyan driver/friend who has been driving us in Tripoli when we need to get somewhere. He is sort of like the embassy’s go to guy when we need to get around, our favorite special taxi/chauffer/tour guide/friend whom you asked to give you a lift. In the Philippines we call him “suki”, our regular, sort of like having your regular or more preferred butcher. That day, Mr. T was our convoy leader out the now heavily guarded roads of Libya.

And I have to say, that if I ever get to see him again in a happier circumstance, I would thank him deeply, buy him a great big present, for helping us all. And not just for that day, but for the many times he gave me a ride, over the past year and a half, he wasn’t just some random taxi driver any more, he is, someone I will always consider my friend.

So Mr.T’s job wasn’t easy, I think we were a convoy of eight cars? If I remember right, and since we were non-vehicle owners, JG (who was only taking us as far as the border), my MIL, and I rode in Mr. T’s car. The challenge you see, is aside from the checkpoints from both the government and rebel side, also that even though most of the drivers driving that day had driven to Djerba several times, some the roads they usually took and know by heart are no longer accessible.

Like I said Mr.T’s job wasn’t easy, because not only was he responsible for leading the way he also needed to make sure that everyone keeps up with the group. So he had to stop several times to wait for those behind the pack so they did not get lost in case we make a sudden turn. It got to a point that he was so preoccupied with making sure every car was accounted for we got lost several times. And when he did find a road he recognized we also had to turn back a number of times, because some of the roads were either closed off or blocked so we had to find an alternate route. I sat quietly at the backseat, usually I would fall asleep during long drives, but this one time I was awake like I never was before in a road trip. During those times that we got lost, a number of locals, good Samaritans (in this case Libyans) driving along would literally and figuratively go out of their way to show us the road out, until we get to one that Mr. T recognizes, which was something very brave I thought since anybody would’ve preferred to get to where they were going as quickly as possible considering the current situation.

At one point we also passed by a rebel held town, I forgot the name. To my observation was eerie quiet, at first with the rebel flags flying in some houses, a big one painted on a wall of one building. But as we drove in, pass the rebel checkpoints that only use used furniture as their blockades, life went on. Shops were open, people going about their business as if there is nothing new.

And then of course there was the fear of getting caught in the line of fire. On the way out, you would have to pass by the town of Zawiya, where heavy clashes were taking place. And sure enough after a number of road blocks and checkpoints, we had to turn back again at one point because an apparent gunfight was happening down the road. We did not actually see or hear the clashes, from far off we could see cars ahead of us, hurriedly bolting back, and flashing their lights to the coming cars; some of the ones who’d pass us, did a pulling a trigger gesture with their free hand, confirming our fears. So we wisely took a hint, made a u-turn, and did not wait to see all the live action ourselves.

That was the climax of that whole ordeal for me; we got to the border thankfully intact and safe. Since like I said this was already three weeks since most of the people started fleeing, days after countries have sent their ships and planes to help the thousands stranded in the border, so the chaos I saw on the news, was no longer present at the border. However remnants of the refugee camps remain, for some small groups crossing the border. Our bags were spared from any search and we did not have to walk through no man’s land, and was generously offered some space by one of JG’s colleagues in the embassy (If you are reading this you know who you are and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, also to say that I will always appreciate what you did for us that day. You did not have to do that, but you did, and I’m sorry I was not able to show my appreciation as much as I should).

I did however see for myself, some of the men whose things were really opened and thoroughly, thoroughly (for emphasis), searched. I also spotted remnants of mobile phone parts on the road, whom I imagined belonged to some guy who now has to worry about how to tell his family from wherever he is from that he is alive and well.

We left Tripoli at around 10 am, arrived at the border at around 4 in the afternoon, and said my goodbye to JG. At the risk of giving TMI, JG gave me a nice kiss on the lips that day, which he rarely, rarely (for emphasis) does in public. Those kinds of gestures between couples you kind of take for granted even if it seldom happens when you’re married to someone like JG, but including our wedding day, that was one of the ones I will probably always remember.

It’s kind of sad thinking that I had to leave Libya that way, in that state that the country is in. And I am still concerned as to what will happen to it.  Not just because my husband is still there, but because it was my first home away from home as a Diplowife; and because it is my first it holds a special place in my heart. I still wish to come back, maybe not soon but someday, as they always say there Insha Allah.

The views written on this post and this blog are mine alone and are not shared or represented by my husband or the Philippine Embassy in any way.

The Post on Corregidor (Could not think of a better title,sorry)

This post is going to be a short one. One of the side trips that we took during our visit home last January was a guided tour to the historical Island of Corregidor. During World War II, the island at the entrance to Manila Bay became a very crucial defense area to protect the capital as it being a very important seaport starting from the Spanish rule, to the American, to the Japanese, until the establishment of our Republic in the mid 40’s.

Especially during WWII, Corregidor became the location of the final stand against the Japanese Imperial Army. At some point it also became the temporary location of the government when it housed then President Manuel Quezon and his VP Sergio Osmena. It was taken by the Japanese, but was re-taken by the Americans and Filipinos a few years later. The island is now a tourist destination for war veterans, and history enthusiasts like JG, where you can find old military installations and more famously for the ruins of the war ravaged buildings.

Unfortunately, I must admit that I did not enjoy the trip that much. A forty-five minute ferry boat ride will take you to the island where you will be met by your guides and taken around the island on several old school tram-like buses that were made in the likeness in the actual ones used in the island when the Americans were still there.

The tram buses that would take you around the island.

I was expecting a bit of a solemn, close to first hand, detailed stories of heroism, patriotism, and camaraderie amongst the soldiers in a time of war. Unfortunately for me we got into the bus of the up-beat, salesman-like, colorful Sylvie (I have forgotten her name actually). She wasn’t bad, very good English, very entertaining, and funny at times, but I think she would better fit if she was the tour guide for a happier atmosphere say like the set of TV show perhaps, like the pages at 30 Rock. She kind of ruined the place for me actually because her jokes and side quirks distracted me from the dark yet heroic feel of the island. Like when she pointed out the Brothers in Arm statue of the American helping of a wounded Filipino soldier, and then made a quirk about not mistaking them as drunkards because they are in fact lovers. It was funny, but I guess she’s been doing for so many years she kind of wanted to change the repertoire a bit from less war-serious to comedic gay punch lines.

Thankfully I had my trustee history geek of a husband who also pointed out that Sylvie has said several erroneous facts like wrong dates, and mixed up details like when she said that the Spanish paid the Americans in exchange for the Philippines, when it was in fact the other way around. She was so busy making us laugh, she did not notice she was feeding us, most especially the tourists, who now has wrong ideas about my country’s history, wrong information. And if that was not enough, she finished early, so when she ran out of stories to tell, she then went on the tell us how a fine arts graduate like her ended up being a tour guide, more emphasis to why she is still single and the many suitors that have gone her way. Again, my opinions are nothing personal, I guess basically she did not fit the job, or at least made sure she did well enough. Thank goodness to my husband who managed to make it interesting for me with his stock knowledge; I, sadly did not get anything from her. JG and I regretfully agreed that we would’ve been better off getting on the bus of the old guy, who would probably be as boring as common history teacher but would’ve probably been already alive in the 40’s to give us real, accurate, first-hand stories of Corregidor.

So because I did not get much of the trip, here is a photo montage of our trip, and the popular sites on the island:

At the Filipino Heroes Memorial where several murals are depicting heroic battles of Filipinos in our history since the 15th century.

Battery Way was named in honor of the Coast Artillery Corps of the US Army, which along with Battery Geary, was the mainstay of the Corregidor Garrison during the Japanese invasion – Wiki

The Pacific War Memorial was built in honor of the Filipino and American soldiers who fought in WWII. The main attractions there are the dome, and the huge steel structure known as the Eternal Flame of Freedom.

A fertility statue, or so they said, at the Japanese Garden of Peace which was built in memorial to the Japanese veterans who fought and died there during WWII.

The Corregidor Lighthouse, to which JG did not dare climb, but can get you access to a great view of some of the ruins and the island as well.

Old coins like this are said to be around the island. An old man lives there living as a sweeper as his alter ego, but really just stays there and makes a living as a scavenger and sells the ones he finds.

If I have to point out a favorite part, it would have to be the sound and lights show in the Malinta Tunnel. The tunnel was the last strong hold of the Americans, before Corregidor was taken by the Japanese. The audio-visual show would take you along the tunnel through a number of bronze dioramas of events that took place on the island, complete with very good narration of voice talents and convincing sound bites of the historical moments, including the actual radio announcement that Bataan has Fallen aired by the Voice of Freedom broadcasted from the tunnel .  But it wasn’t perfect either for me, because just as the light fades at the end of one scene, just as you are taken in by the story and sound effects, the guide inside would bellow, “Next!” in a disdainfully, let’s-get-on-with-it type of way that would instantly pull you back from your time travelling daze.

One of the lateral extensions inside the Malinta Tunnel.

I was also looking forward to walking along the ruins, but was disappointed when told that the structures were already fragile and brittle for our safety. Despite my frustration, I did agree that it is always better safe than injured.

One of the ruins of the former barracks that can be found in Corregidor

On the way back, I won a raffle for answering the survey on the tour, which was probably because only two of us only submitted their questionnaires – I never win in raffles. The funny thing about it was that I could only claim my price of a free dinner on a yacht that very night, which was ridiculous. Why would you give someone a prize a like that and make conditions for the claim? What if I had an important prior engagement that night? I didn’t but still, the point is, it is my prize, and I should at least have the privilege to claim it when I can. Okay, if that sounds too primadona, perhaps even just a 24 hour leeway, right?

On the plus side, I must say that visiting Corregidor is something a Filipino must do in his lifetime, preferably when one is old enough to appreciate our history or at least pay homage to it. Unfortunately most of my countrymen would happily spend their earnings and flaunt around in Puerto Galera. I’m not saying going to the beach to relax using your hard earned money is bad, but if you’ve been there five times already, it would be nice to visit other places and pick up on your heritage along the way.

And for a more interesting trip, one can also opt to camp there along the shores of the Island or stay in a hotel, and do more tours which I am told includes a more in depth route into the tunnels of the mountains, a ghost tour, and zip-lining/bungee jumping for the more adventurous you. And if you ever visit I suggest you ride the bus with the old guy in it, or bring a book, or if possible someone who knows their history well.