Libya & Cockroaches

I love animals and they rarely make me squeamish or scared. Even the ones that probably should. But there is one animal species that I just hate/want dead, and that would be cockroaches.

They also transform me into this jumpy, scared girly girl (not my usual behavior) who can not help but scream when I see one. Or more correctly, it used to affect me that way. And then I moved to Libya.

I did a bit of research and think that what we have here is so called American cockroach. They originated in Africa so these must be prototypes.... Later they evolved and became smaller...

The American cockroach (Periplaneta americana) is a large species of winged cockroach. It is very common in the southern United States, and in tropical climates, and can be found in many locations throughout the world, due to its travels via shipping and commerce between locations.
American cockroach adults grow to an average length of around 4 centimetres (1.6 in).[1] They are reddish brown and have a yellowish margin on the body region behind the head. Immature cockroaches resemble adults except that they are wingless.
The insect can travel quickly, often darting out of sight when someone enters a room, and can fit into small cracks and under doors despite its fairly large size. It is considered one of the fastest running insects.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

These are my cockroaches that I found this morning in the garden. Match box is 5cm long. And cockroach bends when it is dead. Really, they are longer when alive. They have wings and suprisingly, they use them. I know cockroaches are not supposed to fly. But I saw them myself. They fly for 2 meters in one go. Bastards.

Disclaimer * In case this post sounds like I never saw a cockroach before I came here, I assure you that is not the case. I even lived, for admittedly very short period of time, during university in one flat which had them camping behind the fridge. I moved out soon enough though.

First time it happened in Libya, G came running down the hallway to find me standing on top of the toilet and screaming. Embarrassing enough, and made even more by the fact that cockroach in question was already dead. Cockroach was scooped and flushed down the toilet and all was good again. That event happened on the same day that we moved to our "new" house. And on that day I stumbled upon few more inside the house. All dead, probably died of hunger or something since the house was empty for few months before we came. But I was in such state of panic that I informed G it is time to move somewhere else. Of course we did not, and of course it would be the same if not worse anywhere else. 

It helped that I did not find any more cockroaches for a while. I think, but can not prove that G secretly raided the house in the morning hours to collect and dispose of them so I would not see them. See, he really wanted me to like living here...

Sometime later if I would spot one in the house I would put glass upside down on top of it and wait for G to come home and kill it if necessary and flush it. This may sound cruel to people who do not have them around, but I assure you it is not. This is survival of the fittest. And in this case, there is plenty of them left anyway. Too many...

Now it is been a year and a half we are living here. I tried everything to get rid of them, but managed only to keep them away for short periods of time. They come out to the garden in the evening when it is very hot outside. Which in Libya happens very often.

However, I am not as squeamish as before. Now I am very proficient with killing them by throwing my flip flop at them. It is called flip flop attack...

But alas, I did develop a new fear. It is one of those what-ifs.
What if we accidentally pack one of these cockroaches in our stuff when we fly home or more likely in one of the boxes when we move out of Libya? And what if it is a female? And what if it is pregnant female?

It can happen, you know. And probably needles to say, I do check every single piece of clothing that goes in my bag when I pack. Weird, you think?

Libya in pictures (Part 2)

Old mosque in Tarhuna.

Man walking next to Al-Khoms port.

Palm trees.



Prayer time on Friday.



Iron collectors.

Libya in pictures (Part 1)

Could this be a christian church...



Mosque in Tajoura.

Demolished shops on Tajoura road.

No comment.



On the road.

Good Times

Last month I traveled. I packed my bag(s), clicked my heels 3 times and was transported into the land of hedonism.

---Hedonism is the philosophy that pleasure is of ultimate importance, the most important pursuit. The name derives from the Greek word for "delight" (ἡδονισμός hēdonismos from ἡδονή hēdonē "pleasure", a cognate of English sweet + suffix ισμός ismos "ism").---
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

First there was red earth. And fragrance in the air. In anticipation I opened window, inhaled and felt my whole being relax. Then, a bit further down the mountain, just behind one curve there was The First View. Blue as blue gets with little specs of white. And I smiled. The road curved and I sped on down another mountain. There was a white town. I passed through it fast, fast just stopping once to admire the view. There was a white boat with blue letters. It sailed with seagulls keeping the watch. And then finally, there were 36 steps, red door and I was home.

And there was Sun and there was Sea. There was selected food and wine to go with it. There were new beaches to be discovered. There was laughter with friends. There were church bells that rang on full hour. There were forests with fragrant needle carpets and a path that goes to white beach. There were afternoon naps. There was a beautiful terrace to lounge on and enjoy the views. There were cafes, little boats, people going about, newspapers just out of print, smiles and coffees that were just so.

Good times indeed.

Libyan men

When I first came here, some expat woman warned me about Libyan men. Or to be more exact, about attitude that they carry for "western woman". They gave all sort of advice and always finished by saying you will get used to it.

But I can not get used to it. I don't believe that anyone brought up in non-oppressed country ever could.

Apparently most Libyan men (and some share of woman) think that foreign woman are easy and therefore should not be treated with respect. It also seems that men think that we like it if they make vulgar gestures or yell sexually abusing words at us while we are passing by. I am not entirely sure do they do it to prove their manhood to their sneering friends or they actually think that you were just waiting for them to yell something so you finally feel enlightened to do... exactly what?

Now, vulgarity and yelling aside, there is also normal, every day staring. Wherever you go, whenever you go, men are going to stare at you. If you have blond hair, oh my! Why, it is like circus here, and you are the 3 eyed bearded woman!

This will happen especially if you are alone outside or with female friend. Having your husband and 3 children in the tow is not going to make much difference either.

Most days it is (just) a big nuisance. But there are days, when it is just too much and when I would most like to slam as many times as I can into that Libyan car whose driver is making it just too clear what he wants from me.
When I feel like that, I think that anywhere else would be fine. As long as it is not Arab country.

So, I am looking forward to vacation.
To the place when I can walk on the street and not one guy is going to yell obscenity after me.
To the place where I can sit in a cafe and have coffee without the waiter coming and asking where am I from, and then mentioning that he heard woman there like to party.
To the place where I can drive uninterrupted by the honk of a car next me with the driver all but hanging out of window to get me to take notice of him.
To the place where horny teenage boys know their place.
To the place where I can wear bikini on any beach, not just on special beach for foreigners.
To the place where your neighbors greet you and don't look away.
To the place where I don't need G to get documents for me because it is better that way.
To the place which I call home.


Disclaimer * dressing "appropriately" aka loose fitting clothes which cover upper arms and knees (along with other, more common sense attributes) will help you fell more comfortable with yourself. However, It will have no effect on the treatment you receive. If you do not wear hijab (head scarf) and come from Libya there is not much you can do.

Libyan little wonders

These days I am looking at...











 

My neighbors

I woke up this morning gaping for the air. I sat in my bed confused and sleepy and tried to get my brain to cooperate and tell me whats happening.. After a while i came to few conclusions.
I am alone in the bed. G went to work. My left foot is itching. Maybe  not the reason for waking up.  There is clothes on the floor. Nothing new there. Alarm clock didnt go off again. Or maybe it did.. And finally... There is smoke in the bedroom.
Our house is a bit drafty and I do my best to make it even more so. All strategic windows are kept open so fresh spring air (pfff) can enter the house and maybe see how nice it is and stay... But the downside of it is that occasional not so nice fragrance also gets in. And again, in the case of fire there would be no containment of it. All that air coming in, going out.. Fire would be very happy here.
So I got up, and stumbeled around the house for a while trying to see where is it coming from. And then I remembered.
Last year our back neighbors were burning some of their embassy confidential papers (some of them flew over the wall to us. and I am curious person.) and something that smelled like tire. They burned it just on the other side of the wall dividing our 2 properties. I guess that spot was furthest away from their house. So I walked to our back garden and there it was. Smoke was flowing down the wall, burned papers flying around..

As I think mentioned before, in Libya each house is surrounded by 3-4 meters high walls. There is appeal in it - like walking naked in your garden and noone can see you. Unless your neighbors across the street dont have huge house and they ALWAYS hang out of their first floor windows... The walls are fine. I would feel very unconfortable here not to have them actually. The thing is that having these walls sometimes mean that people do stuff in their gardens which they would not do (if they were sane) if their neighbor had a chance to pop his head above the hedge and express his feelings. Or I hope they wouldnt, but then again one never knows here...
Since we live in Gargaresh area, our plot is small and our walls are very close to the house. And the effect of it.. It is like sitting on the bottom of empty swimming pool in the middle of the summer. Our back garden (tropical, planted by us. Us...US!!!!!) is small and the wall is just 3 meters from the house. 3 meters from our bedroom. 3 meters from the bed which is in front of the window!
So what kind of bloody idiot burns plastic and paper next to the wall in his back garden? He, and I know it was he, since I finally got so angry to go up the roof and scream at him (see previous post) . I actually went up on the roof to see the fire since I can see in their garden from there (i am also rude person. sometimes). And I see guy bringing in more papers. For the fire..And HE waves at me and smiles! Oh, then it is fine. I cant breathe, he is sending burning pieces of paper over the wall on my bannana plants, pond is full of floating half burned paper, my head is throbbing and he is smiling. 

Does he really not understand that it is at the very least "not nice" or WRONG to inflict smoke upon your neighbors just because you dont have a paper shredder? Or sanity to use garbage service for old tires that you have laying around your garden?

I give up.

I think I am going to make myself gin-tonic!