For Libyan rebels, a poignant homecoming | ||
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With much of Tripoli in rebel hands, fighters and exiles alike return to a city they haven't seen in months.
Ruth Sherlock. Last Modified: 28 Aug 2011 12:08 |
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Fireworks
and tracer fire lit up the Tripoli sky as the rebel boats docked.
Relatives who hadn’t seen their loved ones for months waited
expectantly on shore, crying and cheering. This was the victory sail of
rebels who had spent the last six months fighting to oust Libyan
dictator Muammar Gaddafi in front lines across the country.
For
months this tug boat had secretly traversed Libyan waters, smuggling
fighters, weapons and aid to the besieged city of Misrata in the battle
against Muammar Gaddafi’s regime. This time they were coming home to
the capital city they thought was theirs.
“We are going to clean up Tripoli,” said fighter Muftah Islam, 34, "to find and finish Gaddafi once and for all”.
But
as the hundred men, crammed among bags, ammunition and rifles on
board, spoke of their military success, loyalist snipers continued to
pose a threat to the city streets.
The fighters on board were a cast of characters from Libya’s six-month uprising.
Islam
was hit by a "Grad" BM21 rocket on the front lines in eastern Libya in
early March. With only one leg, he then moved to Misrata to man
anti-aircraft guns. This was to be his first time in Tripoli since the
uprising began. “My family don’t know I am coming; it is a surprise,”
said Islam, his crutches lying beside his FN rifle.
Groups
of men gathered around Masud Buisir, the "musician of the revolution".
He strummed the folk song that has become famous among the rebels:
“My mother, don’t be worried
We know how to fight
We know how to make freedom
We know for what we die.”
On
the first day of the uprising in early February, Buisir had played
this song sitting on the steps of Benghazi’s court house, as police
fired live rounds upon crowds of protestors. With long curly hair, a
knitted hat bearing the tri-color rebel flag, and wearing a khaki print
T-shirt emblazoned with the words "Free Libya", Buisir took his guitar
to every front line of the civil war.
I
first met Buisir as he battled just outside the oil refinery in Brega
in March, guitar in one hand, gun in the other. “That day my best
friend was captured,” recalled Buisir on the boat. “He and I were
married on the same day just three months before the uprising, and both
our wives are pregnant. I just received a call from him from to say he
is alive in Tripoli!”
Roaming
among the fighters, camera in hand, was Buisir’s 16-year-old Irish
nephew Yehyia. Born and bred in Ireland to Libyan parents, Yehyia spoke
with a Dublin accent as he explained that he and his 18-year-old
sister had made their way by themselves to Libya.
Yehyia
founded the "Libyan Irish Youth Organisation" with other exiled Libyan
youths. Giving speeches on the Libyan conflict and holding meals in
fancy hotels in Ireland, together they raised over 100,000 euros.
With
cut-throat competition for university spots in the UK, they decided to
plunge into Libya for his sister’s journalism college application. “I
am helping my sister put together the portfolio for her college
application,” said Yehyia.
For
Yehyia’s father, the fall of Colonel Gaddafi is a matter of personal
revenge. Ibrahim Buisir was a freelance journalist covering the world’s
major wars, and running a humanitarian aid agency until the "Brother
Leader" accused him of giving funds to terrorists. The Buisir family
was known for their opposition to the regime.
“The
United States put him on a blacklist, and Interpol woke us up at 6am
with house raids,” said Yehyia. “All the Irish papers published our
home address, we received lots of abuse. At school other kids called my
dad a terrorist.”
Now the case is being reviewed by legal bodies in the UN, explained Yehyia and Masud.
The
rebels passed the hours on board fasting for the holy month of
Ramadan, and praying, until finally they saw the glow of Tripoli’s
shoreline. A second rebel boat pulled alongside, and fighters jumped
into the water, crossing onto each other’s boats under the starry night
sky.
Most
of the fighters came under the command of Anwar al-Magariaf, the
brother of the co-founder of key Libyan opposition group the National
Front for the Salvation of Libya (NFSL).
Like
so many men on the boat, Anwar dedicated his life to removing the man
that had become a personal nemesis. “He took my life. I lived outside
of Libya, unable to speak to my friends and family, I was put in prison
in ’76, I was made to witness public hangings at the age of 11.” They
will not rest until they catch him.
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