The First Step is the hardest

 

Life is a magical experience, but it also includes a host of potential #health trials over which we have absolutely no control. We all have the best friend who has been living the epitome of health-conscious lifestyle and still died from cancer. We all know someone who was caught in a freak accident and ended up on a ventilator, or the person who literally caught a deadly virus in the last days before it was declared extinct worldwide…. I call this all a subgroup of Murphy’s law and I am no stranger to its quirks; after all, I had to rebuild myself from scratch on several occasions before.

It’s been two years since I was diagnosed with a fracture of the spine and ensuing complications. This is a diagnosis that is right there on the same level of terminal diseases (at least in my mind) because of the probability of becoming an invalid. I am all for positive body image, being optimistic and looking at the bright side of things, but any #mobility issue carries the threat of discrimination from society, regardless of all the supportive laws and slogans out there. If you add to it #livelihood #challenges and any obstacles that an able-bodied person could face, then it would be even worse for this person. This is compounded multiple times if one lives in a #conflict zone. But the worst fear is losing #control of your own body and #privacy.

Of course, there are wonderful souls out there who have risen to the occasion and overcome all difficulties by forging a different path against #adversity. These are #exceptional people whom we hear about exactly because they #influence us and become a role model.  We ordinary humans prefer an easier route and if I can be in the best health possible with all my wits, limbs and senses, than that would be my first choice. Deep down we would all prefer that, to life changing #transformation through adversity.

Being someone with a high #pain #tolerance - because of course it would be shameful to be seen complaining (another of my pet peeves) -I have been known to ditch a cast after 48 hours and walk with a brace because someone in my family needed help. Most times I have the impression of running on pure adrenaline. I used to be proud of this to the point of imagining it a #heroic feat. Friends used to describe me as a cross between Wonder Woman and the Iron Woman. I’m not sure if either is flattering, but I always felt I had to live up to that hero #syndrome. So that day in November of 2021 when I was in the emergency room in hospital complaining from difficulty in walking and pain in the spine, pelvis and left arm and leg after a fall, I accepted with great relief the doctor’s diagnosis that it was just a contusion which would take a few weeks to a month to resolve itself. What bothered me was the phrase “for your age maybe a bit more, but you will be fine”. The #ageism, #mansplaining and #chauvinism heaped at me in one single instance hurt me more than the injury. When I challenged him and requested an x-ray, he refused and maintained that he was confident I did not need it. Because I was capable of walking despite the pain and my previous experience with sports injuries, I wanted to believe that I was ok. That was the logic I had used to accept the diagnosis plus the idiotic #hero-syndrome.

I did not need to sacrifice activities since many of us were still mostly working from home in that late Covid era.  A few days later I had to travel unexpectedly and this is where it was revealed that my range of activity was severely limited. Plane seats were terrible, I could not lift my carryon bag let alone checked luggage. Pure agony. My leg mobility started to become even more restricted, and the pelvis area felt totally off like I was somehow twisted. Two days later my initial limp intensified and I was visibly dragging my right leg. The number of locations that  became numb in my body increased too. It was the scariest sensation feeling numbness and being in pain simultaneously. I checked myself into a hospital. It had been about  a week since my terrible fall and the trauma orthopedist in attendance requested an MRI and some x-rays after the examination. The results revealed two fractures in the sacrum that reached the pelvis, some slippages at the level of thoracic and lumbar areas of the #spine and a hairline fracture of my elbow with a damaged ligament in my shoulder. The doctor was shocked of how I had been withstanding the pain, let alone walking. On hearing the diagnosis, I became totally unraveled and suddenly every ache I had been sucking in became a waterfall of torment as I had released the dam.  The body has immense capabilities in time of need, but I could not understand why this would be one? It’s not like I was chased by a #saber tooth tiger and needed to be on the move! Why did I not allow myself to dwell on the pain and check again its origin? This is what I kept asking myself. Now I know it’s probably because of how I have been all my life, that damned hero syndrome and #prioritizing #others, #duty, #work, #deadlines and wanting the best for my family and team because this is what I had promised. This  was actually a rope I had used to hang myself with, and I realised it is in the nature of  people to might want to to take advantage of that if allowed, sometimes without an ounce of remorse.

The injury undid all the hard work achieved during lockdown in gaining my fitness back. It hurled me from someone who was preparing herself since September 2020 for the ski trip of a lifetime in February 2022, into a person lying in bed for months and who could not control her right side nor get up without massive effort and pain and we won’t even mention the bladder issues and other ugly stuff. I was supposed to rest and take strong painkillers, surgery was out of the question, a cast was not possible either.  I just had to let nature mend my broken body.

When you are a “certain” age, people immediately imagine that you might have osteoporosis and it gets implied very discreetly into conversations even in the work environment. It was somehow pure chance that I had done a routine Dexa test before the injury which proved that I did not have osteoporosis. But even if I had osteoporosis, I did not need to feel “guilty” about like it was an accusation of wrongdoing?  it is a normal process in life.  Moreover, accidents do happen, and I was both unlucky yet extremely lucky. This kind of injury I was informed can result in severe neural damage or potentially bleeding to death for the time it took an ambulance to arrive at the scene. The average response time we are told should be 7 minutes,  and 90% of ambulances should arrive within 15 mins. From my experience in Libya this is not realistic plus our ambulances are really just two guys who carry a person on a stretcher to hospital. I somehow managed to avoid both fates although I did get  neural damage, but it did not leave me permanently in a wheelchair as I keep being reminded. I still don’t have #osteoporosis by the way!

The first 10 days after the diagnosis, the pain was becoming magnified now that my body was finally resting, and I was not holding it off but rather letting it take its course. I spent more than 20 hours per day in a state of slumber, like a particle suspended in time. At times I thought I was even hallucinating. Then when I started regaining consciousness, I was in terrible pain but refused drugs fearing I might become an addict or worse unable to deliver my work tasks. The pain was #debilitating, the fog it created in my mind was unbearable and I felt sorry for myself at the physical state I reached. I was thinking my life was potentially over, my dreams of athletic prowess gone, my ambitions for a family unattainable, I mean who would want a burden. The lowest point was having my father take care of me at home and drive me to doctors’ appointment. That felt so wrong on many levels. I was the one supposed to take care of him in his old age and not vice versa. I feared my job would be at stake if I could not be on top of everything as I was #bedridden with no clear date of when I will be better. My #mental health suffered greatly as from there to thinking I was headed for the poor house and a life of begging in the street or having to do horrible things to survive or not being able to afford #healthcare  or pay bills… there was one step and somehow with my #feverish imagination I jumped it easily.  

I had neural #compression and  bone marrow edema in the spine I was given dexamethasone injections. I don’t know to this day why did the specialist prescribe (I live in fear of cortisone and its family) but somehow, it relieved the inflammation which decompressed the nerve it was blocking during the fracture and I was able to get myself to limp and eventually walk albeit with difficulty again. In the meantime, I gained weight, started eating all the fattening foods including sugar and chocolates which had not touched my lips for a long time. All the fears that I had about the future, meant I could not even relax to get better, so I came back to work from bed with a vengeance. I think I worked even more than if I were healthy, I was so afraid to be cast aside, as the #weak are usually #trampled by the #strong. As my body healed, the pain would just not go away, and the mobility would just not be taken for granted anymore. Feeling #overweight and a shadow of my former self with no one providing me with a treatment plan to follow because we needed the fracture to close first, I sought doctors’ opinions who all recommended some form of strong analgesic…One of them even joked that maybe I should get “high”. I did not take him up on that as again I feared loss of control and abilities.

Several #consultations later I learned that I had also become pre-diabetic, apparently this can be precipitated with weight gain, stress but most likely the dexamethasone injections. All this change in my metabolism was messing up with how I perceived hunger. I never felt sated. The doctors said I was looking at physiotherapy once my fracture had healed fully. I was afraid to take the time off  to actually heal lest it delays work #milestones or damages my #career or both, especially in the post pandemic times. A work that you enjoy with a team in an organization that you like are not easy to come by in a conflict riddled country. I had to exert humongous effort to concentrate. I had 3 different diaries and agendas for to do lists just to keep track of my tasks and to feel adequate. A seeker of perfection, I feared any criticism that I would construe as failure. So, I persevered, repeating to myself that I was #resilient and had surmounted challenges before so I could perhaps just combine rehabilitation with the job. I did not succeed with this plan as I kept missing my #physiotherapy sessions as work deadlines were more insistent in that feverish phase getting things into place. On the other hand at work I kept resenting that I was working instead of getting myself back on track, I kept #resenting that others seemed to have prioritized not just their health but actually their #leisure time and that somehow I had signed up to help them do that and insist they do it.

By then I was not only having mobility issues, but I was also overweight and tired. My body image was destroyed – at least in my own mind,  and I had to contend with this sinking sentiment of feeling decrepit and less than what I used to be all while being 24/7 in pain and hungry. It’s difficult to keep up the resilient act when at the same time you want to continue growing as a leader and be there for your team and colleagues and family while you know that you are just too weak physically.  People will tell you to snap out of it and it’s not the end of the world and you will recover in time but tell that to the person who is suffering and is visibly distressed bodily and mentally. This person is only seeing a stretching tunnel with no end. It’s a vicious cycle. Sometimes being a good leader is when you know your limits and let go so you can come back strong again. With hindsight, I find it terrible that I feared disruption to my work more than permanent health damage. The agony I put myself into, in response to some human reactions as a result of my situation fueled the misery.  Of course we know that no one is indispensable; if I had died of Covid 19 or by one of the numerous bombs launched on Tripoli, I would have been replaced after a certain time anyway. It’s cold and logical. But I was not dead. The last straw was when on top of everything else I caught Covid in the summer of 2022; I had to accept my limitations without feeling shamed that this time I could not grit my teeth and bear it. So when I felt that my absence will not be as disruptive, I finally took the long term sick leave to mend my battered body and probably my heart and soul  in the process, but I was profoundly #mortified that I needed to do so.

I have been working hard on this healing journey and to rise above the #indignity and #embarrassment I felt at having to check out from work and focus on walking again. I had to get used to strangers accessing my body, hooking weird machines to stimulate the muscles, heal inflammation, increase bone, infra-red, ultra sound, water exercises, lymphatic drainage, magnetic therapy and God knows what but everything felt like I was losing #agency. I had to leave #modesty at the door. Doing some real assisted exercises brought tears of pain and cries of frustration, because movements that used to be normal before were now something to re-learn. I had forgotten normal posture and how to walk without compensating for pain. My muscles were weak and tight. The book of cures was thrown at me, cupping (very painful), myofascial release (pure torture). My body was covered in bruises, some of which have  become permanent alas. I even had something called #kinesiology tape to help hold my shoulder and  undertook #stem cell harvesting from my own body (brutal) and grafting in my knees to avoid a more invasive surgery. I braved my fear of #anesthesia to which I had PTSD and accepted to be anesthetized albeit through the navel – which was the most frightening sensation ever on a cold operating table in a freezing room full of strangers speaking an unfamiliar language in a foreign country, #alone.

I had to carry out Pilates exercises on a machine that reminded me of  evil medieval instruments and yet is supposed to help with my movements without straining my limbs, because I cannot even lift my legs up properly on my own, I felt horrible. I tried to joke at myself and laugh with my various #therapists, men, women and even the interns who were learning on my body, because these were the people helping to put it together. When I got pain relief in my back I hailed it as a breakthrough, when my arm could be fully raised, I cried. It took 4 sessions just to have my arm move 1 cm to the back. When I was able to do 3 sets of leg raises, I was singing the “Eye of the Tiger” anthem from the Rocky movies. When I was able to do a mini #squat and to raise myself up, with extreme pain mind you, I felt I had completed an #Ironman challenge. 

After two months of sick leave, I finally learnt to stop checking my work emails, it was liberating. I could focus and quiet the internal dialogue going on in my head. It’s a testament to all the lessons I learned from my Mental Health First Aid classes which I started to apply on myself.  It’s been 11 months since I am back to work. I can confidently say that I will make it, the #tunnel is shorter, I can see the light peering through, I am finally on the road to healing. I still think I am fat, I still won’t be skiing anytime soon, at least not in 2024, I still have pain, but some days it almost decreases to none for a few hours and it feels like I am in #heaven. I still have difficulty rising from bed or from a chair or taking the stairs, but I can do it faster and  I’m told this will get better with my muscle strength increasing. It’s been two years of hell and this #injury has also left me with something called #fibromyalgia.  Uncle Google tells us that it is a chronic disease causing fatigue, all over muscle and joint pain, which may come and go. Apparently, it is often triggered by an event that causes physical stress or emotional stress. I learned that it shares some symptoms with multiple sclerosis but is NOT MS and also that it has no cure.

The hero syndrome, combined with #impostor syndrome and my habit of competing with myself, meant that in the summer of 2022 I climbed  #Mount Etna with diapers on and the help of my walking sticks and also went down inside a cave, I don’t know how I managed that. It also meant that in the summer of 2023 I completed several zip lines and a forest activity adventure without the diapers this time.  I’m very hard on myself and maybe this needs to go.

At my last check up with the #neurologist in August 2023 I learned that neural damage at S1 has reached the limits of its healing and what is left is permanent which means I have to live with the consequences of this injury. Acceptance is not easy, having a disability is not easy even if it is unseen. I also developed some veinous insufficiency in the legs which I need to see a vascular surgeon  and apparently with all the radiology + cortisone +  resultant diabetes I developed cataract (I'm too young for this to occur); the specter of multiple surgeries scares me. 

When hearing these news this summer I was heartbroken and ended up binging on Netflix. I immersed myself in  Korean Drama to the point that now I can watch without subtitles and have come to love the characters, culture and country.

I am bit sad to be honest, but I am learning to work on taking  one step at a time. Firstly, I am grateful that my fractures have resolved cleanly. Secondly that I can move my body almost 80% of what it was before the accident, which is another #blessing. Thirdly I am getting better at physical re-education which means with perseverance I will see my muscle mass stronger, and my fitness level improve, which in turn means I could enjoy life better. When my muscles are stronger and I am more active, I will lose weight and reverse the pre-diabetes. I have already started working on accepting my current image and not struggling against it because I know it’s not my fault, I am not a lazy glutton, it was just an  unfortunate accident. With this acceptance, I hope to translate it into health life habits soon, up to the level of pre-injury. I know it’s not easy to retrain a sluggish metabolism, but I did lose 2 kg in one year that’s encouraging. I am excited about not only the future but also the present. The #pandemic had thought us the importance of living in the now, of family of friends of freedom of movement of not taking anything for granted, and my injury had thought me that self-care is not a shameful or  negatively selfish act. It’s a necessity. I am not going to worry about the fibromyalgia now, I just know that I will be OK. The first step is the hardest and I already took it when I accepted to take a long sick leave and I am persevering by writing this story publicly to prove that having health challenges is not a sign of weakness nor is something to be hidden and that it is unjust to be discriminated against because of it.  I had an accident, which happened to be at work, there is no shame in that, I survived, I beat the odds, had some setbacks and found my way back after a hard battle. That’s life!

In the meantime, I am grateful for having a loving family, amazing  friends and wonderfully supporting colleagues.

Retracing The Pandemic in Libya

There is nothing like the smell of decaying garbage and meat to drive home images of virulent diseases and apocalyptic environmental disasters. ! When you combine that with an ongoing global pandemic and a decade long civil war in Libya which includes a multitude of foreign meddlers, a failed state, crushed economy, divided nation, dismantled heath sector and one of the highest corruption indexes on earth ; then I had the right to lose hope on the morning of August 2, 2020 when I noticed maggots coming out of the the garbage bags carefully lined up on our balcony and the stench of rot filling the air!

Why were there maggots ? because the  GNA (government in the Western side of Libya)  had imposed a 5 day full lockdown for Eid Adha festivities. If you are a follower of Libyan affairs, you realise that this is a tragedy, because the country is plagued by a civil war since 2011 and rubbish collection is low on its priority scale.  Also Libya  has the largest number and variety of deadly foreign intervention and proxy wars on its soil and in its skies and waters in this century. 

Now let's get back to the  hideous  olfactory experience.

It was a powerful catalyst to my fears about the future in Libya and in the world.  I watch with concern as the USA,  allegedly the most powerful, advanced nation on earth crumbles under the impact of Covid19  virus and as the 

WHO,  makes increasingly alarming announcements, literally stating that there is no "silver bullet" in sight. 

Media bombards us with numbers of cases on a daily basis but every week I check the dashboard of the Libya website of the Libyan NCDC or  National Centre for Disease Control, and the numbers though small compared to the rest of the world are worrisome to me especially when they surpassed the 1000 confirmed cases. But the strange part wast that it took until the first week of  July to reach 1000 cases. Today we stand at 9707 positive tests  and are looking at an abyss. If we look at the numbers: by August 2 we were almost 4000, at this rate it looks like before the end of August we would have reached the 10,000 mark! ( We actually reached it on August 21 as I was writing this post).

             What on earth happened?

As a lingering pursuit from my previous background and interest in clinical pharmacology and healthcare,  I have been following  @Muaaddio on Twitter. Muaad is a Libyan medical student who has been tweeting  about public healthcare in Libya for a while and collates the news from various sources. This builds an image of what is actually taking place in the country, better than the local news sites as he combs through them all. Naturally he started compiling the data on Covid19 as provided by the NCDC but translating it in English but also with raw data from contacts and personal resources. 

I have been expecting a disaster after Ramadan as social media filled up my inbox with people celebrating Eid El Fitr  with zero social distancing or masks in various cities across Libya. I was proven right when the spike started rising right about a week later. 

 

But how did we get to this? 

Libya's airports fly a limited  number of routes and with an ongoing conflict, our tourism sector is basically defunct. In this article I will attempt to retrace the steps of Covid19 in Libya that have led us to what I can only see as a tragedy on a grand scale if unchecked. This is not a scientific paper, this is not a thesis for a degree nor even investigative journalism. It is simply a story to recount from memory and to try to bring the different threads in the pantomime together before we get buried in more details and forget what happened in Libya.

The wider news about the corona virus started to filter to us around December last year as some form SARS-COV2 breaking out in China. In our lifetime we have seen many diseases, Mad Cow diseases, SARS, Mexican flu, Ziza virus,  bird flu, Ebola, mouth and feet you name it. Periodically we have a scare that flares up somewhere in the world and we beat it by paying attention and restricting travel a little bit or curtailing the activity that was causing it in the first place. But it is always contained in some way.  We always knew the fact that disease can be carried by travellers back to their countries or from their countries to other destinations since the great travels of Columbus at least. Having travelled through Asia, I am very familiar with people wearing medical face masks on public transport, airports and streets. This is done for protection from viruses or pollution or if they have the flu as a courtesy to others. So when I think that we are in a particularly dangerous time of the year during my travels I try to wear a mask.   

Around mid December 2019, my 16 year old niece became very ill. She had a continuous cough that she could not clear, chest pain, difficulty breathing, loss of smell, sore throat, lethargy and coughing her lungs out. Her fever was continuous  and when the usual flu remedies of , vitamins C, Nurofen or Panadol, lozenges for the sore throat, soup etc... were not working and she started using her asthma SOS inhalers almost constantly we went to hospital. The ER ward at that time was busy with the wounded from the frontline, but the young doctor managed to check her and by listening to her chest he asked for an x-ray. When the results came out a corner in lungs was not ok. I was appalled and felt guilty how can a young, healthy teenagers, who eats well and is well taken care off get pneumonia !!! How can her "normal flu" deteriorate so fast to this situation where her life was in danger? She was given oxygen and  prescribed antibiotics but it was not working as a few days her fever did not drop but rose even higher. So I took her to another hospital thinking they would have more time for her since it was farther from the frontline. There in the outpatient ward we has some tests and she was prescribed with very potent IV antibiotics. I call them the munitions of  last resort. She was also given panadol in IV form. I was seriously panicked. What if she gets worse, how can we treat her in a war zone. But I also noticed another thing that most beds in the ER where filled with men and women who were getting the same injection and had more or less the same symptoms. They were also given oxygen. I simply assumed that this years flu strain was more vicious than before. Still we both had masks on because it is easy to catch more viruses in hospitals. I spent a week taking her for her daily dose of  injection.  The patients at the two hospitals I had seen were either young men wounded at the frontline or people who had,  flu like symptoms, chest issues and fever that needed, oxygen and strong antibiotics. In that same week I discovered one evening my 80 year old father inanimate in the living room and burning hot with fever.  He had mild flu symptoms a few days ago and I was cursing at the war and whoever was responsible for it, that had damaged our infrastructure and caused us to feel cold in our own homes due to long hours of power cuts. Which meant we were prone to getting sick and others illnesses. I had never seen my father unconscious. So it was terrifying to have a child burning with fever in one room and  choking on her own breath and my father who had heart disease and a string of other chronic issues helpless in front of me. I did first aid and changed him and tried to bring down his fever. I was unable to move him on my own, and when he regained a bit of consciousness later he refused to go to hospital. So I brought him antibiotics, as he chest was definitely making weird sounds. That week was a nightmare. All in all my niece was severely ill for 20 days and convalescing until February. My father fared better, he was prompt on his feet in about 10 days. 

At the end of January I travelled to Turkey. At that time we had already heard about Covid19 but not many people were taking precautions. I am an OCD in terms of cleaning my personal space on a plane but I noticed a few of the travellers with disinfectant gels and masks something I never did before. I was seated next to a young man and the middle seat was empty between us. This suited me fine. There is no inflight movie on Libyan flights but you could follow the flight progress on the map on your screen. My neighbour  was doing that during the journey. He did not hesitate to ask for one of my wet wipes when the meal was served. Then at some point over the Mediterranean Sea he observed that it was strange that we were not passing over Greece in our route. I was curious so I asked  why is that a problem? he said that usually we fly a bit over it on our way to Istanbul and that the same thing happened when we was returning from China, the pilot had deviated slightly from the usual route. I won't get here today about  Greek part, nor the China change of route. But when I heard that he had been in China, I remembered that he was sneezing earlier. I did not ask him when was he in China.. But for the rest of the trip I covered my whole face with my scarf not just my mask. This was the 29 of January.

China is a popular destination for young Libyan men, as they bring a lot of goods to sell in Libya from there. Electronics, monogrammed luxury leathers, brand clothes or just other business. We also have a  good sized diaspora there since 2011 and many students who are on scholarships from the Chinese government. About 100 per annum. 

On February 3rd, my fever started rising and my throat closing and my nose was stuffy. I was very tired and started losing my voice. I was breathless and by the next day had a dry unproductive cough which I could not stop. I lay down for most of the week, feeling miserable, sweaty, coughing, choking, with a fever going up and down. Fears of Covid19 started plaguing  me. So by the end of the week I went to hospital, telling myself that if I had something, I would immediately be  kept there. My doctor did a thorough examinations and decided that I had a viral infection of the vocal chords and asked me to shut up for 5 days. He only gave me Advil and something to soothe my throat. Two days later I wore my mask and returned home to Libya. I was choking most of the time like having asthma attack. I took a panadol before boarding so I would not raise any alarms because by the time we established that I have no Covid it be too long. 

When I got home, I isolated myself in my room because I did not want my family to have another bout of flu, since they just recovered if you recall. My brain was burning like mush and my cough was not getting better, though it became very productive now. So when I saw yellowish colour from my nose and throat I realised it was no longer viral throat but probably some kind of bacterial infection. It was the morning I woke up with yellow pus coming out of my eyes and I was unable to open them that I realised this was serious. I donned a mask and got my own meds, antibiotic tablets but also antibiotic eye drops and nasal solutions the whole lot. About 24hrs later I started improving. A week later I felt human again, though I was still having difficulty breathing. 

In February if you were traveling to Tunisia or Turkey you had to fill some forms on arrival for contact tracing, while if you arrived in Tripoli, Libya your temperature was taken at the airport.  I left the country again on February 28 and arrived in Canada on March 1st. I got another sore throat on March 2 and was ill, coughing etc... until March 10, had to take antibiotics again. The doctor said it was not Covid19. 

My point is that perhaps Covid 19 was introduced in Libya early on by the Libyan travellers who came from China back in 2019?  It is a popular destination. Why was there such a high number of pneumonia cases? There are many anecdotes.

  

Sewage testing in a number of countries shows that the virus was present in Europe since December 2019 most likely but also as far back as March 2019 ( yes you read that right !) even before China announced the first cases  on December 31st, 2019.  So does that mean it could be present in Libya too ? How can we find out ? 

Could we have herd immunity ? Apparently it is possible . But if we did in Libya, why are the numbers ONLY now rising drastically ? are these new mutations? or is it because we increased testing?

All I know is that around the 10th of March, Libya woke up from its slumber and decided to do something drastic. The GNA side closed flights on 15 March without any previous warning while the eastern government told its citizens they had until the 19 March to get to Benghazi. Of course people in southern Libya used either western or eastern airports to get home. At the same time many countries were closing their borders and imposing quarantine such as Tunisia. 

When you know that most of your travellers are people going for treatment or people who have meetings overseas and some small business entrepreneurs who cannot afford to stay long outside, or simple young men gone to withdraw some foreign currency from the ATMs to resell back home and combine with it the visa challenges facing Libyans you would imagine the mess that can happen. The Libyans who became stranded abroad was a tragedy on its own. Because many Libyans spend everything before the day they go to the airport. Travellers had left families and jobs in Libya, while others had finished or not finished treatment. Others were dead and their family wanted to return their remains. In short It was a completed mess. I should know I was one of those stranded in Istanbul as a result of the dumbest decree on earth.Why was it dumb ? because while it stopped travel for ordinary Libyans those who has "waste" still were able to board one way or another  a flight back home on the so called "cargo flights" or Air Ambulance flights or even private jets or even by special exemptions from a minister. I used to see their Facebook posts boasted that they made it home... Additionally all these non publicly documented returnees did NOT undergo quarantine or even self isolate. Libya had no Covid19 confirmation  until March 24.

In early March, the  multiple Libyan governments had all announced sets of budgets to combat Covid19, by building hospitals ( now ? ) and testing plans etc...In addition to the state of emergency the GNA announced  "half a billion dinars to fight the virus." Also all the governments put some measures. There was no lack of advocacy on line, on social media, radio, TV, billboards. Tripoli residents were on lockdown for two months. Schools closed etc... Masks were encouraged not mandatory. 

In April 75 million LYD was supposedly finally allocated to municipalities from the initial half a billion. The EU contribute 18 million Euro in May and a further 110 million Euro in July, further mobilising 20 million Euro in August. By May the United States had confirmed over  12 million USD of support to Libya's anti-Covid19 efforts.

All the above is a lot of money ! WHERE  did it go?   Is anyone keeping track of this ?

The Libyan health sector crashed,  testing kits are always not available, PPE as well, as for ventilators and spaces in hospital ..... in Tripoli the hospitals were targeted by the LNA so probably some contamination took place when people ran out or others ran in to help? The water has been cut for months, the electricity is a non-ending saga. The oil blockade has not helped with paying bills and the government undertook a very late and expensive scenario to repatriate travellers. Put them in hotels at  its expenses abroad and quarantine them + Covid tests before returning home. At some point it became unsustainable and people are now quarantined locally. It does not mean that those who stranded brought it with them, no I can vouch that between March 16 and May 15 those that were quarantined in Istanbul did not see even the street until they were put on the planes, but as I mentioned above there were some slips and also those that had returned to Libya and to their communities between March 10 and 19 and those that were brought by private jets, also let's not forget all the foreign combatants, planeloads after planeloads were descending in  a number of Libya cities in the east and the west. So many factors went wrong that must be laid at the feet of those who had crowned themselves responsible for us but also to our own stubborness and Libyan macho psyche that we are invincible and this is just the flu.  

At the end of May Libyans threw caution to the wind  due to the enormous economic suffering and also they got fed up and emerged from lockdown and the numbers started rising.  Now in the past two weeks while the spike has gone up drastically and everyone knows someone who died from the virus or suffered from it, people are increasingly finally wearing masks and having a modicum of social distancing. However, to this day, weddings/funerals have not abated. We also have to contend with protests. The war on Tripoli ended but all the rest of miserable circumstances did not stop. 

I believe that we must have had our first wave in early 2020 and we are now riding the second wave due to the botched up measures. 

A Time for Introspection

For the last two years I have been constantly thinking and wishing for a long break. For a time where I would not have any deadlines, where I would be able to spend time at home, be with family, complete my library, re-arrange my papers,  scan the family albums, exercise more, eat healthy, cook, dance, try to find love, write my book, study etc... be normal!  I wanted to leave behind the cynicism that has creeped slowly into my life like a climbing weed and so I promised myself that as soon as I finish the next goalpost I will be able to take a couple of months off. But the goalpost was always moving forward.... 

There is a saying " be careful what you wish for ...lest it becomes true!". Indeed, when battle fatigue was settling in and "what next?" was growing as question in my head followed by the  "if I don't do something I will end up alone!" becoming more than just a cliche, and I  found myself collecting more auto-immune diseases in one decade then during most of my lifetime; I knew something had to happen to get out of this vicious cycle. 

The first sign was that after years of a successful, loved and respected project the funding partner decided to not extend anymore. It is a very normal action in the development sector and we had discussed this eventuality. But somehow I thought it  would be in a mythical future. The surprising thing was that I was not upset  at the prospect of unemployment for an unknown period of time - after all we are a country at war and stable jobs are not the norm - I told myself.  I begun planning  for all the activities on my bucket list - we all have one stashed somewhere 😀.  Then just as I was heading towards putting my vacation plans into reality the world pressed the brake pedals in March 2020.  I will come back to this shortly. 

Though I worked hard for the last three decades, bordering on perfectionism and addiction to completing deadlines, I had a sacrosanct time (in summer usually) when everything stopped so I could travel with my mother for our annual pilgrimage to her home and family in Syria. This meant I would not see a single email or shred of work for the duration of the vacation. It was priceless! I don't know what happened,  but at some point early on in this decade something changed and I turned into the most hard core workaholic of all times. It is telling that by March 2020 I had 75 days of untaken vacation privilege to which I had to reluctantly say goodbye.  Some people say it's your fault for not taking time off,  use it or lose it... but when you have responsibilities and dependents in a country at war you don't always have this luxury. Why? because you need to prove impact and success  if you combine that with hardline principles it means you literally won't raise your head to breathe. With hindsight I can see I was headed for burnout and that I did not need to be such an idealist.

So let's get back to when the world shut down in March. I was on the return journey home and became stranded on the final leg. I watched as the world was taken in a frenzy of death, illness and economic woes due to the Covid19 pandemic. I also watched as people tried to adjust to lockdown and social distancing. I read avidly about people learning new languages, starting a degree, cooking. spending time with their families, reading, having dance parties on Zoom, exercising on rooftops and balconies etc..The point was they were at home not somewhere in between. I did not have the heart to cook and I did not have the place to exercise on the balcony  what with it being freezing and windy!   I did not feel settled enough to learn something new, after all, I just lost my job yet had to ensure the office was closed down properly while  my country was at war and facing a pandemic. I feared for my family's life and I had none of the material things which I wanted with me during a lockdown. So I binged on #Neflix, chatted with my BFF, read some books on #Kindle and started eating jars of Nutella ! This situation lasted until I arrived safely home  on 15 May, 2020. That is my official lockdown date; before that was purgatory. 

So on May 16, I wake up at home, facing a self imposed, self isolation for 14 days, exhausted with two more weeks of Ramadan to go but somehow full of hope. For the first time, I had nowhere to hurry to. I could take my time. I had all the time in the world if I survived the civil war raging outside. Time was the most expensive commodity. My mother always used to mention an Arabic proverb which said that : "time is like a sword, if you don't cut it, it will cut you". I can still hear her words ringing in my head. 

I have been at home for a little over two months now. I relish talking to my father and experiencing the teenage tantrums of  my niece. Watching TV together, arguing about silly things, sitting in the balcony looking at the blue sky , cuddling with the cat, reading my stash of books, using my expensive face creams, discovering mum's recipes..My father would share with me vacancy links but all I could think about  was: not now, I am not ready. It's been a trip into memory lane but also mindfulness and decluttering. I had read so much about these two topics but putting them into practice was a struggle. So I thought I would begin with my beauty products and it was when I found a lovely jar of bath crystals and had a relaxing foot bath  that  the extent of how much I had  neglected my own well being hit me. There while soaking my feet and reading a book on a log lost civilisation, I started crying. Why was this activity no longer something I did regularly? I had those crystals since 2017! It took three years, unemployment and a global pandemic for them to find their way to me. 

It was a time for introspection!.... This was not right, it must run deeper than just plain workaholism.... As I had more time I discovered so many little things where I shortchanged myself:  being inactive, ignoring medical issues, ignoring sports injuries, not sleeping enough, tons of clothes since with their price tags in the closet, hair products, jewellery and accessories which I completely forgot. But the problem was not just personal material and body issues but also friendships that somehow fell of the radar and yet were important.. All this I discovered because I put everyone else before me and I was trying to push aside my mother's tragic death... not mourning meant there was unfinished business. Not having closures means you ruminate about the past constantly. Trauma was deepening and accumulating. The good thing I finally was accepting and acknowledging this which means it was easier to do something about it. 

The forced break of Covid19 has given many of us a grip back on our mad life. As much as it is scary what is happening to our world, planet and everything we know as much as I like to see this shake up with  a silver lining if we try and keep our distance. 

I gave myself the right to just enjoy being at home and daydream, read, think, explore very deep within my soul what and who  is it that is important to me

The answer will help shape the next decade of my life....

Operation Going Back to Tripoli

It's been exactly two months since I returned to Tripoli on one of the numerous repatriation flights for Libyan travellers stranded overseas.
I spent 66 days in Istanbul!
Days when I felt my life had stopped and where I had one goal only in sight namely to go back home.

To that end once the first couple of weeks had elapsed, I started project "Going back to Tripoli":

• I inquired at the Consulate  3 times a week about any updates and started following their Facebook page.
• I joined a Facebook group called "الليبيين العالقين في اسطنبول"  i.e Libyans stranded in Istanbul to get live news about what is going on and the situation of repatriation flights. There are thousands of Libyans on this page and being able to commiserate, cheer each other up, find out how to get things while in lockdown and any updates from back home as everyone knows someone who knows someone .....This page was my lifeline. It has recently been renamed as "Libyan Conversations in Turkey" as most of the original founders and admins are now back home and so it now serves Libyans in a more general way. 
• I tapped into my contacts for any info on how I could be included on one of the official non-commercial flight back home - but I was not a VIP and therefore that never panned out.
• When I gave up on normal transport I checked with my travel insurance if they would cover the cost of hiring a private jet  -> I know, sounds crazy right but it could have worked ....

Flight Tracking Radar Tweep 😎

• I started following all the radar gurus on social media who monitored flights in and out of Libya. The airspace was still super busy so how come I could not get one single place home? by hook or by crook?                         

• I started looking for options to travel by sea and contacted transport merchant ships for a chance to get on board as a passenger. Apparently even if I could get past the Turkish authorities I would not be allowed to disembark in Libya... plus it was a cargo ship full of sailors and no women. Negative too.

• Then when my desperation grew  worse I contacted private international flight operators. I finally settled on one company who quoted a price that if I shared it with 5 other passengers maximum  would at this point be affordable. Basically I would spend the savings meticulously put aside for my big summer vacation around Europe; but I figured it was worth it since no vacation will be possible in 2020 what with the COVID19 situation. The plan was how to discreetly recruit 5 other passengers without creating a ruckus around me. After postings on Twitter and Facebook and phone calls to different friends and family members I managed to get hold of 5 others willing to share the cost of chartering  our  private jet. Unfortunately by then Libyan Aviation Authority stopped allowing private jets with Libyan travellers on board (unless you are VIP of course) and so after we paid the invoice as prerequisite for starting the process, the operator could not get the permit to land anymore. I tried very hard with all my contacts to get a special clearance even showing that we will abide by any rigorous quarantine requested from us to no avail. That was a hard blow, to start the re-imbursement process after our hopes were raised.

• At this point Libyan authorities had finally come up with a plan. You take a COVID19 test, then quarantine at the designated hotels in Istanbul for 14 days then take another test and if both are negative you get sent home. I thought it was a waste of public money but hey who was to talk!  The problem ? It was not easy, how to get on the rota? I had already registered but needed to wait for my name to  be listed and paired with hotel. There were thousands of  people still before me already distributed in 13 hotels. 
• As the war on Tripoli became more intense with casualties mounting, my anguish increased exponentially. By now I started following the accounts of rescue ships in the Mediterranean Sea in case I could get a ride on them. I dabbled with looking into the people smuggling business but I was not even sure it existed in the reverse direction as in from North to South. I was aghast at how were all these illegal migrants who took to the sea able to get in touch with patrons.  I looked into ordering a Thuraya phone in the event that I do find a way back by sea. That's when I realised that I did not know any bandits or criminals and have had no dealings of that sort ever in my life. A gap that needed to be filled to thrive in today's Libya. I remembered almost ironically my colleague's remark when I became stranded at the beginning. " Do your best to get as soon as possible home Intissar, but don't get mixed up with pirates ! " I desperately needed a pirate now but did not know any unfortunately. 
• Those two intense months were quasi unreal, I made some friends online thru social media which helped preserve my sanity even though I was in daily contact with my family and BFFs and I am forever grateful for these people. Maybe it was the same for them as they were all stuck in or outside Libya and wanting to move on with their lives. I also received immense support from followers on Twitter and Facebook.

• Then, I  turned to another option, there was talk of repatriation via private flights to Benghazi and I was ready to get on any of them and then worry about the more than 1000 km drive back to Tripoli across major combat frontlines and desert land but it never materialised. I tried traveling to other countries where repatriation to Libya was sooner on the schedule but this proved impossible.
• I even looked into getting a place on an Air Ambulance but was unsuccessful.
• The likelihood of not being at home and something grave happening was killing me  bit by bit and the prospect of not being in control of my destiny almost gave me a heart attack. Project Going back to #Tripoli looked like it was not bearing fruits. The holy month of Ramadan had begun. I had never missed a Ramadan at home unless I was taking an exam abroad. The nightmare staring at me in the face was untenable!
• That's when my body gave out and experienced "stroke like" symptoms. Imagine calling an ambulance in the midst of a pandemic in a foreign land and going to the ER and being referred to a neurosurgeon all within one day only before finally entering the quarantine hotel to start your journey home. It was not even a choice, I took the path home and left the medical decision to God and to after the Covid situation is under control world-wide. Now was the time to be with family, feel their love, share what they are enduring.... Time to look inward. 

My luggage finally out of the door

• The 14 days in the La Quinta by Wyndham hotel journey, courtesy of the Libyan Consulate began. This was a complete lockdown even worse than my 50 days alone before. Because then I was in a flat with a scenic view and fresh air. I could visit the sitting room  or the bedroom, stand on the terrace at least. Here in the hotel, I barely went out of my room and you were not allowed to roam the hallways. Because of my food allergies my meals were delivered to me. The hotel was locked from the outside once we all did the COVID test. In a way it was liberating, I now gave myself the right to stop pursuing Operation Going back to Tripoli. I was helpless and I could totally binge on Netflix day and night, or search  for the best way to make my meals palatable. Winter had turned into warm spring, whilst my wardrobe was fitted for the Canadian weather of February. Finally the day my second test came back negative I could relish the dream of boarding that flight home. I did not even worry about how I was going to get from Misrata to Tripoli after we land. One step at a time I told myself. We were still in the thick of the aerial shelling of Tripoli and the frontlines were very fluid and dramatic.

Bob

• I posted  in detail about my trip back home ( check it out if you can read Arabic). I was grateful that I would still get to spend the last third of Ramadan with my family even if I would be mostly self isolating. I dreamt of the delicious home made meals....as cooking on my own had not worked out so well. The heart was not in it,  my focus was only to get to Tripoli. 

Two months since the bus dropped me at the traffic light on the Main Street closest to our house in Tripoli at 10.30 pm and I don't regret for one second picking the route home. Sometimes I felt like a drug dealer, at others like 007 but most of the time I tried to avoid feeling helpless. 

At the end of the day Operation Going Back to Tripoli  did succeed, as thousands of my compatriots, friends and colleagues remain stranded on different continents awaiting their countries procedures. Sadly I had to leave behind my 2 month old friend the cactus Bob as I could not transport him without damaging him. I hope someone from the hotel staff adopted him. 

It has been 5 months since a tiny virus called Corona literally brought the world to a halt and I am blessed to be with my loved ones enjoying a respite in the Tripoli conflict as the guns have fallen silent after 451 days. Let's take a bit of time to breath and recuperate and watch this space for my next installment : A time for introspection soon. 

The bus home !