Notes From A Libyan Lurker VII - Fast Times In Benghazi

March 31, 2011

Benghazi, Libya—Rumors that the rebels had pushed back beyond Brega to Ra's Lanuf now appear to be unfounded. The rebels' retreat appears to have stopped west of Ajdabiya.

I slept in and when I finally got out of bed some new contacts I had just met took me for a haircut. Afterward we tooled around Benghazi in an Audi 4 and ate fish for lunch—plates of fresh fish picked in the room next door and caught that morning. We also had calamari, crab, shark, and other delectable sea creatures. I was in heaven. The restaurant staff was eager to please. I wondered if they felt like they should be fighting on the frontlines instead of feeding journalists seafood.

Toward the end of our meal they asked about my interests and hobbies. This led to a discussion about cars.
“We race, sure, you want to race?” one of the staffers asked. Apparently kids still host street races in Benghazi. They told me that's why there are speed bumps everywhere.

Then they took me downtown to a place where drugs are procured. Three cars were waiting in line. We edged up to the dealers—two kids, one sitting in a white lawn chair wearing a red sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head, and another, heavier kid who was working on the cars. They bought some hash even though we said we weren't looking to smoke any.

This is part of their contribution to the jihad—help the journalists, or at least show us a good time so we're less likely to write negative things about them. One of our Libyan companions told us that he had moved back home from Paris to participate in the revolution. The other had been abroad as well. They love their country but aren’t throwing their bodies into the fight. And why should they? The rebels aren’t hurting for bodies; they’re more in need of military strategy.

I've met so many young Libyans who have returned to their homeland after living in another country for various periods of time. In the hotel elevator I spoke with a heavy set guy with a thick British accent who told me that he will die—they’ll all die—before Gaddafi takes Benghazi. Another Libyan kid with a Liverpudlian accent gave us a ride back from Ajdabiya yesterday and relayed many of the same sentiments. This isn’t the type of jihad that has taken place elsewhere.

We stopped at a demonstration on the way home. Demonstrations bore me. I jumped out of the car to take photos and the driver’s friend joined me. After taking a few shots I was ready to leave.

“This makes me feel so good,” the driver's buddy said. “We could never do this.” His humility instantly squashed my bullshit attitude.

We ate dinner at a friend’s place. An AK-47 sat on a nearby couch, and the guy next to it was wearing a Megadeath shirt and smoking shisha. Of course, Al Jazeera was on. More people joined us, including three kids who just dropped out of school in Canada to come back and fight. Two of them had the luxury of training for a day, and it sounded like what would have amounted to a suicide mission to Misrata was wisely abandoned. They were frustrated and ready for action.

The kid in the Megadeath shirt prepared a few sticks of hash for a joint while two kids prayed in the corner. They finished their prayers and smoked the joint while listening to my stupid war stories. They thought I was crazy. Listening to myself, I wanted to shut the hell up and head to the frontlines immediately. Then, for whatever reason, we pass around a French multipurpose machine gun. Another guy played with his knife, flicking it out and folding it back in repeatedly. Small gestures like that seem so important, but I don't know why.

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A FULL RETREAT_[ BLOOD AND MONOTONY IN AJDABIYA](http://beta2.vice.com/read/notes-from-a-libyan-lurker-v-blood-and-monotony-in-ajdabiya)_

TAILGATING IN BEN JAWAD

THE PRISONERS

BENGHAZI OR BUST

THE BORDER