Road to Ubari

Life at an oil rig can be quite lonely. Nothing but mounds of yellow sand swirling all the way to the horizon.  No trees vegetation or shrubs to break the monotony of the landscape.  Grey steel masts and appliances of the rig with just the blue and grey cabins dotted around. A metal platform shinning in the blazing sun and the low hum of the rig turning round and round. Men in orange protective gear seldom speaking, working silently just using hand gestures for communication.  This particular oil rig was South West of Ubari and very small. It had less than a dozen workers. Jamal one of the technicians was walking around with a clipboard in his hand. Jamal’s work was to keep an eye on the oil gauge readings and fill out the paperwork before the oil was loaded and sent by freight train onto Fezzan oil refinery.

 The highlight of the oil rig workers life in an otherwise monotonous job was going into Ubari once a week . Mobile reception at the rig was very poor and Jamal waited impatiently to get into Ubari town to call his family. Listening to  child babble and his wife’s calm voice made Jamal both sad and happy. Sometimes he wished he could just fly back home and never be away from them. But the money kept him tied to the oil rig.

The company that owned the oil rig gave Jamal and his colleagues subsidised food vouchers for restaurants in the city. All these were built following a standard American model. There was a long steel counter with bored waiters on the other side. The tables and chairs were all steel and looked exactly the same . The menu was quite westernised and didn’t have much variety. It was usually western and Asian workers on a budget who came in. Jamal preferred Libyan and Arab restaurants that had a local feel . The Arab style low sofas and bright coloured cushions, potted plants , rugs and huge pictures of Arab Africans on the walls had a relaxing ambience. Like islands of tranquillity in the blazing heat of the African sun. Most days Jamal could only dream about going into these expensive places unless it was the birthday or promotion party of an American boss from regional headquarters. Then they would all have their fill of Libyan Bazeen and rice.

As they drove back to the rig something didn’t seem right. The rotating rig was silent. There were no oil tankers waiting around instead they spotted several army jeeps, a tank and army people stationed around the installation. Some walking around talking on phones and some on top of trucks at a vantage lookout point. Everyone looked tense and worried. The oil rig workers gathered around in a circle, some went into the office to find what was going on and why the rig had been shut down. No one seemed to have any clear information except that an attack on oil installations was expected from hostile forces. Those hostile forces would either takeover the installations or burn them. Fighting was going on in other parts pf the country that only foreign media was reporting.

It was a tense night hardly anyone slept. Around dawn they heard gun fire and shooting. The workers peered cautiously through the windows  and found that  army soldiers were far outnumbered by  hundreds of armed people that had descended all around the rig. It looked like a rag tag army of civilians of all shapes and sizes mostly carrying AK 74 rifles.  Some carrying rocket launchers and others waving and cheering loudly out of armoured trucks. The govt soldiers didn’t put up much of a fight and were seen retreating  in great haste.

Jamal assumed the rag tag army must be the rebels that the govt soldiers were talking about. The hostile forces supported by UN and America trying to overthrow the Arab govt and take control of oil installations. A short fat man with an oversized soldier hat seemed to be in command, he ordered the office door to be broken down.  Jamal and the other workers had barricaded  themselves inside. The short fat man and his deputies banged and pounded the door with rods and sticks, then opened fire indiscriminately. The bullets hitting the door made a loud rattling sound, still the workers made no move. Then shouting in Arabic became more intense and someone outside their door ordered  ‘’ If these bastards don’t come out in 30 seconds bring in the gasoline  and put them on fire.’’  Jamal and the others panicked, removed the barricades and came out one by one hands in the air. They were taken to an armoured car at gun point, blindfolded with some rough material , hands tied with pieces of nylon string and loaded onto the vehicle unceremoniously like animals. Jamal’s lips were parched , his throat was dry and his hands were shaking with fear. Were they taking them to the desert to shoot them? No one knew what to expect.  The rebels were going round with guns stolen from govt ammunition dumps and it was likely the govt in Tripoli had fallen. If  no one was in charge they would probably be killed like goat or sheep. Jamal started praying silently in his heart and asking Allah to look after his wife and child and his parents after he was gone. He asked Allah to help all of them on the off chance that the rebels would let them go. As they drove into the desert dust and sand from the roadside went into Jamal’s mouth making him cough violently every now and then. The rebels drove for what seemed like hours braked suddenly and shouted at them to get off the truck. They removed the blindfolds and left Jamal and the other workers standing in the middle of the road feeling a little bewildered.

For a few moments no one said a word. All had been expecting to get a bullet . They all started talking and laughing at the same time  in sheer nervousness, everyone was exhausted from  the emotion and drama. They dragged their tired feet through the desert road, after a few miles they found a petrol station where they got food and water. The petrol station guy sold them his old Toyota truck. As they arrived in Sebha, the nearest town streets were littered with dead bodies lying in strange poses. Fires were burning around the town. The sound of gunfire could be heard every now and then. People were looting the few shops that still had food items left in them. Some people were filling up cannisters and buckets from the petrol stations. Windows and doors of houses were smashed and furniture clothes and empty suitcases littered the streets. The stench of corpses was everywhere. Every now and then some Muslim volunteers would come with a stretcher and pick up a dead body reciting the Qalima loudly cover the dead body with a white shroud and march towards the graveyard.

 Being close to death in the desert didn’t disturb Jamal as much as the scenes  in Sebha. The idea of staying in a hotel seemed absurd, Most had been looted and empty. They had no choice but to do what every one else was doing. Hide  in empty houses around the city and go foraging for food in stores that were still left standing. It was too dangerous to travel and they survived like hunted animals and rats on stale food and stolen canned beans for a long time. Finally they found someone who was ready to take them to Ben Ghazi for an exorbitant price. They had to part with the old Toyota and their watches to get out of Sebha.

The consulate in Ben Ghazi looked clean and a  world away from the stench of dead bodies, burning houses and smoke filled Sebha. As Jamal boarded the special plane that the consulate had arranged for its citizens he felt as if a part of him had died in Ubari and Sebha and would never come back.

Back home Jamal’s entire family and half the neighbourhood was waiting at the airport. His living room was crammed full of people who bought boxes of mithai (sweetmeats) for the parents. Thanking Allah that the son who had been reported missing for several months had returned home safe and sound. Jamal was dressed in a clean white Kamiz Shalwar after a long time, very different from the orange protective gear at the rig and soiled stinky clothes in Sebha. But Jamal wasn’t feeling clean inside. His mind wasn’t adjusting to the peace and calm in the house. The sound of birds chirping outside, the smell of fresh tea from the kitchen, people laughing and joking happily ,all seemed wrong to him. He was getting annoyed with the people coming in with boxes of mithai . He wanted to shout at them. Why are you celebrating ,what are you celebrating? That I have come back alive but have I? 

The next weeks and months saw a strange change in Jamal. He was silent and  self absorbed . No longer taking any interest in his child or wife. Spending long hours sitting on the roof staring into space. The big Bohar tree providing him shade when it became warm. No one took much notice and thought he was just trying to get over whatever horrors he saw in Sebha and Ubari.

But as time went on and nothing changed , the dad tried talking to him ‘’ Putar’’ he said to Jamal ’’ House can’t run on one person’s pay.’’ Jamal looked up absently  ‘’So  what happened to the money I sent you from Ubari’’ the dad looked sheepish ‘’Your uncle’s borrowed most of it , and  how long will the rest of it last last’’ Jamal looked  really angry , his eyes became slits and looked blood shot. Does my father know anything about the hell I am going through he thought, do my feelings not matter? ‘’ Am I just a body to you that earns money?’’ He said out loud, looked at his father as if he was a stranger. Got up and rushed out of the house not waiting to hear the father’s reply.

A few days later the family was sitting in the courtyard having their evening meal. The house smelled of fresh Roti. The father was feeding the grandson from his own plate. Halfway through the meal Jamal said to his father ‘’ Abba I have joined a Tablighi Jamaat (preachers group) and will be going on tours with them’’. The father looked at him strangely and asked ‘’are they going to pay you‘’ Jamal sighed ’’ Is everything about money for you Abba ‘’The  mother sensing an argument tried to intervene ‘’then how are you going to pay for your family’s daily needs’’ she asked ‘’I don’t know and I don’t care ‘’ Jamal’s tone was becoming angry as he left his food half eaten and got up to go out of the house again. ‘’ Get me back all the money from my uncle’s’’ He shouted banging the door in a huff. Half an later he was on the phone to his wife ‘’ I am going on a tour with the Tablighi Jamat.’’ Jamal said casually. The wife looked sad. She could only pray that he would return from whatever she had lost him to.

Nazneen Jamal’s wife tried her best to keep busy when he was not around.  As the evening cooled she went out to water the plants in the little garden on the side of the house. Feyzan her son, snatched the water hose from her laughing loudly, soaking her from head to foot. The silver jet of water splashing all over Nazneen she forgot all about her troubles for a while. At that moment Jamal entered the house to see the mother and son doubled up with laughter. He bellowed at his son in a loud voice ‘’ Why are you laughing like an idiot , I could hear you all the way down the street. go inside and sit there quietly’’ Then  he turned to his wife and glared at her ‘’ why are you standing next to the street where men can see you’’ the wife looked shocked and scared , what had she done wrong ? Why was she being made to feel like a criminal ‘’ Go inside I never want you out here again, cant you hear me  ‘’ he continued shouting as Nazneen dragged her confused feet to the room ‘’I will have to teach you  manners and Islamic rules myself’’, Jamal said to her as he was picking up the hose and putting it away. Nazneen was tired of the arguments and said nothing. Next day he brought home a burqa several pairs of gloves and socks and told Nazneen ‘’you have to put these on whenever you pick Feyzan from school’’. Nazneen was angry and threw everything on the ban Charpai  (jute bed )  in the courtyard. 

She went in and turned  on the TV , Jamal’s mother made some hot Pakora’s .All three were enjoying the funny drama serial that Fayzan loved. The mother made some tea that they were having with the pakora’s. Jamal was sulking around in the courtyard, no one taking any notice of him anymore. Every now and then Fayzan would get up and start jumping around the room excited with the TV play. The sound of the family’s outbursts of laughter and loud cheering  irritated Jamal. In the end he went in and turned the TV off. ‘’What is so funny’’ he queried ‘’ why are you wasting your time with these vulgar plays’’ the mother tried to turn the TV back on but was no match for Jamal’s strength. ‘’You women are not training my son to be a good Muslim’’ Jamal said and  dragged the TV all the way to the store and locked it in there.

 Fayzan looked like he was going to cry. Jamal dragged him to the room and took out some religious literature from his brief case‘’ read this’’ he ordered ‘’ this is not waste of time’’  Nazneen went in and sat  with her son trying to console him. Tears fell from Nazneen’s eyes onto Fayzan’s hair and Fayzan’s tears fell into the pillow.

Jamal’s mother was very angry at his behaviour and the complaint went to the dad as soon as he came home. The dad decided to take things in his hand and confronted Jamal ‘’ why are you behaving like an animal and causing everyone so much stress’’ ? he sounded really angry ‘’ Leave the house if your Islam doesn’t allow people to enjoy themselves ,laugh or be happy’’ The dad stood over Jamal in an intimidating pose trying to scare him. Jamal said nothing  to the father and stormed into the kitchen where his mother was kneading the dough for the evening meal. Jamal picked up the dough tray and threw it on the floor with a loud crash. ‘’ Who pays for this dough’’ he yelled ‘’ who pays for this chicken you are cooking ‘’Who paid for this house, I did’’ he was yelling like a mad man The mother was really scared and thought Jamal was  having some kind of a fit. ‘’ She tried to calm him holding him by the arm and thinking ‘’i must find someone to do ‘’dum’’ on Jamal , surely some evil spirit is on his head’’. ‘’ Now you people are telling me to leave my own house’’? Jamal was still yelling in anger.

The father came in and was upset to see the dough all over the kitchen floor.  ‘’Does your Islam also tell you to destroy rizk? ‘’(edible food) the father asked? Jamal said nothing glared at his father and left the house again. This was now normal routine for Jamal after every argument.

 This time round he was gone for several months and everyone breathed a sigh of relief not having him around. They forgot all about the argument over locking up the TV and went back to their routine life.

Jamal looked like different person on his return home. He had grown a long beard was wearing a white hat, had put on a lot of weight and his shalwar was tied way up on his stomach showing his bare ankles. He seemed calm and went about the house quietly until his father returned. ‘’ I want you and Ami to leave my house Abba’’ he said to his father as soon as the father stepped into the living room. The father sighed and decided not to argue with him again. Next morning Jamal repeated his threat again ‘’ where do you want us to go putar,’’(son) the father asked in a tired voice ‘’ every family has arguments, do they throw old parents on the street?’’ Jamal seemed calm ‘’ you can go to my Uncle’s house , seeing as he owes you all that money’’ There was a cruel glint in Jamal’s eyes who was no longer using anger as his tool but had found something stronger to hurt his father. ‘’ Putar what will the people say’’ the mother was close to tears ‘’People will say nothing ‘’ he bent and took out a coke can and some meat curry from the fridge. ‘’it is my duty to teach my family Islamic values and you are interfering with that’’ he motioned to Nazneen to heat the food for him. ‘’ Why are you eating all the time’’ the father seemed annoyed ‘’Is this part of your Islam as well’’ Jamal didn’t answer and just glared ‘’ I want you gone by the time I return’’ he said ‘’ don’t make me call in the lawyers.’’

There were tearful departures, everyone felt helpless and unable to control the stranger that Jamal had become. The parents decided to move away to give him some space, hoping their absence would calm his anger.

Jamal found work in a small printing company that printed and published Tablighi literature. He left the house at dawn and come home past midnight. Both Nazneen and Fayzan had to obey the new rules set out for them, more out of fear than anything else. With the mother and father out of the way. Jamal would pick up the stick if Nazneen and Fayzan resisted his orders. Fayzan left normal school and was living at a Madrisah. Nazneen spent most of her time inside a dark room reading the Quran or religious literature. She was not allowed out of the house even to the roof or near the open windows of the front room She looked like a ghost of her former self, had lost weight, dark circles under her eyes, she always looked pale and undernourished. Moving about the house like a lost spirt doing one chore after another soundlessly. Always covered from head to foot in a thick chaddar regardless whether it was cool or hot.

As Jamal parked his Jeep in the front entrance, he was a bit surprised to see the house all dark.  Nazneen never left the house without his permission, ‘’ has the woman gone mad ‘’ he thought to himself ‘going off on a walk about not telling me a thing’’ He stormed into the neighbour’s house thinking she might be there. The neighbour women stood behind her door looking scared of Jamal ‘’ Bhai sahib ‘’ she spoke in a stammering voice ‘’ Nazneen has been in hospital since last night, sorry we didn’t know where to contact you’’ and then she quickly disappeared behind the door.

All the blood went to Jamal’s head. His head felt like it was spinning out of control. ‘’In the hospital’’ he thought. They had an argument the night before and he had gotten very angry and hit her. But he had hit her so many times before. She was used to it. Had he hit her too hard? He tried to recall the incidents from the previous night. the spinach and potato’s Nazneen had cooked were tasteless he had emptied his bowl in the sink in anger and asked her to cook some more food for him. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into the woman. For the first time in years she shouted back at him’’ I am not your slave ‘’ she had yelled ‘’go and get your food from the hotel if you don’t like what I cooked’’  He just lost it and did not wait for her to finish the sentence  picked up a wooden rod  lying in corner and hit her with full force. Nazneen fell to the floor and started yelling and calling him names. She couldn’t have been that ill if she could still yell insults at him and call him names. He had gone off to the hotel to have his food and slept in the mosque to teach her a lesson.

He was feeling a bit sheepish now, not sure if he should turn up at the hospital or just wait for her at home. His mind was buzzing with a lot of disturbing thoughts. In the end he decided to go to the hospital in case she was seriously injured. He didn’t want her blabbing to the doctor about what had really happened.

 The police was already in the ward when he went in to see Nazneen. The doctor at the hospital insisted that Nazneen file a charge. Nazneen looked terrible. He couldn’t remember having beaten her that much. The doctor informed him ‘’She has cuts all over her body, a concussion on her head, her kidney is bleeding internally and her right ear drum is ruptured.’’ Jamal felt a pang of fear, not for Nazneen but himself ‘’ is she going to make it’’ he asked avoiding the doctor’s eyes. ‘’I don’t know’’ the doctor sounded unsure ‘’We have to wait for the result of MRI scan’’

Jamal sat there quietly feeling somewhat guilty. He was not sure how to handle the situation anymore. He had gotten so used to becoming violent with Nazneen, it never occurred to him that someday this could end up in tragedy. He wanted to hang around to make sure Nazneen didn’t name him in the police report. She could blame it all on a fall. The ward shut down for the night and Jamal came home to an empty house and disturbing dreams.

In the afternoon a police jeep stopped outside the office of the printing house and stared asking the workers where they could find Mohamad Jamal who was wanted for assault and attempted murder of his wife. Jamal didn’t wait to hear what his fellow workers were saying. He opened the back door, fled to the mosque and asked the Maulvi Sahib of his Tablighi Jamaat to hide him until he could figure out what to do.

‘’ Do you have any friends outside Pakistan’’ the Maulvi Sahib asked him. Jamal thought for a while ‘’ some of my friends have gone back to work in an oil refinery in Ras Lanuf ’’ he said slowly ‘’ Will they help you to get work  ‘’ the Maulvi asked again ‘’ ‘’they might do if I could somehow get out and get to Libya’’.

The maulvi sahib was most helpful. Jamal was transported to some unknown destination and provided a passport. He crossed over into Libya from the Egyptian border and handed over to the next lot of Maulvi’s sahib’s associates who kept him in an old house for a few days.

Jamal was getting restless ‘’I have to go to go Ras Lanuf‘’he said to the dark man who was guarding the building ‘’ I will get a job there’’ the man smiled and said ‘’ you have to wait my friend’’ Next morning he was loaded into a military truck with 20 other men and boys some as young as 12 or 13. The truck travelled for a long time. Before they got out of the truck they were blindfolded again. He got off to find himself in a town that looked like hells angels had blitzed it themselves. The buildings were black scraggy ruins from Arial bombings. Streets were littered with rubble and twisted metal piles of broken burnt out furniture was everywhere. Every few feet the carcass of burnt vehicles was visible. There were no inhabitants except the fighters with guns strapped around them. The wind whistled mournfully through holes in the walls , the eerie silence made it seem like a ghost town from a horror movie. This was a hundred times the destruction he had seen in Sebha. ‘’What has happened to Libya in these few years’’ he was thinking.’’ Have I made a mistake coming here?’’

They were locked up in rooms of the ruined building. He had to sit on his ramshackle bed most of the day as there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. There were guards outside, he wasn’t sure why?  ‘’ Your training begins tomorrow’’ finally he was told by the burly man in command. ‘’ Training for what ‘’ he tried to ask one of the other men locked in the next room. The answer left him weak in the knees and he nearly crashed into the wall.

He was not going to Ras Lanuf to work in the oil refinery. He had been sold to the Islamic State as a slave soldier by  Maulvi Sahib’s associates and that is where he was now. Among the ruins and destruction of Sirte, in an ISIS prison, waiting to be trained or be killed. He sat with his hands around his head for a long time. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t go through this nightmare. ‘’I have to escape come what may’’ he thought in desperation.

At night he asked the guard on duty if he would let him out of the room for a few moments. The guard hesitated ,Jamal had been hiding some cash ,with a heavy heart he pushed it under the door. ‘’ five minutes only’’ the guard said looking all around stealthily. Jamal was glad to be out of his stale smelling cell and breathed heavily in the night air , then turned around  ambushed the guard and tried to snatch his gun. The other guards were on him in seconds.  A volley of gunfire exploded in his ear drums. He screamed like an animal from the pain as he fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood. Somewhere in the distance the rattle of machine guns hitting metal surfaces was still alive. As consciousness drifted away and the a dark veil numbed his senses, he could feel his wife’s spirit hovering over him from where she had died in pain and agony on a hospital bed. ‘’ I am sorry………’’ he was trying to form the words that froze in his mouth as he travelled into total darkness.