By Malak Al Ryani
I yearn for you every day, even if people warn me not to go to you. I yearn for the aquamarine beaches and the white sand that the eyes of popularity have never seen. Libya to me is a place and a person, a home and a name.
I wish people would look at you and see the riches of your land, and the beauty of the statues in Leptis Magna and how boldly they stand. Crumbled as they may be, the history many people disregard lives in that marble stone. I wish they would celebrate you the way they do with Masr and the Maghreb. I wish our culture were known to the world. I wish my friends knew of your addictive gelato and enchanting Sahara. I wish my teachers knew of the vibrant cultures of our Amazigh, Arab and Tuareg communities, of our heritage and the stories of struggle the high school and college textbooks often overlooked.
I wish they knew of Ghadames, of its beautiful architecture and the stories held within its walls. I wish they knew of the old white and green streets of The Old City, where history seems to have settled into weathered, sun-bleached doorways. I wish they knew of your traditions, your assouf, mirskwaai and maloof, your bazin and the languages that have survived colonization. I wish they knew that you are not a plot of land between Egypt and Tunisia, nor are you the headlines that so often introduce you to the world.
I wish I could tell them about the things that cannot be photographed. The hospitality in a traffic jam, the stories around the 3la at night, the expressions from our mothers that lose their meaning when translated, and the familiarity of hearing a language that reminds you where you come from. I wish I could show them the parts of you that have travelled across oceans and made the homes of people who left.
Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to walk your streets without feeling like a visitor. To know the places my family speaks of, to see the coastlines I have admired from afar, and to experience the culture I have spent so much of my life trying to understand. There is something heartbreaking about longing for a place that is yours, yet still feels like a thousand stories waiting to be discovered.
I wish the world were kinder to you. I wish your people could experience the peace and prosperity that your land deserves. You have given so much to history, to culture and to the people who call you home. You deserve to be known for more than your hardships.
I wish I could say I am Libyan without having to face the scrutiny of not being known, I wish that saying you’re North African didn’t mean having to justify Libya’s place among the rest of the countries. I wish that people would see you as the wondrous land that inspired the Greeks and Romans to spin tales and fables of mystique about.
I yearn for you, Libya. Every day . Every time. I dream of you before I close my eyes. The sunset that looks like melted orange, pink, yellow and bruised magentas. I dream of the olive oil my aunt made for me. I dream of the loosa I had for breakfast there. I dream of the gardens and the night musk and jasmine scented twilights. I dream of you Libya before I sleep tonight.