Libya. A love lived, a life betrayed

M. Sandover Susan

Description

Libya. A love lived, a life betrayed follows the trajectory of Susan M. Sandover, who was lucky enough to have chosen an enlightened, forward-thinking Libyan career diplomat, Bashir, to spend her life with. They supported each other through the traumas, difficulties, and frankly terrifying experiences associated with the Gaddafi regime of US and NATO bombings, coups, a revolution and a blasphemy case but also enjoyed years of good times together. The resulting stories are partially his, partially hers and partially theirs. Sadly, before he found the time or a safe place to write down his experiences in the Libyan diplomatic corps and to denounce the Gaddafi regime, Bashir died. In spite of his family's efforts to destroy their relationship and appropriate his land during his illness, he made sure Susan had a safe place to live. It was only when Susan was alone that she experienced the full force of Sharia inheritance law and its tenets as applied to widows: she was entitled to one quarter of his property, the balance going to his siblings, hence the subtitle of the book 9/36.Susan's life was never dull with Bashir: at times, spine chilling, but always filled with love and happiness. Through all of these stories and many more, Susan displays her vast insider knowledge on Libya's political, social and cultural history together with details on the final year of the Gaddafi regime. The remaining chapters comment on post-revolutionary Libya and the missed opportunities for reconciliation.

Sujets

• Philosophie et théologie
• Libia
• Memoir
• Libya
• Libye

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 13 novembre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781785896934
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

libya a love lived, a life betrayed 9/36 susan m. sandover
Copyright © 2016 Susie M. Sandover

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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ISBN 9781785896934

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For Bashir ‘The Bringer of Good News’






Contents
One
London/Sierra Leone the meeting

Two
London/Sierra Leone & Liberia the expulsions/Seychelles an interlude

Three
Libya 1950 – 1980 background

Four
Nairobi, Kenya /attempted coup 1982/defection to London

Five
London/ married life/ the prenuptial agreement/Libyan embassy Siege

Six
London/Departure for Libya

Seven
Libya/ our arrival 1984

Eight
Libya/ the new life 1984 – 1986

Nine
Libya/1986 the USA bombing

Ten
Libya/post USA bombing/London spooks/Cuba a winter holiday

Eleven
Libya/The British School start of a new career

Twelve
New York/ United Nations General Assembly 1988

Thirteen
London/Lockerbie/Libyan Tunisian rapprochement/UK blacklisted

Fourteen
Libya 1989 /20 th anniversary celebrations

Fifteen
Libya antiquities & cultural heritage/Thailand UNESCO/Egypt a break

Sixteen
India posting/ special envoys and UN sanctions avoidance/Mother Theresa teaching/Malaysia a break/Libyan blacklisted

Seventeen
Libya tumultuous homecoming 1996

Eighteen
Death of a father

Nineteen
Libya/Growth of Islamist inspired opposition/Lifting of UK and Libya bans

Twenty
Libya/ new house/new career path

Twenty – One
Libya/ Bulgarian nurses – Benghazi HIV tragedy

Twenty – Two
Libya/opening of economic opportunities/Italian break/9/11 impact/ The Gaddafi Royal family

Twenty – Three
Manila Philippines/arrival/Jericho & Eden

Twenty – Four
Manila Philippines/ diplomatic and cultural life/Mindanao – OIS delegation Imelda Marcos/Gloria Arroyo

Twenty – Five
Manila Philippines/July 2003 attempted coup

Twenty – Six
Return to Libya/new neighbour Mohamed Gaddafi/Changes 2006/ New teaching opportunities/Education corruption

Twenty – Seven
Libya/ Manwa dispute – blasphemy court case/Libyan land ownership And inheritance rights

Twenty – Eight
Libya/rumblings of discontent/ Benghazi inspection/Gaddafi at the UN

Twenty – Nine
Libya/ the Arab Spring/The Libyan Revolution February

Thirty
Libya/the revolution heroes/housebound/old animosity & tribal allegiances

Thirty – One
Jordan/establishing a life in Amman/embassy infighting/defections

Thirty – Two
Jordan/ Tripoli falls/the death of Gaddafi/the revolution is won

Thirty – Three
Jordan/The Libyan peace/the plight of Libyan diplomats/visit to Tripoli/ Capture of Saif Gaddafi/Libyans stealing from the war wounded

Thirty – Four
London/cancer diagnosis/farewell to Jordan/sharia inheritance & property Sale/Shkuka family intransigence

Thirty – Five
London Bashir collapse/Youtube appeal to his family

Thirty – Six
London/Libya house sale blocked/Shkuka family cut ties forever with Their brother

Thirty – Seven
London/The final days

Thirty – Eight
London/Death of husband, lover and best friend

Thirty – Nine
London/the villains emerge/the beginnings of a book

Forty
London/survival/Tripoli visit to lawyers/unfinished business

Forty – One
London/return to Libya/Lawyer villain uncovered/sharia court

Forty – Two
Libya farewell/at peace
One
9/36 is the end of the tale but the beginning starts with so many previous events that have had to be sealed in my memory box for safety. Many times I have wished that I could have kept a diary of the past 35 years, but the fear of my writings being found and incriminating the man I loved has always stopped my ever beginning. Even today when I have nothing to lose, all of those past years still haunt me.
When I was asked recently in an interview what qualifications I believed that I had for working abroad, I felt a certain amount of frustration at the woman who had quite clearly not read my CV and was obviously just reading the next question on her formulaic list. In a probably rather inappropriate answer I responded that I had been bombed by the Americans, lived through two attempted coups, a major earthquake and two typhoons, lived under a dictatorship, through a revolution and a NATO bombing. A silence ensued for a few moments; I could see what was going through her mind, wondering if I was some kind of Walter Mitty character, and if what I had just said could be true? It was. What she had failed to notice in my eyes and tone of voice was that I am a survivor despite even 9/36 being hurled at me.
At the tender age of four I went around the world with my parents, out via the Suez Canal and back through the Panama Canal. Although I can remember little if nothing of the journey it might have ignited my Christopher Columbus spirit since travelling from then onwards was in my bones; any chance, anywhere, I was game. But this story begins in 1980 when I was 32 and weaves between my flat in Frognal, North London and Freetown, Sierra Leone on the West Coast of Africa. The country was preparing to host an Organisation of African Union Summit (OAU) new hotels had been built and it was swarming with security experts and intelligence agents from Western, African and Arab countries. For my travelling companion Kathy and me it was a cheap winter holiday destination and if I were to believe in fate then certainly my destiny was decided when we set foot on the tarmac and on to the ferry taking us to Freetown that night.
The capital was bubbling with frantic businessmen eager to capitalize on the many construction projects necessitated by the hosting of an international summit. We were two not unattractive young women out for some fun in the sun with little or no competition. Africa was a complete revelation to us with its noises, colours and heat being so very different from the suburban London where we had both grown up. The ubiquitous music, clubs, casinos and stunningly beautiful beaches were all so exciting, as was the charming male company. With numerous bottles of champagne arriving at our dinner table, we enjoyed the attention as we danced the night away before returning to our shared hotel room to compare stories and laugh about them. Our days were spent enjoying the sun and the glorious unspoilt tropical, palm fringed sandy beaches. The backdrop to our carefree fortnight throbbed with rich Africans, Lebanese and Indian brokers and traders all vying for a share of the lucrative contracts on offer, while the poor Sierra Leoneans were left with little or nothing to look forward to.
It is difficult to remember every detail of that time where Kathy and I met so many extraordinary people but we were thrust into a novel, different world. The president’s son, the infamous Nigerian millionaire playboy Jimmy Ahmed, the head of intelligence at the Libyan embassy Mohammed Marouf, Anwar Sadat’s Egyptian presidential head of security and amongst others a former SAS man called Ian, whose reason for being there we never quite discovered. A motley crew in a tropical climate all wanting to make money and have fun. Without a doubt we were two single females in the right place at the right time with enough worldly experience to know how to say no when it was necessary.
So vividly I remember when we first met Bashir wearing a yellow shirt and beige trousers. Why I remember this detail until today I have no idea but for some reason he caught my attention with an ever – mischievous smile that I came to adore. At that time he was sporting his glorious long black locks and a Mexican moustache. I am sure there was also the interest factor of being the first Libyan I had ever met. Of course we all knew of Gaddafi and a little of how this revolutionary colonel had turned the oil markets upside down and was now trying to impose his own form of socialism on his oil rich country. This however, was far away from our thoughts as Bashir came to say hello to our table of new friends. There was an instant magnetic connection as we shook hands, before he disappeared off to the casino. For the rest of the holiday we were to pass each other at different times generally stopping to chat about music. His passion for it became apparent on hearing him play the classical oud some days later. He always sang in Arabic, seemingly channelling a faraway, beautiful place.
Such was the fun we had in Sierra Leone that I returned for a second time a month later. A lucky chance meeting at a London party had secure