After some time, Fareed enters the house with
his wife and children. He leads his wife directly
past the TV room and closes the door behind
her. While the men will not meet her, nor see
her, I am introduced to her. She is very kind
and welcomes me to her house. The rest of the
evening we sit with Fareed and his brother in
the TV room. His two oldest children, a girl of
six and a boy of four also stay with us. Their
stories about the revolution are like the script
of a movie, situations we have never been in
and hope never to experience. At some point
he whispers something in the ear of his
daughter. She leaves the room and comes back
carrying the big Kalasnikov, which she then
starts taking apart. We have never seen such a
weapon before, let alone held it, and can
hardly believe what we are seeing. Almost
surreal.
The next morning, Fareed hands me a plastic
bag. He says it is a present of his wife. In the
bag are a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I
remember what Nasir and his wife told me and
do not even try to refuse this kind offer. We
thank our hosts and get on the bikes for
another long day of riding. Fareed leads us
back to the main road and takes us to a fuel
station. We fuel up all four bikes and take out
our wallets, but Fareed steps forward and pays
for our fuel instead. We thank him extensively
for his great hospitality and kind gesture and
continue our way to Ajdabiya.
"Most of them were “Freedom
Fighters”, the people who fought
against the Gaddafi regime. But
there are also pictures of women
and children, innocent victims of
the war. While we walk past the
pictures, the men tell us about
the people that are remembered
here. Amazing stories of great
bravery."
In this part of the country it is clearly visible
that there has been some heavy fighting
during the revolution. Houses have holes from
gunshots, are burned or have collapsed. The
potholes in the asphalt are actually big craters
and are clearly caused by exploded grenades.
We see a lot of burned trucks and even
abandoned tanks. We stop to take a closer look
at some of the tanks. The bullet casings lie
scattered in the sand. It is an impressive sight
and tangible evidence of the revolution. I take
pictures while the guys are in, on, behind and
under the tanks.
The further we ride to the east, the more
military checkpoints we encounter. At most
checkpoints they just wave us through. If they
do stop us it is usually for a chat, to take
pictures or to offer us some food. Most soldiers
at the checkpoints are very young. Once they
see our bikes, they come running from their
booth while pulling their I-pod earphones from
their ears. Only once we are asked for our
passports by a slightly older soldier. At one of
the last checkpoints before Ajdabyia we are
approached by two men who are not wearing
uniforms. “Where Peter?” one of them asks us.
Peter raises his hand. The man steps forward
and introduces himself as Hakeem, who had
called two nights before to tell us he would be
waiting for us in Ajdabiya. He does not speak
any English, but with the help of the soldiers
we understand that he had been waiting at the
checkpoint all day.
He can help us to find a hotel, but first invites
us for a tour at the Museum of the Revolution
in Ajdabyia. That sounds interesting. We follow
Hakeem and his friend, Jamal, to the entrance
of the museum. At the gate another of
Hakeem’s friends, Nader, joins us. He speaks
perfect English and can translate. We follow
the them around the museum. They proudly
tell us that Ajdabiya was one of the first cities
that revolted against Gaddafi. From here, the
revolution spread across the country. On the
site is a memorial hall, full with pictures of
victims of the war that were killed around
Ajdabiya and Benghazi. Most of them were
“Freedom Fighters”, the people who fought
against the Gaddafi regime. But there are also
pictures of women and children, innocent
victims of the war. While we walk past the
pictures, the men tell us about the people that
are remembered here. Amazing stories of great
bravery.