The grandstand will disappear when there is no-one there to occupy it*

So Tony Blair is following in Mandela's footsteps in embracing "mad dog" Gadaffi. A hundred years ago or so, when I lived and worked in Libya, one of our favourite past times was collecting translations from Col Gadaffi's "Green Book". In the SPLAJ (Socialist People's Libyan Arab Jamahiriya), the Green Book was supposed to provide the same political guidance as the Chairman Mao's red book. It obviously lost something in the translation. You could buy quite nice postcards of various folkloric scenes which would be captioned with English translations of quotes from the Green Book: the party system aborts democracy headlined a picture of the Roman remains at Leptis Magna, democracy means popular rule not popular expression above a photo of some tastefully arranged pomegranates. Libyan friends had the running joke "Why is the Green Book like a watermelon? It's green on the outside, read inside, with lots of black spots". A bit of primary playground humour, but with the best will in the world, as a political philosopher Gadaffi is completely incomprehensible. I found more appealing the fact that he delayed the coup that brought him to power by a day since the famous Egyptian singer, Um Khaltoum, was performing in Tripoli and he did not want to spoil her night or enrage the crowds. And despite the human rights record, state sponsored terrorism and the like, Libya is the highest rank country in Africa on the UN's human development index. Say what you like about grandiose visions, Gadaffi has used much of the oil money to fund health and education, and very little on palaces for potentates. Doubtless it will soon figure on Lonely Planet itineraries. We drove once from Tripoli to Ghadames, a town on the old slave route from Timbukto up to the coast. It's now a world heritage site but at the time my girlfriend and I stayed in a small hotel in the town itself. We had a room opening out on to the courtyard. The staff were non-plussed at what to do with two female foreign devils in their hotel. They were very charming and brought us bowls of flowers, plates of sweets and subbuteo. I have an enduring memory of thrashing the receptionist at table football. The women's world was on the roof terraces. There were many mirrors on the walls of the houses to reflect light through the small slits in the mud walls. Our guide was Tuarag, one of the blue people of the desert, their faces stained with the indigo dye from their robes. I met my Libyan boyfriend on that trip. My mother despaired that I was going to marry him. Well, that idea didn't last long. * Muammar Gadaffi, The Green Book, Part 3, Ch 10, Sport, Horsemanship and Shows

Comments

[anne]

Hi
I had forgotten about those postcards which used to arrive regularly at Crouch Hill.

Your entries have been very good recently.

Anne

[Mary]

Interesting to read your comments on Libya and Gadaffi. I'm a bit dim about foreign politics so was quizzing my fella, who isn't, only yesterday. He expressed the same opinion on Gadaffi as you did re his comparatively decent treatment of his own people. Mary