In the Shadow of Fear: Life in Tripoli’s Unending Nightmare
By Abdulrahman Al-Bakoush
TRIPOLI, Dec. 13 (Xinhua) -- Imagine a city where the sky is not a canvas of freedom but a constant reminder of danger. Drones buzz ominously overhead, their hum a haunting soundtrack to daily life. Gunfire cracks through the air, punctuated by the earth-shaking thud of artillery. In Tripoli, Libya’s capital, fear is not just an emotion—it’s woven into the very fabric of existence. It clings to bullet-scarred walls, lingers in the dust of crumbling buildings, and echoes in the cries of children jolted awake by explosions. But here’s where it gets even more heartbreaking: Fourteen years after the fall of Muammar Gaddafi, the city remains trapped in a cycle of chaos, its people yearning for a peace that seems perpetually out of reach.
NATO’s 2011 intervention promised stability and prosperity. Instead, it unleashed a decade of political fragmentation and insecurity. And this is the part most people miss: The divide between the western-based Government of National Unity and the eastern parliament-backed administration has not only deepened the security vacuum but also paralyzed the economy. Foreign interventions, far from being a solution, have become a catalyst for prolonged conflict, leaving ordinary citizens to bear the brunt of the suffering.
The consequences are stark. State institutions have crumbled, militias have proliferated, and basic necessities like water and electricity are luxuries. Hospitals lack supplies, schools close unpredictably, and inflation soars while the currency plummets. Salaries, when they come, are late and insufficient. Here’s the controversial truth: While political elites bicker, it’s the people of Tripoli who pay the price, their lives reduced to a daily struggle for survival.
In a modest home about 10 kilometers from downtown Tripoli, I met Mustafa Mohammed Al-Misrati, a 46-year-old father of three. His face, etched with fatigue, told a story of relentless worry. By the front door sat a small bag—always packed with clothes, documents, and cash. ‘It’s always ready,’ he said quietly. ‘If there’s an attack, we must run. But where? Nowhere in Tripoli feels safe.’ As we spoke, he constantly scanned the street, every sound a potential threat. His children—Elias, 15; Abdullah, 13; and Mohammed, 12—sat nearby, fidgeting. Mustafa explained how their nights were shattered by artillery blasts. ‘Their grades are falling,’ he said. ‘Panic has become normal.’
‘My children beg me not to go to work,’ he added. ‘If I stay, we have no income. If I go, they fear I won’t return.’
A few kilometers south, in the Ain Zara neighborhood, I met Ahmed Jamaa Qrein, 26. His bruises spoke volumes before he uttered a word. On August 27, he was abducted near a checkpoint by armed men he had trusted. ‘They blindfolded me and accused me of being part of the 444 Brigade,’ he recounted, his voice trembling. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal fading marks from a brutal beating. His left eye, still swollen, bore witness to hours of torture. ‘I kept saying, ‘I’m just a citizen. I have a mother and brothers waiting for me,’ but they didn’t listen,’ he said. When his family secured his release, the gunmen dismissed him coldly: ‘Just a suspicion. We found nothing.’
As I left Ahmed’s house that evening, the weight of Tripoli’s despair pressed heavily on me. Every family here carries its own version of Mustafa’s bag or Ahmed’s bruises. Some live in constant readiness to flee; others bear the scars of captivity. Together, they paint a city where survival, not living, is the daily goal.
This crisis has persisted for 14 years. But here’s the question that divides opinions: What role do political elites play in this ongoing tragedy? Do they see a way out, or are they part of the problem? To find answers, I spoke with Assad Zahio, head of the National Rally Party and a presidential candidate in the postponed December 2021 elections. In his view, the suffering of the people is directly tied to political stalemate and misguided foreign interventions.
‘Reliance on oil, rampant corruption, and political division have led to economic collapse, social disintegration, and the spread of militias beyond state control,’ he said. ‘Citizens are the greatest victims. They are exhausted by war. They want peace.’ Zahio advocates for unifying sovereign and security institutions, forming an effective government to oversee free and fair elections, implementing transitional justice, and holding the corrupt accountable.
He also emphasized the role of civil society and international support. ‘Libya must foster dialogue and reconciliation, empower youth and women, and aid displaced communities. The international community should remain neutral, focusing on institution-building, disarmament, and local development to improve livelihoods.’
As I left his office, his words lingered: Division has turned Libya into a house of fear, where stability seems an impossible dream. Whether it’s Mustafa, Ahmed, or Zahio, they all yearn for a Libya free from this nightmare—a nation where justice prevails, dignity is restored, and peace is more than a distant hope.
When will that day come? I don’t know. But I hope the gunfire, shelling, and drone hums will soon cease, and no one will need a packed bag by the door anymore. What do you think? Is there a way out of this crisis, or is Libya doomed to repeat its tragic history? Share your thoughts in the comments.
