Libyian hospitality
They give me a spoon and a fork, but I notice
they also use their hands for eating. Only their
right hand as the left hand is the “dirty hand”
and not meant for eating. We all eat from the
same bowl of soup. The chunks of chicken that
are in the bottom of the bowl are all directed
towards me. I taste a bit of everything. It’s
delicious. I ask them if I can take a picture. I
can make a picture of the tray with food, as
long as they are not in it. The captured image
prompts many jokes and they are again
laughing out loud. Even though I do not
understand them, the laughter is so contagious
that I have to join them.
When the tray is almost empty and they are
convinced that I have eaten enough, it is
replaced by a slightly smaller tray with
bananas, oranges and peanuts. One of the
ladies keeps handing me oranges and only
after I have eaten three of them they allow me
to stop. In the corner of the room a pot of
charcoal is glowing on which a blackened
teapot is sizzling. The tea is poured in small
glass cups while the pot is held high in the air.
It’s very sweet and tastes delicious.
It is hard to understand each other as they
speak very limited English, and I know even
less Arabic. We use hands and feet to have a
conversation. They tell me how old they are,
how they are related to each other and show
pictures of their children. I show pictures of my
family and friends at home. The atmosphere is
relaxed. The veils are taken off and reveal
beautiful dark brown hair. After a while they
are mostly talking to each other in rapid Arabic.
It is unfortunate I cannot understand them,
because I would really like to know more about
them. They come across as very strong women
with a clear opinion about certain affairs. I
wonder if they are able to express their views
outside this room. I want to ask them how long
they have been to school, if they work, whether
they have seen other parts of Libya and much
more and feel sorry that I cannot. At the same
time I feel very fortunate that I could spend
this night with them being treated as one of
their sisters.
Later that evening Youssef is at the door to tell
me that I can stay upstairs with the men after
all. He will go to a friend’s house, so I would not
have to share the room with him. So incredibly
kind... With the help of Youssef, I thank the
ladies for the nice evening and the delicious
food and then join the men upstairs. We thank
Youssef extensively for his hospitality and
want to pay him for the great tour at Leptis
Magna. He does not want to take our money. “It
was a great pleasure!” he says smiling, just
before he hands over the keys to his house.