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I had arrived without a visa and had to wait for my husband to sort it out.
I connected with Khadija Teri through Facebook and my Libyan friend here in Los Angeles, Mahmud Abudaber.
It’s been fascinating comparing notes on life in Libya and to read of her experiences during the recent war in Libya. One of my blogs describing my Tripoli adventures in the 1950s is on her blog site today (the link is at the end) and her reminiscences are below: I met my husband on a humid Florida evening when I was sixteen. She’d been telling me about him for months and begged me to meet him, but I wasn’t interested. He was so different from any guy I’d ever met and it wasn’t long before we knew that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. There was never any doubt that someday we’d move to Libya, but we never really made any plans.
Then one evening when were working together on a school project, she went into the other room to phone him and invite him over without my knowing. We held off having a family while my husband studied and I worked.
Then, after being married for six years, our lives changed; our first child was on the way and it was time…time to make the move to Libya.
Several similar songs later I was still waiting, and waiting and waiting. My suitcases were the only ones left, the sides had been slit open with a knife and the contents had spilled out onto the floor.
I’d stepped into a different time zone with an entirely different concept of time than what I was used to. He looked really harassed but I somehow knew not to mention it. We collected all the bags and tried to shove everything back into the openings and proceeded to customs.
The customs officer let us through without looking at anything – probably because they’d already looked.
I’d never lived outside of the United States, in fact the only time I had ever even left the country was when I was thirteen on a family trip to Niagara Falls. Sometimes, I take time to stop everything, find a quiet place, relax and think about all the many blessings in my life.
Lately I’ve been thinking about how over thirty years of my life has been spent with my husband, and how twenty-three of those years have been spent in Libya. That ís a long time, nearly half of my life in Libya.
I remember the day I arrived; actually it was nighttime when my flight got in.
I was all alone and the security at the airport led me to a waiting area and told me to have a seat.