A Voyeur in Libya
A photographic invasion leads to indelible regret
Story and photos by Laurie McAndish King
A little girl squints up with an impossibly sweet half-smile, the hot pink of her shirt reflecting onto her rosy cheeks. She stands arm-in-arm with her little brother, who looks about three and has a headful of curly black hair and big brown eyes. His white T-shirt is decorated with a lively illustration of flowers and cherries formed into a heart, and his cherubic cheeks beg to be pinched. The two children’s heads lean in, touching. They clasp one another’s henna-painted hands. These little ones look happy and completely unselfconscious, as though they pose like this for strangers on a regular basis. Maybe they do.
We are in the grand medina in Tripoli, a confusing warren of twisting lanes and alleyways lined with shops and apartments. I was lucky enough to get into Libya with an educational travel group during one of the slivers of time when it was open to Americans, and its capital city is a captivating mix of archaeology, coffee shops, and modern architecture. Today I have ventured into the medina alone to explore, take some photos, and buy a souvenir or two.
Above, the sky is blistering blue. Inside the medina, the colors are even more dazzling. Elaborate gold necklaces sparkle…
