I am back yet again
in Tripoli, reading
Arabic street signs and
on an evening look
to find that special fish
restaurant of old.

Al-Jameheriyyah
al-Arabeiyyah is and
has always been for me
the land of surprises in
this storied life.

Already, I have been
kidnapped into a long
adventure, taking me across
the Sahara into the rarest
of lands, filled with ponds
and fertile green beauty!

Today, I accompany
contacts from the fishing
fleet into the port.
On the far side of which,
below the British Embassy
is an old black submarine!?

My main contact is
handing me on board a
vessel, when he ages
slack and shakes.  
Then, I am pulled back
to be led away.

Hot and held firmly,
we don't waste words.
My jacketed guards walk me
briskly into the harbour,
towards a squat building.
Each alert and thinking - I,
that I'm in the arms of the
Libyan Secret Police,
as each jacket conceals
my confirmation!

On entering their blockhouse,
I am led and followed up the
stairs to confront a facing cell,
wallpapered entirely in
the heavy folding scissor-ed
steel closure of the Souq,
jewelled in locks!

The first jacket stoops to unlock
my cage. Likely, sharing my confidence
that once in, I'm here to stay -  I
drift slightly left. Thence, to roll
left, behind and around a second jacket,
to swiftly enter the office to my
rear.  A man stands, surprised!
Shaking hands, I greet him warmly.
I am asked to take a seat and
the audience at the door
to give explanation!

I am now the honoured guest
and have no intention of
leaving my seat!  Afraid,
the chairman and his shocked
staff are invited also.  Four
hours later my past involvement
in supplying the Libyan Tunisian
Fishing Cooperative with eighty
eight marine propulsion engines
is confirmed.

I leave them last, as
one might part from friends.

.