The Tribal Wife

villas and the boys who cleaned them, each with his sexual fantasies no doubt. For a
brief time I had a Canadian boyfriend in Brega, who repeated an overheard comment
from an American as I stepped off the light aircraft which flew me to Brega: “that’s sex
personified”. It was a steamy place to be, rumours flying, whispers, back-biting. My
Canadian friend departed for a period of leave back home, air-freighting me an enormous
box of flowers, a most rare sight and commodity in dust-blown, arid Brega. Now I’ll
revert to my mention of Kadiki.
I was in the canteen one day feeling conspicuous and uneasy, when suddenly a vision
appeared before me, the most handsome man I had set eyes upon in my twenty-five years
on this earth. “Do you mind if I join you?” he said, beaming at me, and speaking with a
strong American accent. Needless to say, I didn’t object! He had beautiful features,
classic Greek I would say, with dark brown thick wavy hair (rather like Elvis Presley)
olive skin, shiny, sparkling dark eyes that crinkled at the edges as his smile illuminated
his face and enlivened his striking features, generous lips, beautiful teeth. A God sent
from heaven! He was of athletic build, with narrow hips, broad shoulders, and muscles
of which any sportsman would have been proud. He was a fit and handsome specimen
of manhood and I was shocked to think that he had turned his attention to me, since being
somewhat taciturn and shy, I had never considered myself attractive to men.
Kadiki asked if he could take me driving after work. This is a popular evening activity in
the Middle East, since everyone retires in the heat of the afternoon, and then emerges in
the evening, to shop or meet friends at coffee shops (the men that is), to drive with
windows down, savouring the cool air, or to sit outside enjoying the comparative chill of
the evening, to listen to the screeching cicadas and the croaking bull-frogs (not in barren
Brega of course). So we took our drive, chatted and our friendship and courtship
began.
Mixed-race friendships were frowned upon in Brega which was essentially an American
community with the majority of the workforce being oil-men of Southern origin, where
racial prejudice flourished even in the 1960s. Whispers circulated, advice poured in.
Suddenly I found I had closer affiliations with the Libyans. Kadiki’s friends were very
polite, courteous and considerate and apart from Norma, another secretary with whom I
shared my villa, I had no other friends.
Kadiki was always bright, cheerful, caring, an intriguing mixture of East and West. He
was born in Benghazi, worked for American oil companies in Libya, and had just
returned from two years in Texas as a student of English (American English that it). He
was an exciting person to be with and I trusted him implicitly. Our friendship
blossomed. We met every day, morning, lunch-time, evening. In our spare moments
we were together. He talked of getting engaged, and took me to meet his family, who
although not able to speak English, were very warm, generous and welcoming. His
father, Hazh Juma, a devout Moslem and supporter of King Idris and the status quo, gave
me a beautiful horse as an engagement present.