Like Saudi Arabia, Libya too employed large amounts of expatriates to do most of the hard work — cleaning the streets, working in restaurants and hospitals, in factories, slaughterhouses and as farmers and drivers — over 1.5 million of them.
Most were from sub-Saharan Africa, especially from Mali, Niger, Ghana, Nigeria, Cameroon and elsewhere in West Africa. Or from Egypt, especially the farmers; there were at least 600,000 of them. There were also Filipinos, Indians and Pakistanis. Most of them were professionals — nurses, teachers, engineers, IT specialists and the like. But there were no Pakistani laborers for example, or no Indian taxi drivers. In fact there were no foreign taxi drivers at all; that was and is still very much a Libyan monopoly.
Readers will note the past tense is being used. It has to be. Most expatriates in Libya left early on during the uprising that finally toppled Muammar Qaddafi on Aug. 21 when his forces fled Tripoli.
Not all left. Some were unable to go. Others decided to stay on, either because they wanted to help or because there might be difficulties returning to Libya after the conflict was over. That was the case for a number of Filipinos.
There were over 25,000 in Libya before the pro-democracy uprising against Qaddafi, mainly nurses and medical staff. Most were in Tripoli with 1,000 or more in Benghazi and a hundred or so in Misrata, Libya’s third largest city. Because of the Philippine government’s ban on Filipinos traveling to Libya introduced after the uprising, a significant minority opted not to leave in the first place. In Benghazi there are still between 300 and 500.
Almahdi Alonto from Mindanao and Regilito Laurel from Manila were among those who decided to stay. “If we’d returned home, we wouldn’t have been able to get back and we’d have lost our jobs,” Alonto explained. They were among a group of 15 Filipino academics at the University of Misrata who were told by the Libyans that their contract would be void if they left.
Alonto, who was brought up in Saudi Arabia where his family worked (he recently returned to perform Umrah), is a lecturer in English literature, Laurel a professor of English at the university.
The uprising in February closed the university. For months the city was besieged by Qaddafi forces. Initially Alonto, Laurel and the other Filipino academics stayed on, thinking that the war would surely end soon.
They also wanted to stay. “We had witnessed many injustices in Libya and we wanted to be part of the change. We wanted to be part of the move to get rid of Qaddafi,” Alonto explained. “Libyans have been very kind to us. So we thought we should do something for them.”
So they volunteered to work in the city’s Hikma Hospital, but it became very dangerous as Qaddafi’s forces pounded the city. Rocket attacks were a daily occurrence. “We really struggled,” said Alonto. “Around the hospital there was continuous bombing every day. Cluster bombs were being used near the hospital and the house where we lived. People were being killed all the time.”
By mid-April, over a thousand people had been killed in the city and 3,000 injured. They felt they had to leave. Laurel sold everything he had before leaving. Others simply walked out of their homes, not knowing if they would ever return. On April 23, they managed to catch a boat to Benghazi.
They were initially put up at a Red Crescent camp. It was crowded and unsanitary and after a week they were provided alternative accommodation: two offices for the 15 of them. Two weeks later, after constant requests, they were given a four-room house at the football stadium. “It’s much more spacious than the previous accommodation,” Alonto said.
They volunteered to work at Benghazi’s Hawari hospital, doing various jobs including teaching English to nurses. Laurel and the chairwoman of the Filipino Workers Society in Benghazi, Doris Batai, also set up a school for the children of Filipinos who had stayed on. It opened in June with 21 students. There had been a fully functioning Filipino school in the city, but most of the teachers and students had left in February and March.
All of the 15 worked for free. It was not easy. They were not paid since April, although there was some subsistence funding from one of the committees of the National Transitional Council set up to deal with displaced people. But there are no complaints. “Everyone’s in the same boat,” Alonto said. “We understand the situation. It’s not normal.”
Now with most of the country liberated and Qaddafi on the run, both men see better times ahead and are glad they stayed. Alonto had already been back to Misrata three times to check out the situation. It was dire. A number of students had been killed. Parts of the city are in ruins, including some of the Filipino teachers’ homes. His own survived. However, his Libyan landlord needed it back. His house had taken a hit and he and his family needed somewhere to live.
Libya’s universities are due to reopen this month, Misrata University included — despite the destruction. Alonto and Laurel said they were looking forward to going back to work despite the destruction, despite the deaths of some of their students.
“Psychologically it will not be easy. So much of the city had been destroyed,” said Laurel. “Students will need therapy.” But they were eager to be part of rebuilding the university. They are convinced, too, that Libya will continue to need Filipinos for the foreseeable future, especially teachers, nurses and engineers.
Filipino community leaders now say it is safe for Filipinos to return and have called for Manila’s ban on travel to Libya to be lifted. If it is not, they fear that the jobs of those who returned to the Philippines will be given to others.
Alonto and Laurel agree. They have no intention of visiting family and friends in the Philippines until the ban is lifted.