The Ingliziyya goes Libiyya

I’ve spent a few weeks back home in England, and in between mince pie binges and turkey-fests, I started to wonder if I could identify any signs that I was becoming more and more “Libiyya” and less “Ingliziyya.” Conversely, are  what habits have my Libyan friends picked up whilst living in the UK that made them feel they had “gone native”?

One event, shortly before to England, got me wondering about this.  I was getting into a taxi on Girgaresh Road in Tripoli, and I noticed that all of the seats were still wrapped in plastic, and that the import sticker was still proudly displayed on windscreen.  Some Libyans like to keep their precious purchases wrapped up in their plastic packaging as an obvious signal to the public that their car/sofa/tv is brand-spanking new.  It was a habit I believe I mocked relentlessly when I first arrived.  But this time, before my English upbringing could temper my gut reaction, I actually uttered the words “ooh, swanky.” Yes, that’s right, I didn’t think those words, I said them out loud.

I think an equivalent reaction for a Libyan living in the UK (and perhaps someone could confirm this for me), would be when an elephantine Brit dressed in killer stilettos and smelling of booze swaggers your way and steps on your foot, piercing through the shoe and probably a bit of bone too, and you say “sorry.”    

So far, my lists of signs that an Ingliziyya is morphing into a Libiyya is as follows:

·         The inability to express a future possibility or commitment without adding the word “inshallah” (God willing.)  It is a habit I’ve picked up, but my overall score on this count is probably 5 out of 10, as I find myself covering multiple bases and saying “inshallah, touch wood.” As in, “so, do you think you’ll be visiting the UK next week?” “Yes, inshallah, touch wood.”

·         Picking up the phone with the words “wayn anta?” or “where are you?” Torturous in a city with very few street names.

·         Punctuating sentences with the words “wallahi” (sure), “qasdi” (my meaning is), “arafti” (you know) or “fahmti” (get it?) I have tried to do this, but it sounds affected and pretentious. 2 out of 10.

·         Mastering the incredible degree of timing and coordination required for female greetings.  When Libyan women meet (especially at formal occasions), the grab each other firmly by the shoulders and kiss each other rapidly on each cheek at least four times. In between these fast-paced kisses, the kissers must succeed in muttering both a greeting and a response. The time given for these greetings is rarely longer than a second: “kayfa halek? Hamdulilaah” kiss. “kayfa hal a’ila? Kullu tamam? Hamdulilaah.” Kiss. “shin akhbarik? Mia fil mia.” Kiss etc… On this I score a measly 2 out of 10.

·         An irrepressible urge to poke fun at people with an overly high opinion of themselves. I should qualify this: the first time I was told by some Libyan friends that “Anti Libiyya tawwa” (you are Libyan now) was when I indulged in a vicious impression of a particularly haughty acquaintance.  This may surprise some people who have never visited the Jamahiriya, but Libya is (in some ways) a very egalitarian society, and most of its members have a wicked sense of humour that tends to be directed towards people with overly high self-importance (and Ingliziyyas, although these categories may be one and the same.)  That said many Libyans have the alarming habit of making fun of people in front of them, rather than adopting the very British habit of mocking people behind their back.  I have often found that people collapse into laughter before my back is turned whilst imitating my Libyan accent.  Given my persistent British two-facedness, my overall score is 5 out of 10.

Any further suggestions?