By Kate Thomas
May 29, 2011
Benghazi, Libya - On the eastern edge of Benghazi, the Abdu Ismail palace sprouts from the earth like a fantasy wedding cake, nestled between expensive villas.
Skinny date palms rise from its grounds, towering above long-rusted lamp posts and towards the turrets of whitewashed pagodas. This was once the home of one of Benghazi's wealthiest families, decorated with antique furniture and three-tier fountains.
Now it is a refugee camp, a temporary home for people displaced from Misurata and Ajdabiya. On the rungs of the steps that lead to the empty swimming pool, their washing dries in the sun - long dresses, fuschia hijabs and soft white jalabiyas.
As fighting continues in Misurata - and near the outskirts of Ajdabiya and Brega - Benghazi has been flooded with hundreds of thousands of internally displaced Libyans.
Most are staying with relatives or host families, while some are housed inside former construction sites, schools and university dorms. Others, like Mohammed Al Hussein, have found more unusual accommodation.
The retired customs officer and his family left their home in Ajdabiya three weeks ago, when a stray bullet ricocheted into their garden.
'Though our house was untouched, we drove to Benghazi and registered with the Libyan Red Crescent, who offered us a choice of places to stay,' he says. 'I chose the palace even though other families said it was frightening for the children at night. There were rumors of wild dogs roaming the grounds.'
He smiles, wringing his roughened, wrinkled hands together. 'After the things the children saw, I knew they wouldn't be afraid of this place.'
The children, it turns out, saw tanks and Grad missiles and spent cartridges and, on the road that winds east, corpses by the side of the road. 'Now it's just dried up fountains, stagnant ponds and overgrown palace gardens,' he says.
Ahead of him, a boulevard stretches towards the palace gates, flanked by elm trees and juniper bushes. In the muddy shell of what was once a fish pond, discarded belongings languish. A pair of three-inch black heels. A can of deodorant. A child's jumper.
The site is a far cry from the original intentions of the Abdu Ismail family. Commissioned in 1994 by Yusuf Abdu Ismail, the son of a successful textile factory owner, it was supposed to be a family base for generations to come.
'I envisaged my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren growing old here,' says Abdu Ismail, now 55 and gently greying.
Instead, in 1995, Abdu Ismail and his wife were woken at 4:30 am by the night guard. Pulling on a cotton gown, he was met at the main door by government soldiers, who demanded the keys to the palace and the rights to everything inside.
'They said I had no right to live in a palace,' he says, smoothing the silk handkerchief in the pocket of his blazer. 'They said only the Gaddafi family could have a palace like this.'
The family left and were not able to return until six months before the revolution began, when they bought back the palace from regime officials. Over the years, everything had been taken.
'They took the cars, the vases and two Renoir portraits,' he says. 'There was a metal sculpture of a lion by the swimming pool and a rhino horn. Those disappeared too. The regime was cruel to everyone - not only the poor but to the so-called velvet families too.
'Ever since I was young, I had everything I wanted,' he says. 'I realized that others did not, so when I continued my father's business after his death, I started to give money away.'
The palace, he says, became known among families who were struggling to make ends meet.
'Every morning I would find a few people waiting outside the gates. I used to give them 100 or 200 dinars to buy food and things. But the government found out and accused me of running a social security center. They said, you are trying to be like the brother leader of this country, with your palace and your handouts. Six months later they took the palace from me,' he says.
'I think the Gaddafi family was jealous of my success. They wanted Libyans to pretend to be simple and humble, while they rolled around in wealth. But if they can enjoy their money, why couldn't I? He's going to go down in history, which is what he wants, but in the worst way and through the darkest door.'
Abdu Ismail is now completing an adjacent property, designed to resemble the Alhambra Palace in Spain, and says he plans to house more displaced families from Misurata inside. A project to build a mosque is also nearing completion.
Inside the grounds, Al Hussein's three daughters chase each other around the empty swimming pool. He sits on the edge, his legs dangling freely over the abyss.
Still, he never expected to one day be moving his belongings into a palace. 'Growing up, my friends and I daydreamed about life in Al Kufra or Ajdabiya,' he says. A good job. A car. Opening a bank account and the front door of a flat in the city.
'Nobody dared dream of palaces,' he says. 'But nobody thought about war in Libya either.'
Source: Monsters and Critics.
Link:
http://www.monstersandcritics.com/news/africa/news/article_1642156.php/Benghazi-palace-offers-up-refuge-history.
