“I have more sympathy this time around towards myself and to Libya. She looked tired.”

Franz Fanon describes the American flag flying as a reminder of reality’s conditions, recognized through its tension, a stimulant. At first the flag appears graceful, but as you get closer, that grace seems to break apart, and we pick up as many pieces of mercy we can find.

I’m drawn to that visual stimulant of tension because it feels energised. Fanon described the moment of this encounter as a “jolt”. A "jolt" represents a profound moment of realisation, rupture, or awakening that disrupts the established order of consciousness or being. It’s not necessarily a shock in how we might think of it objectively, but a transformative moment where existing structures—psychological, social, or colonial—are disrupted. It signifies a moment of profound disillusionment. The catalyst that is a transformative possibility. It’s as much about the shattering of the old as it is about the emergence of the new—a dynamic, often painful, necessary step towards agency.

So I find myself in Libya for the first time in 12 years, where these “jolts” visualise that Libya is still a child learning how to walk. The flag came to symbolise the reality of a country stuck in time from conditions of a civil war that the West conditioned to happen; I saw faded flags everywhere, often distressed, covered in dust, tied up underneath air conditioning vents. Not too much has changed since the last time I was there. Lanes still don’t exist. Men do donuts with their cars in the middle of an intersection. Libyans are quick to find humour in their situation. They have to laugh a little at themselves - try not to lose themselves to the stress. I found myself doing the same. All my relatives said the same thing - “it’s Libya, that's how it is”.

When you think of the American highways, you think of open roads, long-haul trucks - Road trip Americana. Maybe country music is playing in the background. Every car I saw in Libya was missing a tail light with fake Mercedes Benz emblems on the hood of Hondas; at least one door wouldn't be able to unlock on its own.

After 12 years, I was ready to document everything. In 10 days, I had taken nearly 1,000 photos and videos. The last time I was there, I disliked everything that it was to be Libyan. In retrospect, I was a kid who hated myself—living in Portland. I begged my parents to buy me a patagonia puffer vest because it was “cool”. So here I was, in a much better place, eager to prove to myself that I had changed and that validation existed in that act of catching these jolts. I came out of that tension and discomfort I had held within myself - that I was always scared to grow out of.

Here’s my top 5 photos from that trip:

1: First Look

There is no such thing as “too much” in an Arab wedding. The glam and drama of the brides’ sisters and friends having the first look at the bride was all too good. I was lucky enough to sneak a picture before the hijabi security guards tried to follow me around all night to tape the back of my phone to stop me from documenting. Weddings are like the club: You can tell who’s single based on how much they shake their hips. Aunties sit and gossip to figure out which ones they can set up with their sons.

2: Bootlegs Galore

If the fakes on Canal St were actually all storefronts, then we’d all agree it would be a game-changer for the market. That was Libya. These shops' dedication to having lights, mannequins, etc, is all for their culture of logo-mania. They love a logo. None of the major fashion houses have an actual store in the country, except for Omega Jewelry (thanks to Ben Saoud). This hijab store plastered all the logos of the ‘designers’ they sell—big fan of the directness here.

3: Passport Photo

One of the most important things I had to do in Libya was to get my first passport. The order of events to get a passport there is like the plot of a well-awarded indie short film. When we needed to take our photos, I noticed that they had a menu of outfit choices one could be photoshopped into. Seeing that half of the options became increasingly militant made me laugh. How many men decided: “I want that one.”

4: Beautiful

The freshest orange juice would cost you maybe 50 cents for a bottle. Even gas was cheaper than water at 30 cents a gallon. I miss how simple it was. The beauty of everyday life in Libya is that, as chaotic as it might get, they take pride in the simplicity of executing their tasks. If you’re going to do something once, you had better do it right - and do it the “easy” way. They have an eye for finding the shortcuts on the street or the “DIY” approach to fix anything - literally. Driving on the freeway, I saw these guys on the side with hundreds of oranges, and it felt like they were just emanating a glow onto the street. Orange juice tastes better here. Maybe it’s because it's made by two chill dudes posted on the side of a high-speed freeway with no lanes: like this ^.

5: She’s tired

Any neighbourhood I visited in Tripoli and Benghazi was never short of a Libyan flag. They were everywhere. I had revisited the area called “The Old City,” where my Dad spent most of his childhood selling Jewelry in the Medina. He took us on a tour of his old spots. During my 10 days in Libya, I took a photo of every flag that I saw - this one made me the most emotional. Just a faded flag folded up on itself, tucked in the corner of an arch, in a place I hadn’t seen in 12 years. It felt like you could see the flag's life, not only because it was faded but because it was alone. It hadn’t been interrupted by anything else, no wires, graffiti, or even more flags surrounding it. I think this sums up what I felt like coming back. Tied up, faded…but still the same. Older now, understanding what a flying flag aloft in the wind means when you see yours faded and blue. I have more sympathy for myself…for Libya. She looked tired.