Libya
by Geraldo Rivera | Apr 01, 2011
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In Libya after crossing the surreal Egyptian border. Between their arrival and departure buildings, a kind of No Man's Land has developed. Outside the buildings, crowded around the entrances scores of young black Africans push and scramble and yell for admittance. Wearing woolen caps, hoodies and soccer jerseys the mostly undocumented men are desperate for temporary travel papers. The bulk of them hail from the nation of Chad, which borders Libya to the south.
For years, after making war on their country, Gaddafi has seduced them; luring them here to oil-rich Libya with the promise of jobs. Now they are stuck by their host's upheaval.
As dramatic as the seaof lurching, heaving men outside the buildings, inside the scene is more poignant and sad. There the women and children, many just infants live on the floor; their areas staked out by faded and worn blankets. They are being fed by United Nations relief workers, and are tended to by an over-worked, compassionate corps of international doctors, nurses, and volunteers.
Together, the men, women and children refugees are a lost tribe caught in the vise of war.
In Libya after crossing the surreal Egyptian border. Between their arrival and departure buildings, a kind of No Man's Land has developed. Outside the buildings, crowded around the entrances scores of young black Africans push and scramble and yell for admittance. Wearing woolen caps, hoodies and soccer jerseys the mostly undocumented men are desperate for temporary travel papers. The bulk of them hail from the nation of Chad, which borders Libya to the south.
For years, after making war on their country, Gaddafi has seduced them; luring them here to oil-rich Libya with the promise of jobs. Now they are stuck by their host's upheaval.
As dramatic as the seaof lurching, heaving men outside the buildings, inside the scene is more poignant and sad. There the women and children, many just infants live on the floor; their areas staked out by faded and worn blankets. They are being fed by United Nations relief workers, and are tended to by an over-worked, compassionate corps of international doctors, nurses, and volunteers.
Together, the men, women and children refugees are a lost tribe caught in the vise of war.
