The Photo That Changed Me: returning to Libya

The sea has always spoken to something deep within me, perhaps it’s the vastness and depth of the water or how serene and grounding it can be to sit and observe the waves gently hitting the sandy shores. But it’s the Mediterranean Sea that I hold onto tightly, conjuring up memories of long, hot summers in my motherland, Libya. My family lives in the coastal capital city, Tripoli, a place that I came to know and love in my younger years, despite never living there. When the civil war erupted in 2011 and ended the 42-year Gaddafi regime, I couldn’t return to Libya for 11 years. In July 2023 – when this photo was taken – I was finally able to go back home and breathe in the salty sea air.

If you ask someone about Libya, you’ll likely hear mentions of civil war, violence, oil, a fallen dictatorship, Colonel Gaddafi’s politics, Italian colonisation or migrants crossing through the country to reach Europe. As a nation, we’ve become known in a geopolitical context – but not much else. And yet, there is so much beauty in Libya that is often missed among the headlines. There are white-sand beaches with crystal-blue waters, historic sites such as the storied city of Leptis Magna, Berber architecture and the Sahara Desert. Throughout the violence, there is still charm in Libya’s towns and cities – and still hope and joy among its people.

Before the civil war broke out, my family would pack our summer clothes into five large suitcases and spend every summer in Tripoli. These six-week trips were spent eating juicy figs on my grandfather’s farm, staying up all night with cousins watching dubbed English films, late night drives through the old town, and swimming in the sea until the sun went down. The sunsets in Libya are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever witnessed. 

When we last visited Libya, I was 17 years old. I was in the midst of A-level stress, considering university applications and preparing to embark on the next chapter of my life. What would I study? Where would I go? Who would I be? When I finally returned to Libya in 2023, I was 28. I’d been out of education for years and settled into my career as a journalist and writer. I was a completely different person to who I was when I last stood on the same shores.

In my younger years, I was still grappling with existing as a brown Muslim girl in Britain. I grew up between two cultures, which made an already tumultuous time as a teenage girl that much harder. Those early summers spent in Libya were mostly wonderful but I also remember periods glued to a computer screen, obsessively replying to my school friends back in Sheffield and wishing I was there with them. I often felt disconnected from my heritage, which only worsened across the 11 years of not returning. 

By 28, I had navigated the confusing years of my late teens and early twenties and come out the other side. I was more at ease with who I was – a British Libyan woman – and I returned with excitement for the country, for my extended family, and for a deeper sense of home.

I’ve taken many photos of Tripoli’s beaches over the years but this photo in particular is one I keep coming back to – so much so that it’s been my phone background for about a year now. The fact it was our first summer back home, seeing family we hadn’t seen in over a decade, which definitely plays a significant part in why it’s so important to me. This was a sunset I captured on a family week-long trip to the beach, where we rented a large holiday home for nearly everyone on my dad’s side of the family.

On paper, multiple generations of a family packed into one house may be a recipe for disaster but even with the daily bickering, we made it work. Days were spent swimming in the sea and lounging around the beach while the balmy evenings included barbecuing on the beach and drinking copious amounts of Miranda. Every time I pick up my phone and see this trip frozen in time, I can hear my cousin playfully squealing at me to stop splashing her in the sea, taste the fizzy orangeness of the Miranda on my tongue, and feel the warmth of the sand beneath my toes. Whether I’m stressed about a work deadline or angry about a news story, looking at this photo both calms and grounds me. It serves as a reminder of what’s really important in life: love and human connection.