Then came news of the fall of Muammar Gaddafi.

And his subsequent capture and death.

Reporter Marine Olivesi is a frequent contributor from Libya.

And she was the first western journalist to view Gaddafi’s corpse.

Olivesi came by our studios this week.

She told us about her surreal hunt to find the dictator’s remains on October 20, 2011.

Olivesi went back to Misrata a year later.

She said life there has pretty much returned to normal.

But you can see signs that people don’t want to forget what happened on the streets.

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The text below is a phonetic transcript of a radio story broadcast by PRI’s THE WORLD. It has been created on deadline by a contractor for PRI. The transcript is included here to facilitate internet searches for audio content. Please report any transcribing errors to theworld@pri.org. This transcript may not be in its final form, and it may be updated. Please be aware that the authoritative record of material distributed by PRI’s THE WORLD is the program audio.

Marco Werman: A little more than a year ago the fighting in Libya was still raging. Then came news of the fall of Muammar Gaddafi and his subsequent capture and death. Reporter Marine Olivesi is a frequent contributor from Libya and she was the first western journalist to view Gaddafi’s corpse. I spoke with Marine yesterday in Boston and she told me about her surreal hunt to find the dictator’s remains. It was October 20th, 2011; she was in Sirte where Gaddafi was said to have been hiding. Then, she said a crazy rumor started going around that Gaddafi had been captured and that he was dead but there was no information on where his body might be. So Marine headed to Misrata to check the morgue.

Marine Olivesi: In Misrata, everybody was celebrating and was sure that Gaddafi was dead, but nobody knew where he was. On various news channels Al Jazeera was saying he was at a souk, Al Arabiya was saying he was at a mosque but no one had pictures. So, me and another photographer, we kept going to these places and we didn’t find Gaddafi’s body. We didn’t find any indication he was dead or alive. At one point we received a tip from a business man we met a few days before who tell us that he can help. He’s a little mysterious; we’re not really sure where we’re going with that. But he arranged to pick us up and we exit Misrata. We really have no idea where we are going and we arrive at that mansion – a really nice residence outside of Misrata with hundreds of people gathering outside. We pulled in that sort of garage and when we arrived there we cannot even see anything. When we pulled up really close, we see lying down the bodies of both Muammar Gaddafi and his son Moatassem Gaddafi just there.

Werman: Marine said at that point it wasn’t clear that even the authorities knew Gaddafi and his son were in that house in Misrata. Marine Olivesi went back to that city a year later and she said life in Misrata has pretty much returned to normal but you can see signs that people don’t want to forget what happened there.

Olivesi: So, you have businesses that have moved back in the stores and rebuilt completely the first floor of the stores. But then you have buildings in the second, third floors that are still completely shuttered and some people want it to stay that way as a reminder…daily reminder of the suffering and what they’ve been through. Misrata is really the town that probably paid the highest price and the number of people who died during the siege of Misrata is, of all the towns of Libya, the highest. They just make the case that they want people to have a daily reminder of how much it took for them to topple Gaddafi.

Werman: So visually, what does it look like? Storefronts on the ground near the street kind of very flashy and spruced up and the building above it just kind of still pockmarked and shattered?

Olivesi: Exactly. The first building that I saw when I arrived on Tripoli Street a couple of months ago was that very nice bridal store with those really fancy, nice, white wedding dresses. And then, you look up and you see a second floor that’s still completely destroyed – blackened by smoke and craters. So, you have that contrast.

Werman: Marine, many of these countries in North Africa, and Libya is no exception, have this really bulging population between the ages of 18 and 30. What’s it been like for these people, the youth effectively, going through a transition from Gaddafi (the only leader they ever knew in their whole lives) to now, essentially, a blank slate?

Olivesi: Well really, these people that you described, guys in their early 20s, these are the ones who fought. A lot of them spent months with their Kalashnikovs, enrolling in these militias – these catibas, and fighting the regime. These young people…what really strikes me every time I go back there is that I find them quite depressed and this is not a feeling that’s going away. I felt that a few days after Muammar Gaddafi was killed when you had that realization that it was over and that “what are we gonna do with our lives?” Because, the choice quite quickly was between going back to school or finding a job, but none of that seem too appealing after months of really being pumped on adrenaline and being on a high on action. A year later, I see the same people who basically are either trying to get a visa to go to Europe, to spend some time in Turkey, to just get out of the daily life but they are still very depressed and not sure how to find that sense of excitement and comradery that they had before. So it is a population that is not struggling economically the way the Tunisians are, for instance, because jobs are there; they’re making money. So, it’s not really about being jobless, it’s more about how do you go from these 8 months of action and empowerment to going back to regular, dull life.

Werman: Well Marine Olivesi, thank you for coming in and thanks for covering this part of the world.

Olivesi: It’s a pleasure. Thank you.

Copyright ©2012 PRI’s THE WORLD. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to PRI’s THE WORLD. This transcript may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without prior written permission. For further information, please email The World’s Permissions Coordinator at theworld@pri.org.

In the hallway of a Libyan government building, a grey-haired man flips through a neatly arranged binder holding 51 index cards — one for each phone call he’s received from people who volunteered information on his son’s whereabouts.

“I believe my son is still alive because of these 51 calls.”

The man’s name is Mohamed Elmahjoob Shaickh, as is his son. The 17-year-old disappeared in Tripoli on February 22, 2011. That day, he took to the street to support protesters in Benghazi who had just kick-started the Libyan uprising. Mohamed was with a group of high school friends when soldiers barged through the crowd, and everyone started running. His friends escaped, but Mohamed fell and was captured by security forces.

Thousands of Libyans went missing during the country’s revolution in 2011. Since then, many of the missing have been found – some alive, though most in graves. Government officials put the number now still missing at a little more than 2,000. For the families, the search for information on them is painfully slow.

After the overthrow of Gaddafi, Mohamed’s father visited prisons and distributed leaflets. His son’s picture still appears regularly on television, and each time he gets new tips, raising both hope and fear. His voice breaks as he reads notes from a phone call from Benghazi. Several people there claim they have spotted his son wandering the streets. They say the young man has lost his memory.

Shaickh quit his teaching job and he has been shuttling between Tripoli and Benghazi, pursuing every single lead himself. Technically, that’s the job of the Ministry of the Martyrs and Missing People. But Shaickh says that people at the ministry don’t believe his son is still alive.

“They say if he were alive, someone would catch him on the street. That’s why I have to do the job myself.”

Still, Shaickh goes to the ministry every week to beg for updates and keep up the pressure.

Esam Abdurzak Zreg, director of the Missing Department, says he understands that relatives are frustrated with the slow pace of the investigations, but so are the government workers.

“It’s a big challenge to us. We have many issues and we are still struggling to have a success in this ministry,” Zreg said.

Hundreds gathered in Misrata’s City Stadium for a funeral prayer last month. (Photo: Marine Olivesi)

So far, the ministry has focused on registering the missing, and allocating a monthly pension to their families. About 2,135 cases have been filed in the past year.

Most of them involve opposition activists and fighters who disappeared during the revolution. But the figure also includes Gaddafi loyalists who vanished when the regime collapsed.

“Most of the cases that we register these days are from these families that didn’t trust the government. They were scared to say that we have a missing one who was working in militias under Gaddafi,” said Zreg. “Now they become more comfortable to come to us and ask for help.”

About 60 cases have been resolved in the past year. Zreg says most of those who were found alive had been in hiding in Egypt or Tunisia. Former rebel fighters, on the other hand, are more often found dead.

On a recent afternoon, hundreds gathered in Misrata’s City Stadium around the caskets of eight fighters who went missing in March 2011. One woman whose son’s name was Abdellaziz says she always had the feeling that he was coming back.

“I was waiting for him to knock on the door,” she said.

Abdellaziz’s mother hung on to hope for 20 months, until a mass grave was uncovered in November. They found the body of her son along with seven others.

Their portraits are on exhibit at the Revolution Museum in Misrata. Photos of revolution martyrs cover the walls, with one corner reserved for the missing.

While the museum opened before the revolution ended, many of the missing have since been found in jails in Tripoli. But the museum curators didn’t take down the photos. They just put stickers on the photos of the solved cases, indicating whether they turned up alive or dead.

Most of the missing photos now sport stickers — including the picture of Abdellaziz.

The Libyan town we want you to name is such a place, a watering hole that became an important transit point for ancient camel caravans.

This town is in southwestern Libya about 200 miles south of the capital, Tripoli. That puts it right where Libya borders Algeria and Tunisia.

The ancient town is home to a rich multi-cultural mix of clans and ethnic groups including Berbers and Tuareg, and its architecture reflects that heritage. In 1986 it was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Can you name this Libyan town nicknamed the “Pearl of the Desert”?

But Libya’s revolution has driven a wedge between them.

Marine Olivesi reports from Ghadames.

Walk though the covered alleyways of Ghadames’ old town, along the whitewash houses of mud-bricks and you find yourself in a sun drenched palm tree garden.

“Gorgeous isn’t it? Here you can see a very good example of the mud bricks, they’re doing renovation,” a local tour guide says.

Ghadames has been recognized as a UN World Heritage site. Three countries intersect here: Libya, Tunisia, and Algeria, and at least as many cultures. Arabs mixed with Libya’s indigenous people, the Amazigh, and with the Tuaregs, the nomadic people of the Sahara. Arab merchants needed Tuaregs to guide them in the desert, and so began a 1000-year-old relationship.

Yacoob Dawi is the Director of Cultural Affairs and Civil Society at the local council. Dawi says that over time, Tuaregs settled around Ghadames: “We are living together, we are studying together, when they’re making celebrations… Everything, we are doing everything together, without any problems. ”

And together in February 2011, they rose up against Moammar Gaddafi’s regime. Dawi describes a video from that time, when dozens of locals stormed the office of the secret police. “They’re announcing, it is the end of you, dictator! This is your end!”

Dawi says Tuaregs took part in the riot. But their support ended when the regime chose a Tuareg leader to crush the uprising in Ghadames. Most Tuaregs here sided with their tribal leader. In August 2011, rebel forces entered Ghadames and liberated the town without a fight. Dawi says a month later pro-Gaddafi forces, including several Tuareg leaders, mounted an offensive to try to take it back: “They didn’t give us any warning. They attacked us suddenly.”

Arab-Tuareg relations had been strained since the start of the uprising, according to Tuareg community leader Mohamed ag Mama. But this was the last straw. He says after local fighters pushed back the pro-Gaddafi assault, they turned their anger on Tuaregs living here. “They burnt my house. They burnt my car. But I didn’t do anything to justify any of this. ”

Ag Mama, along with about 200 Tuareg families, fled Ghadames the next day. He has never gone back. Local officials in Ghadames concede that they were some isolated acts of retribution against Tuareg militiamen though they say Tuareg families were never forced out. But Tuaregs insist their community has been scapegoated.

Even Tuaregs who fought against pro-Gaddafi forces like Moussa Farj Gmama. He helped liberate the town. He says Tuaregs weren’t the only ones who collaborated with the regime in Ghadames, but they were the ones who got blamed. Moussa left Ghadames six months ago, after numerous threats. He and a dozen other families settled about 30 miles to the north, on a stretch of desert land. They live under traditional Tuareg tents made of rugs and carpets.

One group elder says he spent half his life roaming the Sahara, so he’s used to this lifestyle. He says, “It’s harder for the younger generation, who are accustomed to more modern comforts.” Mohamed Amoud Amma, who’s 34, says this is just temporary anyway. Not that he plans on moving back to Ghadames. None of them do. But he points to the foundations of houses they’re building, saying: “We want to build a new city. Maybe after one month, we change and go to the new house here. ”

Mohamed jokes and invites me to come back next year to see the skyscrapers sprouting up the sand. Behind the jokes though, it’s obvious some of the Tuaregs here still struggle to make sense of it all. “It’s just better this way,” Mohamed and others keep saying as if to convince themselves. “We live at peace now — on our own.”

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Muslims around the world recently celebrated Eid al-Adha, the “Feast of Sacrifice.”

Correspondent Marine Olivesi spent the holiday with Libyan families who have moved in to the ruins of the old regime – quite literally.

She reports from Tripoli.

Bani Walid rests high in a landscape of small canyons, ridges and winding roads. In the fall of 2011, locals in the pro-Gaddafi stronghold held the high ground for weeks before giving in, but they never quite embraced Libya’s transition process. Gaddafi’s green flags began to resurface, while local elders continued to rule according to tribal law.

“Bani Walid just insisted on being stubborn, and they do not want to admit defeat,” said Rida, an activist who fought against Gaddafi’s regime with guns, and tweets.

His family hails from Bani Walid, but Rida says he can’t set foot there because he’s still seen as a traitor. Other towns that sided with Gaddafi during the uprising have moved on, he says, but not Bani Walid, and he blames rebel forces for some of the lingering tension.

“Problem is, a lot of rebel fighters went in with a vengeance, and they looted in a way that’s provocative. I mean, okay, there’s looting for guns, for money, for cars, but certain things shouldn’t be taken away,” Rida said. “Clothes, for example, were stolen just to make a point.”

That further stoked resentment among people in Bani Walid, and the town became a magnet for the last of the Gaddafi loyalists, at home and abroad.

“All of the people who are supporting Gaddafi try to [get] back to Bani Walid,” according to Mohamed Septi, a field coordinator between the Libyan military, Libyan intelligence, and brigades on the ground. “They make Bani Walid like a capital to support Gaddafi.”

Septi says Gaddafi loyalists who found refuge in Chad, Niger and Algeria at the end of the uprising trickled back to Bani Walid over the past year, and now the town now harbours up to 400 people wanted by Libya’s new authorities.

Confrontation loomed for months, and then came the spark.

Omran Shabaan, the young fighter credited in the capture of Gaddafi last year, was kidnapped in July by Bani Walid militiamen. His father says his son and two others from Misrata were passing through the area of Bani Walid when they were abducted.

Details of their capture remain murky, but Omran’s uncle says there’s no doubt about the motive.

“The only one reason to catch Omran and his friend is that they catch Gaddafi,” the uncle said.

Omran was held for two months. When he was released, he was unconscious, his body showing signs of beatings. He died soon after.

The Libyan Congress ordered the arrest of those accused of capturing and torturing Omran. Local authorities in Bani Walid refused to hand over the suspects, and the hunt for Omran’s killers turned into a full-on siege, with almost daily clashes between pro-government brigades and local militia

At a military checkpoint about 60 kilometers away from Bani Walid, pick-up trucks with young men in fatigues, and anti-aircraft battery on top, head towards the front line. In the other direction are about two dozen cars filled with civilians, who say they are fleeing the shelling that has intensified over the past few days.

Ghaith Hadi, escaped town before sunrise, says the situation inside Bani Walid has become critical, with a shortage of food, fuel, and medicine, and what seems to be indiscriminate shelling.

At least 30 people were killed over the weekend, as negotiation efforts stalled. Pro-government brigades say they’re closing in on the Gaddafi stronghold, but many fear Libya’s fledgling authorities may face a lose-lose outcome.

Crushing the town with heavy firepower would make them look bad — but if they let Bani Walid’s hard-liners dictate their terms, they’ll come off weak.

I spoke with Salehdin Alashhab, an oil engineer who moonlights as a cashier at his brother’s grocery store in Tripoli and asked him what he would say to Americans who wonder if Washington should have helped Libya, given what happened.

“Actually, there’s nothing to say, just that we’re very very sorry,” Alashhab said. “I’m very sorry, from
my heart.”

I also spoke with a Tripoli ad agent named Rida, who said: “The way we see it is: Obama stood by Libya. Libya messed up. And now he’s getting the heat for it, basically. I don’t know if that’s making it too simple, but that’s how we see it.”

Many Libyans are aware that the Benghazi attack has figured prominently in the latest presidential election debates. Heba, a Libyan freelance journalist using only her first name says a victory by Republican nominee Mitt Romney could be a major set-back for Libyan democracy.

“Personally I think the Libyan-American relation could be harmed if Romney wins. He’s clearly stubborn when it comes to foreign policy and he takes us back to the Bush administration kind of attitudes, which pretty much scares a lot of decision makers here in the Middle East,” Heba said. “A lot of them are afraid if Romney wins, it could mean frozen relations between American and Libya.”

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The text below is a phonetic transcript of a radio story broadcast by PRI’s THE WORLD. It has been created on deadline by a contractor for PRI. The transcript is included here to facilitate internet searches for audio content. Please report any transcribing errors to theworld@pri.org. This transcript may not be in its final form, and it may be updated. Please be aware that the authoritative record of material distributed by PRI’s THE WORLD is the program audio.

Marco Werman: Correspondent Marine Olivesi is in Tripoli, Libya, and as we just heard in that piece from Jason Margolis, Marine, five weeks after the attack in Benghazi, it continues to be a contentious issue here. What are Libyans saying about the different accounts of the September 11th assault on the US consulate in Benghazi?

Marine Olivesi: Talking with people here in Tripoli, we can still feel an overwhelming mix of shock and contrition and sadness over the Benghazi attack. Take Salehdin Alashhab, who is an oil engineer. He moonlights as a cashier at his brother’s grocery store and that’s where I met him last night. Salehdin remembers Ambassador Stephens and says he still can’t make sense of what happened.

Salehdin Alashhab: This guy, you know, he go out to the street and he mix with the public people here. He wants to help Libyan people, you know? So what happens very, very, very, very bad, you know.

Olivesi: What would you tell an American who says, we shouldn’t have helped them. See how they say thanks, why did we help them? That was a mistake.

Alashhab: Actually there is nothing to say. Just we are very, very, very, very sorry. I’m really sorry, now it’s from my heart, yeah?

Werman: Apparently Ambassador Chris Stephens still looms large for many Libyans. Are Libyans aware of how the Benghazi attack and its aftermath are playing out in the US presidential campaign, Marine?

Olivesi: They don’t know much about the nuts and bolts of the congressional hearing and of the back and forth between the Obama and the Romney campaigns, but still they do have an idea of the general picture and here’s how one Libyan describes it.

Rida: The way we see it is, Obama stood by Libya. Libya messed up. And now he’s getting the heat for it, basically. I don’t know if that’s making it too simple, but that’s how we see it right now.

Olivesi: So that’s Rida. He works in an ad agency and he’s been very active on social media during and after the revolution. Rida says that even if Libyans are not well aware of all the political wrangling going on in the US, most do feel a sense of guilt right now at the idea that Libya has turned into a liability for the Obama administration.

Werman: Whom do Libyans blame for the tragic events that happened five weeks ago today?

Olivesi: Rida, the social media activist we just heard, was joking this morning after he heard Hillary Clinton declared she was taking responsibility. He said, well, Hillary Clinton says it’s her fault, right, so it’s not ours. And of course that’s a joke and it speaks about the fact that for most Libyans the reason of the attack is actually pretty straightforward. It’s really not about failure of US intelligence or the State Department, but it has everything to do with failure from their own transitional government. To them the attack illustrated that one undeniable fact of Libya today which is the government is weak and the militias are still on the loose.

Werman: Let me ask you this, Marine, are you able to get a general sense of how closely Libyans are following the US election and what they think is at stake for them in this vote in November?

Olivesi: Many Libyans here remember the last Republican president, George W. Bush, whose foreign policy wasn’t really popular at all in the Arab world. And I interviewed this morning one Libyan free lance journalist, Heba al-Shebani, and she says she is, for one, really following very closely the US election, and she’s holding her breath over the result.

Heba: Personally I think the Libyan-American relation could be harmed if Mitt Romney wins. He’s clearly stubborn when it comes to foreign policies and he takes us back to the Bush administration kind of attitude, which pretty much scares a lot of decision makers here in the Middle East in general. A lot of them are afraid if Mitt Romney wins, that could mean frozen relationship between America and Libya.

Werman: Well, one voice there, of course. Correspondent Marine Olivesi in Tripoli. Good to speak with you Marine. Thank you.

Olivesi: Welcome.

Copyright ©2009 PRI’s THE WORLD. All rights reserved. No quotes from the materials contained herein may be used in any media without attribution to PRI’s THE WORLD. This transcript may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without prior written permission. For further information, please email The World’s Permissions Coordinator at theworld@pri.org.

Turkey is hosting about a third of the refugee population. Authorities are building four new camps to keep up. But the influx is taking a toll on the Southern town of Antakya, where many Syrian families and activists have settled. Growing tensions with the local community have prompted authorities to take fresh action to ease the burden on the border region.

On a busy pedestrian street, a group of activists in their twenties hand out leaflets. Behind them is a banner that features the Turkish and Syrian flags locked together.

Antakya, which is just 12 miles away from the Syrian border, might be teeming with refugees, but these Turkish activists aren’t on the side of the revolution.

Erkin Orcan, one of the activists, explained that he and other activists believe the Free Syrian Army is a group of terrorists backed by al-Qaeda – a sentiment very much in line with the stance of the Syrian regime.

Orcan said locals are worried about the unabated violence on their doorstep, but there is more.

“People are not just anxious, people are angry,” Orcan said. “Syrian refugees, they’re acting like king of these areas; coming here, making some noises around there, going on a restaurant and not paying, going on a store, buying something and not paying.”

Though few locals say they’ve actually witnessed these actions, resentment of the refugees is mounting.

At demonstrations like the one in early September, an odd mix of Turkish Alawites and political activists like Orcan chanted pro-regime slogans. Alawites, who come from the same religious group as Syrian President Bashar al-Assad, make up half the population in the region. And they fret over the rising number of Sunni refugees. Leftist parties, on the other hand, reject Turkey’s alliance with the US and NATO and say the civil war in Syria is the work of Western imperialism in the Middle East.

Both groups believe the Syrian president is a bulwark against the rise of Islamism.

Fatima, a Syrian English teacher who has lived in Turkey for over a decade and has been helping refugees, says rising tensions have a direct fallout, with police raiding scores of houses over the past 10 days.

“They were like kicking the doors, getting inside, trying to threaten them asking them that they have to be all leaving the cities which are close to the borders,” she said.

Syrians without passports are told they have to go to refugee camps, though Turkish authorities admit they are overcrowded. Refugees who have passports are asked to move north, away from the border.

Hanadi, a refugee from Syria, and her six children, have lived in Antakya for the past 13 months. The family was part of the first wave of refugees seeking shelter in Turkey and is now one of the first to be threatened with eviction by the police.

Hanadi's family was part of the first wave of refugees seeking refuge in Turkey. Now, it's one of the first to be threatened with eviction by the police. (Photo: Marine Olivesi)

“When they [police] came one week ago, they said pack your stuff, you have to leave immediately,” Hanadi said. “I told them, I’m pregnant. I will give birth in no time. I can’t move with my furniture and my family to nowhere. I’ll give birth, after that we’ll move.” She said when she came from the hospital, the police came immediately giving her five days to evict.

Hanadi’s extra time is up Friday, and her options are limited. She can only go to one of the four designated towns, which are roughly between 90 and 240 miles away from Antakya.

Hanadi said displacing refugees after they’ve toiled for months to adjust to life here is cruel. Her husband has found a job as a painter and they have signed a one-year lease on their apartment, and the family has no savings to resettle.

“For Syrian families, there is a tradition: When you get a newborn baby, people would come and give him money. They put it in his underwear. One guy came and gave the boy 20 Turkish Lira,” Hanadi said. “This is all what we have, the baby’s money.”

The legal ground for the eviction of families like Hanadi’s is murky. The document produced by police officers bears no signature, no stamp and no letter head. The governor of Antakya province himself couldn’t confirm or deny the new course of action.

Activists like “Jihad” say the new policy is a blow to the cross-border networks they’ve built over the past year.

“We are here because this city is close to the border. And through it we can go inside Syria and go out, and we can communicate with people coming from Syria and people going to Syria,” he said. “It would be a catastrophe to go inside, inland Turkey. If we are away, we can’t do this kind of jobs.”

Makeshift medical centers have been asked to resettle as well. Jihad said scattering clinics and schools across Turkey would dismantle the support system refugees and insurgents depend on.

That said, some do admit the social environment in the region has come to a boil, and that sending refugees farther away could release the pressure on border towns like Antakya.

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In the city of Sirte, though, the picture was more complex. Sirte was the hometown of the former dictator, Muamar Gaddafi; it’s also where he met his death last October.

Today, on the streets of Sirte, even lampposts are marked by bullet holes. Eight months after the final, and possibly fiercest, battle of the Libyan uprising, the scars of war are on display everywhere – with heavily damaged buildings and gaping craters.

“This is the most destructed place in Sirte! They just bombed everything they could,” said Faraj Drui, a resident of Sirte’s infamous “District Number 2″ — the last pocket of pro-Gaddafi resistance back in October. Gaddafi himself holed up here for weeks before his capture.

Faraj, who cast his ballot at a primary school damaged by rockets, said he hopes the district’s participation in the elections can help wipe away the neighborhood’s image as a pro-Gaddafi enclave.

“They considered us all Gaddafi people, though we’re not,” Faraj said.

“We’re Libyans like them, but some like to put us in the basket of Gaddafi.”

Other residents of District Number 2 point out that most civilians had already fled by the time Gaddafi and his guards took refuge here. Amna Faraj Emtair escaped to Tunisia with her newborn son months before fighting started in her hometown. Now she’s running at the top of the Muslim Brotherhood party’s local list.

Sirte went from a fishing village to a modern city during Gaddafi’s decades in power. Amna said some people here still feel unhappy about the end of Gaddafi rule, but they’ll come around once the new authorities deliver on their promises, starting with rebuilding Sirte. Still, she noted that nothing’s happened yet.

“They want to see something, not only speech,” she said.

A man who asks to be called Abu Ahmed squatted in the shadow of the polling station. He displayed his ink-stained finger with a smile, but he said he voted without enthusiasm. He claimed to have no idea whom he cast his ballot for; he just checked the box next to the first name on the list. He said that he only voted because he didn’t want to feel sidelined in the new Libya.

Then he stopped for a moment, and said he’d rather continue the conversation in the privacy of his home, so we went to his place a few blocks away.

Fives minutes later, three armed men from the local militia knocked on the door.

The men said they saw me enter the house and just want to check that I’m fine. But Abu Ahmed later told me that’s just a pretext. He’s convinced they came to intimidate him so that he wouldn’t speak his mind.

Other residents say the militias who are now running Sirte often go beyond threats and intimidation.

Some young men smoking on a stoop in Sirte complain they’ve been harassed, beaten and randomly arrested simply because they belong to the Gaddafa, the tribal group of Libya’s former ruler.

The men say they didn’t vote; they don’t feel safe going outside by themselves, so how could they feel safe enough to vote?

They say whatever happens next, the newly elected assembly won’t represent them; their candidates were banned from running because of their ties to the old regime.

Then one of the men said: “All Libya is free, except for us.”

This project was made possible by a fellowship from the French-American Foundation-United States. The views expressed are solely those of the author and do not reflect the views of the French-American Foundation or its directors, employees or representatives.

It’s been a pretty consensual campaign, some would even say dull. In Tunisia, you had a clear divide between the secularists and the Islamists. In the Libyan campaign you had no such divide.”

This weekend, Jebril called on all of Libya’s political parties to “come all together in one coalition, under one banner… to reach a compromise, a consensus on which the constitution can be drafted and the new government can be composed.”

Jebril has criticized the media’s use of the label “liberal” to describe his coalition, and calls his alliance inclusive rather than ideological. It’s a sign the competing parties may be drawing closer together.

The post-campaign looks pretty much like the campaign looked like, which is the parties are competing but without any clear political fault lines between them.

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Lisa Mullins: The political chaos in Egypt contrasts with the relative clarity emerging after elections in neighboring Libya. Voters there went to the polls this weekend to elect a National Assembly. This was the first free national election in Libya in six decades. Initial results suggest the moderate Alliance of National Forces is leading. That’s an umbrella organization of fifty small political parties. Correspondent Marine Olivesi is in Tripoli where she’s following the results.

Marine Olivesi: In the very first preliminary results we’ve had so far the moderate party are ahead, especially in the main towns along Libya’s coast.

Mullins: OK. So if those preliminary results hold true for the for the rest of Libya, where there is apparently about a sixty-five percent turnout of the population, it looks as if Libya might be bucking the regional trend of voting-in Islamists candidates. That’s what happened in Egypt and Tunisia and other places. Is it too early to say that the Islamist Party, affiliated with the Muslim Brotherhood, is not going to gain control?

Olivesi: Yeah, we can probably predict that they won’t get the largest share of the vote, but what has been clear throughout the campaign is that it’s been a pretty consensual campaign, some would even say dull, and all agree on the broad lines of democratic principles and human rights that should be enshrined in the next constitution. So unlike in Tunisia and Egypt, where, in Tunisia, you had a clear divide between the seculars and the Islamists, in the Libyan campaign you had no such divide. And yesterday the leader of the Alliance of National Forces, Mahmoud Jebril, called for a broad coalition to form Libya’s next government. And even the Muslim Brotherhood party has recognized the advance in the polls of the Alliance. So the post-campaign looks pretty much like the campaign looked like, which is the parties are competing, but without any clear political fault-lines between them.

Mullins: You mentioned Mahmoud Jebril, who is the founder of this coalition. This is a man who spent time here in the United States. He got his doctoral degree at the University of Pittsburgh. He apparently taught there as well. What is the appeal, at least to him or to his coalition? And is it in any way an opposition to what Libyans are hearing from the Islamic parties, from those who are aligned with the Muslim Brotherhood?

Olivesi: Well, Mahmoud Jebril is an economist who taught in the US, returned to Libya, and was reintegrated to Gaddafi’s regime in the years 2000s when Muammar Gaddafi’s son, Saif al-Islam, tried to modernize the regime. But he sided with the revolution in it’s very early hours in February, 2011 and he was instrumental in getting the National Transitional Council recognized on the international level.

Mullins: Marine, since you have covered so much of what’s transpired in the past year, I wonder if you can tell us,in terms of the Arab Spring and being right now in Libya where there was so much violence, what’s it’s like to be there and what Libyans are telling you now?

Olivesi: In Tripoli today, it just feels like a capital where everything is open until quite late at night. You have traffic jams all the time. It’s a very vibrant town and the scenes actually that we saw on Saturday night in Tripoli were very similar to those we witnessed right after the fall of Tripoli and an ecstatic crowd and so much joy actually back on the streets and hundreds of families waving flags and chanting. And it’s interesting to see that Libyans, at least a lot of people in Tripoli, still feel as good about the new regime and the change as they did last summer.

Mullins: OK. Thank you very much for the latest from Tripoli, Libya. Correspondent Marine Olivesi, thank you again.

Olivesi: You’re very welcome.

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This project was made possible by a fellowship from the French-American Foundation-United States. The views expressed are solely those of the author and do not reflect the views of the French-American Foundation or its directors, employees or representatives.

Now Shawesh is striving to become their first-ever elected representative. His return, and possible election, marks a new chapter in a personal journey that has been, for more than three decades, blessed with fortunate timing. “I was so lucky because I was the last group to be sent to the States,” he said.

The American embassy in Tripoli closed in 1980 after a mob of protesters burnt it down. Libyan authorities had granted Shawesh a scholarship to study in the United States just a few months earlier. In 1984, Shawesh was on track for a PhD in science at the University of Arizona when his father was thrown in jail on suspicion that he and others had plotted a coup. Shawesh was asked to fly back to Libya shortly thereafter to renew his government-sponsored scholarship.

“I knew it was a trick because I knew my father was in prison,” Shawesh said. “So immediately when they threatened me and said go back to Libya to sign this contract or we will cut off the scholarship, I said, cut it off. I didn’t feel a degree is more important that the principles, values I need to live for.” Shawesh never saw his father again.

Without financial backing, he had to drop out, but the strained relations between the United States and Libya actually played in his favour. He was quickly granted political asylum, along with his wife and four children. In 1986, the family moved to Sacramento and they embraced the United States as home. But Libya remained on his mind. Shawesh became the West Coast representative of the National Front for the Salvation of Libya, an exiled opposition to Gaddafi’s regime.

Giumaa Shawesh's electoral poster plastered on top of the Amazigh flag. Long oppressed under Gaddafi's rule, Libya's Berbers say they want minority rights enshrined in the constitution to be drafted after Saturday's elections. (Photo: Marine Olivesi)

The group’s founder, Mohamed Yousef el-Magariaf lived in Atlanta during most of his time in exile. He is also back in Libya now. He said for three decades, the Front kept drumming the anti-Gaddafi beat — against all odds and naysayers. “We heard many voices that tried to make us feel that whatever efforts we made have no impact, no results because of the simple fact that Gaddafi was still there,” El-Magariaf said. “But anyhow, we were wise enough to keep calling for [the] Gaddafi regime to be toppled and for the people to revolt against him until the last moment.”

When the uprising broke out in Benghazi in February 2011, members of the front set up a support committee that organized protests in the United States and fundraised for medical aid. Shawesh went to Tunisia to help Libyan refugees there. At one point he managed an impromptu visit to Kabao, 31 years after he’d left. He said he couldn’t recognize either his town or his family.

“Those of my age are elders and those youngsters who were not born are now running the show,” he said. “My father, mother, my grandmother all those who loved me, who hugged me when I left, I found them to be in the cemetery ground. I found myself stranger within my family.”

Yet people in Kabao seemed eager to get him involved. After the revolution, friends asked him to run for office. They argued that the transition process needs help from those who’ve lived in democratic countries. El-Magariaf, himself a candidate in another town, said former exiles have a clear edge in Libya’s new political landscape.

“Candidates are not known. They don’t have any history by which they can judge. It’s all promises,” he said. “So in that regard, where we have advantage, we did what we did for our country, and this is a credibility that we have that very few people do have.” But Shawesh said outsiders face obvious challenges in bridging the gap with locals. He said his U.S.-acquired optimistic mind-set and can-do attitude stand at odds with the prevailing mood in Libya.

“All the time they talk about the past, about sufferings, about problems,” he said. “OK! There’s time for you to recover, but you can’t spend all your life talking about sufferings, all the time you’re adding salt on the injury.” Back in Kabao, Shawesh sits in a circle with about 100 men, making his campaign pitch. After the rally, Juma Ajaj, a writer in a newly-created newspaper said Shawesh’s voice stands out in Kabao’s field of candidates and so will, he hopes, in Libya’s new Congress.

This project was made possible by a fellowship from the French-American Foundation-United States. The views expressed are solely those of the author and do not reflect the views of the French-American Foundation or its directors, employees or representatives.

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Adallah Abduaziz, from Nigeria, was arrested this Spring for lack of proper documents. He had been working in Libya for the past 8 years in a ciment factory and says he never had problems in the country before.. (Photo: Marine Olivesi)

Nearly two million immigrants lived in Libya before the uprising last year, most there illegally. Today, only about a half million foreign workers make their home in the North African country. And that’s a problem for Libya, which is trying to rebuild after last year’s revolution.

At Libya’s Building & Construction Exhibition, Ahmet Mojaat, the North African director at Mesa, a Turkish construction group, said the event marks his company’s return to business after a year and a half on hold.

“We want to restart our work because we are sure that there are projects here, and we have references and we will get a lot of work.”

Mojaat expects business to pick up after the elections in July, as Libya embarks on new public construction projects. But Mojaat’s not just scouting for government contracts; he needs foreign labor.

“Libya today needs a lot of workers,” he said, “so they must find solutions for them to stay here.”

Before the revolution, most construction workers in Libya were undocumented migrants from North and sub-Saharan Africa. Many fled during last year’s uprising. Adallah Abduaziz, who’s from Nigeria, worked in a Libyan cement factory for eight years. But this spring, he was arrested because he lacked legal documents. A post-revolution Libya has been cracking down on illegal immigration after taking a laissez faire approach during the decades of Muammar Gaddafi’s rule.

“None of us are here to sleep. We work,” Abduaziz said. “The Libyans need us here. We know we need them as much as they need us.”

Inside one of the camp's so-called "container." About 50 female migrants (among them pregnant women) live in each unit. They have restricted access to water, food and health services. The woman on the picture points to the gallons of mildly salty water allocated to drink, wash themselves and clean the premises. (Photo: Marine Olivesi)

Libya has a population of only about six million, so the country has depended on foreigners to fill jobs in farms, factories, hospitals and private homes. Jeremy Haslam, of the International Organization for Migration, said the labor shortage today is widespread.

“The migrant population represented about a third of the work force in Libya,” Haslam said. “It is not enough just to try and seal the borders and try and deny migrants crossing into Libya. They have to balance this need to meet the needs of the private sector for economic recovery of the country.

According to Libya’s interim Labor Minister Mustafa Rugibani, they’re trying to find that balance. He said authorities have issued more than 100,000 work permits, and are processing half a million visa applications – most for jobs that Libyans don’t want. But Rugibani points out that creating an effective immigration policy is challenging in a country emerging from 42 years of dictatorship.

“During Gaddafi, no one can talk about anything, including this subject,” Rugibani said. “But now people have freedom, they are practicing democracy and with all that, they talk on any subject and this is one of the hot subject we have now.”

Rugibani said it’s getting easier for migrants to get work permits, but they still need to be sponsored by an employer. Critics say that doesn’t help day laborers and domestic workers, in high demand, who usually find jobs after they’ve entered the country illegally.

Becky, who’s 15, arrived in Tripoli in January. She found a job as a maid that pays $400 a month. Becky was sending half her earnings to her older sister back in Nigeria, but last month, she got arrested.

“They arrest me on the road and put me inside these useless containers,” Becky said, referring one of several metal containers that make up a makeshift detention facility. She’s here in the scorching heat with hundreds of other illegal immigrants; some have been here for months.

Nekson, a Nigerian mason who’s been detained since January, said rounding up undocumented workers only to pack them in detention centers seems counter-productive. It would make more sense, he said, for Libya to let the migrants work or at least send them back to home to warn others who might be heading to Libya for work.

“They believe that we are living well here,” Nekson said. “You send us back now so that we spread the news all over: Don’t go to Libya. The place is bad now for you as an illegal immigrant.”

But many observers say it’s unlikely such feedback would to stem the flow of migrants, now that Libya’s economic prospects are looking up again.

This project was made possible by a fellowship from the French-American Foundation-United States. The views expressed are solely those of the author and do not reflect the views of the French-American Foundation or its directors, employees or representatives.

It’s one of the most serious crises since the landlocked West African country gained independence from France in 1960.

Soldiers staged a coup in March but cannot agree on a way forward for the country.

Meanwhile, Mali’s Tuareg rebels have taken control of the north of the country, in alliance with Islamic militants

Marine Olivesi reports from neighboring Burkina Faso, where many Tuaregs have taken shelter from the violence in their home country.

Many also wish to escape the Islamists’ brand of Sharia Law.

The Sahel reserve stretches into the Northern tip of Burkina Faso, a land of dry bush, bare trees and patches of sunburnt grass giving way to sand. Shacks made of sticks and a patchwork of drapes and carpets dot the yellow horizon.

Tuaregs fleeing fighting between Tuareg rebels and government forces in north Mali have flocked here in the tens of thousands. They’re part of the 300,000 people who have been displaced by the conflict since January, according to the State Department and the UN Refugee Agency.

Many in this stretch of Burkina Faso have been here before, and they’ve settled back into what has become a forced second home — once again.

A 69-year old Tuareg says he moved back under the same tree where he’d spent almost three years in the mid-1990s.

Another Tuareg, Yaya Ag Mohamed, was a kid the last time his family fled violence in north Mali.

“I started elementary school here in Burkina Faso” he said. “Today, I’m a father of two, and here I am again, a refugee once more. We’re pulled back into the same situation, at every stage of life.”

Four Tuareg rebellions have broken out since Mali gained independence 52 years ago. Each time, scores fled the military crackdown against Tuareg fighters and civilians. But in April, Tuareg rebels drove Mali’s authorities out and proclaimed independence for the Azawad, the Tuareg name for Mali’s Northern region.

Tuareg fighters didn’t manage this on their own. They joined forces with a loose coalition of Islamist groups. They shared a common enemy, but not the same long-term goals; Tuaregs fought for a state, Islamists for the imposition of Sharia law.

Idoual Ag Bala, a veterinarian at the refugee camp, calls the Islamists’ attempt to impose a radical form of Islam ‘colonial.’

“What Islam are they going to teach me? I’m already a Muslim, and that’s enough, thanks God!” he said. “We don’t want Sharia law. Our culture is steeped in a moderate and tolerant Islam. Their Islam is an import from Pakistan and Afghanistan, and we don’t want it.”

Al Qaeda in the Islamic Maghreb has thrived in the region in the past few years. Now, the Al Qaeda franchise operates unopposed amidst North Mali’s chaos, and new Islamist groups have emerged there as well.

In Gao, North Mali’s most populous city, young people demonstrated against a newly enforced ban on watching TV, listening to music and playing video games. Locals say armed groups opened fire on the protesters.

Tuareg refugees say there’s a lot of confusion over where the extremists come from, and how many they are. But Idoual, the veterinarian, says what they do know about them is alarming enough to keep refugees from returning home.

“Americans are scared about Islamists. The French are scared about Islamists. Everybody is scared about these groups!” he said. “So why would we, poor African citizens, be any less scared? I’m scared!”

Refugees who’ve just arrived at the camp bring stories that stoke the fears. Mohamed ag In’Tahma crossed over the border last week with 20 relatives and two other families. He says they left their village because of the new rules imposed by Islamists. They brought clothing with them, he says, a burka-like covering for the women, long clothes that cover elbows for the men.

“Men can’t greet women on the street,” he said. “No one dares go out any more. If you’re caught doing something wrong, or wearing something inappropriate, they threaten to beat you if they catch you again.”

Mohamed says Tuareg rebels, who support a secular republic, are starting to speak out against Sharia, but they aren’t strong enough to fight back. He says most locals believe a clash between Islamists and seculars is coming — yet another reason for civilians to flee.

Fatoumata Oylet Aybala, a women’s leader at the refugee camp, says the best way for the international community to help defeat the Islamic militants is to recognize a Tuareg independent state.

“Once our leaders are in charge, once we have a country, a government and allies, then we’ll be able to fight for the traditions and values of the Tuareg people.”

But so far not a single country has recognized the breakaway state, and Mali could soon request help from West African countries to regain control of the lost territory.

Refugees in Burkina know they might be here for a long time. Sitting on a bench in the afternoon heat, a group of young men listens to Tuareg music on a cell phone.

They say at least here they’re safe…. and they can still indulge in some cherished tribal tunes.

This project was made possible by a fellowship from the French-American Foundation-United States. The views expressed are solely those of the author and do not reflect the views of the French-American Foundation or its directors, employees or representatives.

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Damba Koné's family home in Mali (Photo: Marine Olivesi)

The West African country of Mali is going through turmoil. A military coup toppled the government in March, and a rebel movement has divided the country.

Much of that unrest began when tens of thousands of Malians flooded home from Libya last year. They’d gone there for a better living, but Libya’s uprising put an end to that. Now many of them are struggling back at home.

Crowding around a small TV set in the capital Bamako, a group of kids and adults burst out when their soccer team scores. More than 40 people live here in this series of small rooms built around a cluttered courtyard. Off to the side is a massive refrigerator, the only valuable thing Damba Koné managed to get out of Libya last spring.

For 11 years, Damba was a butcher in the village of Gatrun in southern Libya. He said there were only four butchers in town, all of them from Mali.

In early April 2011, as the Libyan conflict escalated, Damba sent his wife and four children to Tunisia and then on to Mali. Damba stayed behind to organize things.

Then one night, Damba said, seven armed men broke into his house and assaulted him. They forced him to give them the $15,000 he had hidden under his roof — his life saving.

Damba fled, getting a lift from a pickup truck into Niger a few days later. When he finally arrived back in Bamako, Damba said he had nothing left but his seven-foot-long industrial fridge.

“Everyone here in Mali knew I’d been in Libya for years. They all thought ‘he must be coming back with loads of money.’ So when I came back, relatives and neighbors all expected something from me,” Damba said. “I had to explain that I lost everything in one night and that I’ve got nothing at all.”

One year later, Damba said he’s still empty-handed. He hasn’t found a job; too many butchers here already, he explains. He can’t even afford to buy meat for his own children.

Officials say about 12,000 Malian migrant workers fled Libya last year, but the numbers are likely much higher, according to Oumar Sidibé, who works with a migrants’ advocacy group in Bamako. He said the migrants came from all over Mali. “Every region, every ethnic group sent some of their own to Libya for the promise of higher paying jobs,” he said.

Haruna Traoré worked for Western families in Tripoli. For 10 years, he cleaned, cooked, babysat, and tended gardens. He pulls out a certificate from one employer praising his “honesty and cheerfulness.”

Haruna’s last employer was an American-Ecuadorian couple who worked in Libya’s oil industry. They paid him $700 a month and put his family up in a guest house. Haruna regularly sent money home, sometimes up to $300, about five times the average monthly wage in Mali.

Now back in Bamako, Haruna said he lives off the very relatives he used to assist. His grandmother is feeding his family, and he can’t give her any money.

“They let my family stay with them. We stay one year.” Haruna said he’s ashamed. “Somebody can help you for once, twice, maybe three times, but forever? I never imagined I would be in this situation.”

Like many other migrants returning from Libya, Haruna said he’s angry at the government for doing nothing to help. But he’s even more furious at Mali’s authorities for giving a warmer welcome to a small, select group of returnees.

General Mohamed Ali is a Tuareg from Timbuktu who moved to Libya in the 1960s. (Tuaregs are a nomadic group from northern Africa.) He introduces himself as a “true general.”

Four decades of service in Muammar Gaddafi’s army earned Ali the highest military rank and a Libyan passport. Ali said he took part in Gaddafi’s African wars in Chad, Sudan, Angola, each time receiving a seven-figure bonus for his military skills. His last stand was for the Colonel himself. Ali said he fought for Gaddafi during the key battles in last year’s Libyan uprising. When the regime finally collapsed in the fall, Ali and his Tuareg battalion returned to Mali.

He said Malian authorities sent four government ministers to greet him and his men. The greeting included cash. Ali won’t say how much, but he pointed out that returning Tuareg groups received even more than his group did.

“The people of Kidal who brought weapons received more, because they were heavily armed,” Ali said. “It’s why they got more money than we did.”

Some of the estimated 2,000 Tuaregs who returned to Mali after Gaddafi’s fall brought back light and heavy artillery.

Authorities feared the returning Tuaregs would revive a long-simmering rebellion in the North. Local media reported that the Malian government lavished tens of thousands of dollars on them.

“Everybody knew about it,” said Amadou Waigalo, who works on migrants’ affairs at the government Ministry of Malians abroad. “The Malian workers who were in Libyan for economic reasons protested because they got nothing and they thought that was unfair. But the financial help the Tuaregs received was political. The government was trying to appease them.”

That didn’t work out.

Tuaregs attacked a military base in North Mali in mid-January. By early April, they had taken control of the North’s main towns and declared the independent State of Awazad. General Ali, who’s part of the Azawad Liberation Movement, said it’s long overdue.

“Don’t we have the right to independence?” he said, adding that his people have been fighting for freedom for decades.

General Ali left Mali during the first major Tuareg rebellion that broke out shortly after the country gained independence in 1960. Over the following decades, thousands of Malian Tuaregs found refuge, and a warm welcome, in Libya, with Gaddafi portraying himself as a champion of the Tuaregs’ cause.

But then Gaddafi fell, and the Tuaregs came home.

Now the Tuaregs and other Malians say the turmoil at home is a direct result of the regime change in Libya. Some call it collateral damage; others blame NATO for failing to anticipate how disruptive the collapse of a 42-year old regime would be for the Sahel region.

Oumar Sidibé, the advocate for Malian migrants, said many African voices, including the African Union, raised concerns about NATO’s intervention in Libya, but the international community didn’t listen. “They wanted Gaddafi out whatever it took, even if his fall brought chaos to the whole region.”

Now Mali is split in two with no diplomatic or military solution in sight. A military coup ousted the government in Bamako in March, and the newly appointed interim president is struggling to transfer power back to civilian rule.

Haruna Traore, the Malian migrant who returned home with nothing, said he fled the conflict in Libya last year only to find his own country sliding towards war.

“Where I will go again?” he asked. “I don’t know where I’ll run to hide myself and my family.

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This project was made possible by a fellowship from the French-American Foundation—United States as part of the Immigration Journalism Fellowship. The views expressed are solely those of the author and do not reflect the views of the French-American Foundation or its Directors, employees or representatives.

Archive images of Mars Pathfinder splashed all over State TV the night of Modibo Diarra’s nomination as the country’s Interim Prime Minister. Diarra operated the American spacecraft that landed on Mars in 1997.

The TV report goes from a picture of his modest school in Mali’s countryside to one of NASA central command. The report called it “a success story for a scientist schooled and raised just like any other kid on the block… who found himself at the head of a mission of utmost complexity.”

The anchor was speaking about Diarra’s Mars mission, but that statement could just as well apply to the challenges he now faces as Mali’s Prime Minister.

In Bamako, Diarra and the Interim President Diacounda Traoré are expected to restore constitutional order after last month’s coup, and rein in the coup leaders.

Earlier this week, protests broke out over the arrest of 22 political and military leaders. Among those rounded-up, the former Prime Minister, the ex-defense minister and several other key allies of the ousted President Amadou Toumani Toure.

Al Kamis, from the anti-coup coalition, said this campaign of arrest and detention had no judicial ground.

“We are in a state of law that requires due process,” Kamis said. “People can’t be rounded up at two in the morning in their homes. If we need to arrest them, the President should give law enforcement a mandate to do so.”

The ex-junta says they suspected the 22 of plotting a “counter-coup”. But others saw the arrests as a show of force by coup leaders intent on proving they still have the upper hand despite handing over power to civilians.

The 22 men were released late last night, yet many say it’s still hard to tell who’s in charge right now.

Moussa Traoré, another man at the protest, said Mali right now is divided into three States: the self-proclaimed Azawad State in the North, the constitutional republic led by the Interim President, and what he calls the “coup d’état” state.”

Three weeks ago Touareg rebels aided by Islamist groups took control of the northern towns of Gao, Kidal and Timbuktu and declared the independent state of North Mali.

In his first address to the nation on Friday, Diarra said the country is facing the most challenging moment in its history, and that Mali won’t give up even an inch of territory.

Reacting to the news of Diarra’s nomination, youth activist Adan Guitey said Malians hope his international connections will help draw more attention from the international community on the unfolding crisis – and maybe muster support.

But Western help could hinder rather than facilitate negotiations with some of the rebels.

The Islamist group Ansar Din said they are open to talks with Bamako but only on one condition: No Western state or non-governmental organization should interfere in the negotiations, or play a role in the humanitarian corridor soon to be set up that would channel food and medical assistance to North Mali.

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Reporter Marine Olivesi went to one school along the Turkish-Syrian border to find out how the students there are coping in exile.

All Photos: Gaia Anderson

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