Just as the World Food Program charter plane en route to Nairobi sped along the dirt airstrip to its lifting speed and began its ascent, I looked down at the sprawl of white tents and clusters of globular huts below where I had just spent a...
No one—neither Libyans nor those of who claimed to know Libya well—saw the second revolution coming. For Libyans these daily conversations were a means of moral survival; they never truly believed that the changes of which they dreamt would...
Hope springs eternal, especially for aspiring poets. They want their voices to be heard; they want to appear in print as well as to write their poems. One wonders: who will listen, who will read?
