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Inside the notorious Abu Salim jail

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http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-14755667

Colonel Gaddafi has called for Libya to be “engulfed in flames” in an audio message carried by a loyalist TV channel.

In Tripoli, human rights workers are trying to salvage records from inside Libya’s most notorious prison, Abu Salim.

Over the course of several decades, thousands of Libyans are said to have been jailed and tortured in the prison by members of the Gaddafi regime.

Jeremy Bowen reports from Tripoli.

In the beginning

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In the beginning were the rustling leaves of the forbidden tree,
The commencement of the descent and the end of it was Autumn.

In the beginning were the creaking doors of the greater universe,
where all those who have entered endured the burning features of the existence.

In the beginning were the “things” hurting by “Things”
Fever was along the lines of puzzlement.

In the beginning was a bang on the head, then the initiation, etc… along the way.

Mohammad Bin Lamin

www.binlaminart.com

The Three Eras for a dream

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The Three Eras for a dream

Poem and Artworks By: Mohammad Bin Lamin.

Translated from Arabic by: Solara Sabah.

Image

1. The Amulet Time

His blue Amulet did not save him from the act of the sea,

neither did the white one.

They did not soothed him from the flares of

the land.

They did not stop the temptation of the waves

and the curse of whiteness or cured him from the sun’s ailments.

He was saved by the worries of the mothers who were

lingering near the oven to steal from it the mercy of the bread.

Or maybe he was saved by the mother’s supplications in the half darkness

behind the spindle of  the wool’s mats,

praying to God to safeguard him

from the Beasts of the darkness,

the evil eyes, and  the ferocity of the envy.

Image

2. The Solitude Time

And you’re a very obdurate!

You have never been bind by phylactery or by Fakih’s mantra

you saved your  steps

for the mint fragrance road and the accompaniment clouds.

Holding back your right hand

to greet the person of your dream,

To embrace the surface of the water,

Promising your heart to meet the spring and the temptation of the daffodils,

Rolling your eyes inside,

Laughing and crying.

Lighting the daytime by the sun,

Dripping the stars in the night,

and dangling from the moon!

Obstinately in love.

Your dream has taken by your pride

Descending into the illusion that one day it will come

with a dark eyes

elegant and tall

with a small bird hovering on the head.

Wandering,

Dancing and asking for the mercy.

The dance of the slaughterous

The mercy of the dust,

A resurgence of desperate love!

Image

3. The Exudes Time

Hold on tight to your luggage!

You have to endorse your travel,

the nudge of the stations,

The noisiness of the railroads crossings;

and the dreariness of the passages and the tunnels.

Flying and sailing.Mingling with foreign seaports,

The dead dreams and the glasses of wanderers wine.

Dancers floating in the drum of the water.

The first lament for the homelandlurking from under the feet.

Where ever you go the land looks the same.

Strange as it should be,

You will never be familiar with this existing world.

you will be welcomed by the uncertainty of the empty rooms,

the shared houses,

the dispirited parks

And the ugly elderly women

The owners of the homes who will prohibited you from being late at night.

Just be as you are

lost between the distractions of the eyes and the lust of the dreams.

poor fellow as in the prayer.

Knight at the wedding extravaganza.

Taken by different visions,

and the fluctuated news.

Slaughtered by friends knifes

and deceived by the wooden rifles

How will you enjoy the night

As they do each day?

And how the moon complains of its nostalgia for the beautiful face?

You are doomed!

consumed by the timeas a coffee drunk in a hurry .

Blown by the wind as a nuisance Southern dust,

that will never whisk off by the country broom

Wake up and go on!

Your cold hands and these doors cannot endure the knocking,

neither the ceiling and the walls,

Forsake this dream of yours

and leave as those who left before you,

No need for the blame

Just wait with patience and eternal gaze.

 

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It was while we were in one cell that we found the most beautiful and inspiring art that had been drawn on the walls as a symbol of defiance. The words read “The Future will be us” – and in the words of Omar Muktar – the famous resistance rebel who led the resistance movement against Italian occupation – “We win or we die.” Such fitting words for the rebel resistance that was now the Libyan civil war. But what was most touching was the final inscription – surely a retort to Gaddafi and a reference to him wanting to be the “King of Kings” – “If you want to be a King, first you should be a man.” I could see the art work was signed by a Misratan named “Mohammad bin Lamin” and I resolved myself to find this man (if he was still alive) and film his story. It wasn’t till be second visit to Libya that I discovered he was alive and well and was in fact arrested with his brother in Misrata by Gaddafi’s forces at the very beginning of the uprising on February 15. He spent the whole of the Revolution jailed in Abu Salem. I hope to meet him one day and film his story. Whilst sat in a hotel room in Tripoli during another visit I saw his remarkable story filmed for Al Jazeera English. Using art as a spiritual answer to daily repression, Mohammad is a symbol of enduring resistance to the rule of Gaddafi.

Katalyst Blog

By Sharron Ward.

December 2011:  I was standing in the heat of the midday sun, waiting for Ziad to come and pick me up.  I had taken shelter by a small wall, in the grounds of the Corinthia Hotel – one of the few 5 star hotels in Tripoli – most notably known for the amount of NTC members and foreign dignitaries staying there.  It was one of the few places people went to get a decent internet connection and a “proper” cappuccino.  As I was filming, I marvelled at the sheer amount of traffic driving past.  Gaddafi had never invested in any kind of public transport system and so Libyans drove everywhere.  This resulted in horrendous traffic jams, and I watched as one lone police officer on duty tried to bring some semblance of order  (he was one of the very few brave enough to come back on…

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A tale of a Libyan artist

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A tale of a Libyan artist

View The Video:
http://www.aljazeera.com/video/middleeast/2012/07/201271483939185732.html

Mohammad bin Lamin used art to survive his time in prison before he was set free after the revolution.

Al Jazeera talks to Libyan artist Mohammad bin Lamin who used art to survive his time in prison before the country’s revolution.

From drawing on his prison cell walls with whatever he could find to his post-revolutionary art including sculptures made from used bullets and shells, bin Lamin hopes his art will offer a spiritual answer for the daily oppression around the world.

The Three Eras for a dream

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(The Three Eras for a dream)
Poem and Artworks By: Mohammad Bin Lamin.
Translated from Arabic by: Solara Sabah.

1. The Amulet Time

His blue Amulet did not save him from the act of the sea,
neither did the white one.
They did not soothed him from the flares of
the land.

They did not stop the temptation of the waves
and the curse of whiteness or cured him from the sun’s ailments.

He was saved by the worries of the mothers who were
lingering near the oven to steal from it the mercy of the bread.
Or maybe he was saved by the mother’s supplications in the half darkness
behind the spindle of the wool’s mats,
praying to God to safeguard him
from the Beasts of the darkness,
the evil eyes, and the ferocity of the envy.

2. The Solitude Time

And you’re a very obdurate!
You have never been bind by phylactery or by Fakih’s mantra
you saved your steps
for the mint fragrance road and the accompaniment clouds.
Holding back your right hand
to greet the person of your dream,
To embrace the surface of the water,
Promising your heart to meet the spring and the temptation of the daffodils,

Rolling your eyes inside,
Laughing and crying.
Lighting the daytime by the sun,
Dripping the stars in the night,
and dangling from the moon!

Obstinately in love.
Your dream has taken by your pride
Descending into the illusion that one day it will come
with a dark eyes
elegant and tall
with a small bird hovering on the head.
Wandering,
Dancing and asking for the mercy.
The dance of the slaughterous
The mercy of the dust,
A resurgence of desperate love!

3. The Exudes Time

Hold on tight to your luggage!
You have to endorse your travel,
the nudge of the stations,
The noisiness of the railroads crossings;
and the dreariness of the passages and the tunnels.

Flying and sailing.
Mingling with foreign seaports,
The dead dreams and the glasses of wanderers wine.

Dancers floating in the drum of the water.
The first lament for the homeland
lurking from under the feet.

Where ever you go the land looks the same.
Strange as it should be,
You will never be familiar with this existing world.

you will be welcomed by the uncertainty of the empty rooms,
the shared houses,
the dispirited parks
And the ugly elderly women
The owners of the homes who will prohibited you from being late at night.

Just be as you are
lost between the distractions of the eyes and the lust of the dreams.

poor fellow as in the prayer.
Knight at the wedding extravaganza.
Taken by different visions,
and the fluctuated news.

Slaughtered by friends knifes
and deceived by the wooden rifles
How will you enjoy the night
As they do each day?
And how the moon complains of its nostalgia for the beautiful face?

You are doomed!
consumed by the time
as a coffee drunk in a hurry .
Blown by the wind as a nuisance Southern dust,
that will never whisk off by the country broom

Wake up and go on!

Your cold hands and these doors cannot endure the knocking,
neither the ceiling and the walls,

Forsake this dream of yours
and leave as those who left before you,
No need for the blame
Just wait with patience and eternal gaze.

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