By Rabia Golden

Flags waving, faces beaming, children raised on shoulders, shouts of “Allahu Akbar!!!!!”, dancing, hugging; the hugs crammed with unadulterated love, without really understanding how could it feel so deep, so pure. Hurrah for the winners!

Everyone full of pride, hearts bursting with it, old comrades meeting, grabbing each other, like their own true blood brothers, perhaps even stronger ties of one kind or another. Hurrah for the winners!

Speaking to a high-ranking member of Kateeb ATawar Trabulus, tears streaming down his face as he reminisced on how, just last year he had held to the pact, the one he swore to hold to with his close buddies, those who ran, fell, stood up again with the help of their comrades, shaking, sometimes bleeding, but always dusty strong hands. Hearts thumping with adrenalin, terror, and often desperation to survive. That pact to meet at the steps of the stage, the one at the Martyr’s Square, the one and only Maydan Ashu’hada, the very name raises goosebumps to those who know its raw reality. Hurrah for the winners!

As he stood, greeting them one by one, awaiting ‘flan, wa flan’ (this guy and that). Just as they did every year since the Thawra, awaited the previous years harvest of fine men, the real Thawar, the real deal. Then slowly, painfully with heart-rendering sorrow, the penny began to drop.

One would ask, where’s Abdu? As another answered, “didn’t you hear, he fell at such and such a place, defending Tripoli against Haftar, the heartless warlord”, “and Ali, Khaled, Mahdi???” And so on. Hurrah for the winners!

Joy and laughter turning to tears of brave men, each tear weighing a ton, these guys are not easily stirred, yet, the thought of these beautiful souls, who survived the horror of the fight against Gadaffi, now lost to a hypocrite, claiming victory, victory over what? Victory over mass graves? Over torture? Over what exactly???? Hurrah for the winners!

Although we know and firmly believe, without doubt their place is Ferdous, the pain and emptiness feel as though a little of each man standing themselves is buried with their comrades, each one captured in a scenario in their minds, branded there forever. Although standing in their now diminished group, talking and catching up, their hearts are carried away on the waves of rage, embracing the reality of the loss, yet each wanting their piece of the warlord, or the Russian animals, now grazing on Libyan soil, filthy, useless excuses of men who boobytrap innocent people’s homes, killing and injuring indiscriminately, anyone, man, woman or child as they ran like cowards from the real men, the ones who gave their lives to protect the dignity and honour of their womenfolk and homes. Hurrah for the winners!

You, you call yourself a representative of Libya, you who brought every kind of filth to Libyan lands to fight your dirty losing war, you coward, knowing you had nothing left other than the filthy money of filthy corrupt so-called leaders, may Allah destroy them, you know your name, history will know you as a war criminal and murderer. Hurrah for the winners!

The mothers of the martyrs will curse you forever, but the women of Libya will grow a new army against you, you have nowhere to hide, you will find yourself standing ashamed of even your own name, Hater, Animal, Failure, Tyrant, Abhorrent and Ruthless. Each description an integral part of your very name, yes, you know who you are. Hurrah for the winners!

Even if next year, at the celebration of 17 February, there stands only one from those soldiers of Allah, a new group will form, a new brotherhood, a new beginning, but for you, there is no place for you, you will die a sad, lonely, disgraced, ousted, cursed by Allah excuse of a human being.

And our brothers, sons and grandsons will dance on your grave, and hearts will rise in harmony of joy at your passing. Hurrah for the winners!

Our beautiful sons, our beloved brothers, sleep peacefully, your place is paved with success to Ferdous, your mothers and family will find peace in their pride of your sacrifice, you the sons of the Bride of the Sea, rest well, you are the lucky ones, if only we all knew.

Hurrah indeed for the winners.


Disclaimer:  The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer, and do not necessarily reflect those of The Libya Observer