A Very Naughty Man

.

For most of our first two years in Tripoli, we lived in an old Italian villa on a farm in the village of Fernaj. It was a beautiful house with high ceilings and with stunning marble floors. The front porch was surrounded by oleander and jasmine bushes, and we could pick lemons for our tea from trees in the front garden.

However, once Sue was pregnant, we decided to move to a newer house in town. We loved the old house but it was a little remote. Plus it had some irritating quirks. For example, the wiring wasn’t perfect and so whenever you turned on a tap, your fingers tingled with 110 volts of electricity. While this didn’t bother us too much, we felt it wasn’t ideal for a baby.

The new house was owned by a Libyan who also owned dozens of other houses as well as some apartment blocks. Unlike Donald Trump, he didn’t flaunt his wealth. In fact, the first time he came to visit us, I thought he was a tramp. I think it was the way his pants were held up with a piece of dirty old string that confused me.

We happily paid the rent of 120 dinars a month (about $400 US) for the first year. Then Ghadaffi passed a law cutting all rents by 75%. So ours went down to 30 dinars. We were very pleased. The landlord was not and he came rushing around to see us.

Landlord: Did you hear? That madman Ghadaffi has cut all rents by 25%.

Me: Ridiculous, isn’t it? Actually, it’s 75%.

Landlord: This is very bad for me.

Me: I sympathize. But what can we do? It’s the law. So I’ll make out your cheque for 30 dinars.

Landlord: Well, there is a way around it. Every month you can write me the rent cheque for 30 dinars. Then you can give me 90 dinars in cash. Like a present.

Me: I’d really love to do that. Nothing would make me happier. Unfortunately, though, I’ll have to pass. You know how the government watches foreigners like me. I daren’t risk it. Sorry.

Landlord: Oh, that Ghadaffi! He only cares about the poor. He never thinks about the rich. He is a very naughty man.