Proud to Be British!

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When I first travelled around North Africa and the Middle East, I was always rather wary of telling people that I was British. Given Britain's imperial history, I was never sure of how people would react to learning my nationality. I needn't have worried, though, because most Arabs seemed to harbour remarkably friendly feelings towards Britain in spite of its past actions in the area. Here are two anecdotes that illustrate this.

Cairo, Egypt
I was standing on the steps of a government building in Tahrir Square in Cairo. As usual, the square was a swirling and totally chaotic mass of thousands of people and cars. While I was deciding where to go next, I noticed a middle-aged Egyptian man in European clothes walking smartly through the crowd. He seemed to be looking straight at me. He climbed the steps, his eyes still focused sharply on me. Perhaps he was someone I'd met while visiting the ILI school in Cairo? But, no, I was sure I'd never seen him before. He walked right up to me and stopped.

"Excuse me. Are you British?" he asked in English.

A little warily, I told him I was.

"Well, I would just like to thank you for Mr. Shakespeare and Mr. Dickens."

He shook my hand warmly, turned around and headed back down into the chaos of Tahrir Square.

Fernaj, Libya
We lived in a small village called Fernaj, a few miles outside Tripoli. I was shopping in the village one day when an elderly Libyan man struck up a conversation with me. When I discovered I was British, he seemed pleased. According to him, British troops used to be garrisoned in the area. I asked him how they had behaved.

"They were very nice," he said. "Much better than the Italians. When the Italians ruled Libya, they treated us badly. They wouldn't even let us walk on the sidewalks. We had to walk in the street."

"And when the British were here?" I asked.

"Oh, they were much better. They were not like the Italians."

He paused, obviously lost in nostalgia. Then he continued.

"The only problem we had with the British was on weekends. The soldiers would get drunk. Then they would drive their jeeps through the village and run over our children. But, apart from that, they were nice. Much better than the Italians."
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