So here goes the tale of one Sadiq Hamed Al-Shuwehdy. In the Benghazi stadium, we packed in masses to the brim to witness what we all were in oblivion of. The then president organized the transport means for us, students, to be there. It seemed vital in the matters of academic prosperity of the nation. The media was present; security was beefed up. An academic fair? A match? A circus? A political press? We waited.
Having completed his engineering degree in the United States, Al-Shuwehdy returned back home to serve as an aeronautical engineer: a feat reflective of a man's endeavors in life. In the center of the stadium, there he was. However, in no manner seeming to address the audience. In a fetal position was he, hands tied to his back, bleeding, worn out from crying for mercy.
"Sanashhad mawt ansan." I heard an old croaky voice say behind me. I turned and saw an old man, his teary eyes firmly fixed to the field. He didn't flinch. The whole show seemed to be something in his age he'd seen before: again and again.
"Airhamh!" Two friends of Al-Shuwehdy ran to cry for mercy to the jury. 'Forgive him!' They beseeched. In the cries of mercy, their eyes met with Al-Shuwehdy's who had now accepted his fate. In that moment, in the drop of tears, their eyes relayed a message. A message of hope: 'In sha'Allah we'll meet again in sama'. ' In that moment as well, the gallows was brought forth. Then, silence. What could we say at that moment? I turned to the old man, in silence, but in affirmation that indeed we were about to witness the death of a man as he said.
In one place do we all balance out on scale: in death. The brave, the weak, the rich, and poor all agree that they'll be no more. Like the passing of the wind. As in the writings of Ecclesiastes, '...for there is no knowledge nor device wither thou goest.' It is scary. But not for Al-Shuwehdy who in his supportive actions to get on the gallows was in spirit to meet death like an old-time friend.
As he kicked and writhed, I couldn't stand the sight of it and thus I turned back, my hand covering my periphery, only to see the old man behind. Still, his eyes affixed to the scene: something in his age he'd seen again and again. "Man yukhalisuhu?'" His croaky voice was heard in the silence. "Why do you ask? No one. No one will save him old man. Can't you see?" I reiterated my hand still shielding me from the scene. This lasted for a moment: splits to seconds, seconds to minutes, but minutes didn't get to an hour that a commotion was heard in the midst of the crowd. A lady had stood up ranting. In her black abaya, she shuffled in haste through the aisles like a shadow to approach the gallows. Her name: Huda Ben Amer.
The whole experience seemed to take too long for her to wait. Onto the wriggling body of Al-Shuwehdy did she cling to hang on. In any flinch of the body did she pull down even further. She hang on to the death of Al-Shuwehdy. The stadium stood in awe. This captured the attention of the heads of state. The president specifically, Muammar Gaddafi, was amazed by this act. Huda Ben Amer, later named Huda Al-Shannage (Huda the Executioner), was summoned and effectively elevated to top government titles including Secretary of the General People's Congress of Inspection People's Control and also Mayor of Benghazi.
And that, dear reader, was the tale of Sadiq Hamed Al-Shuwehdy. That it may be a lesson as it was to us in the day, that maybe they, women and girls, may ask for what they may. Or, they can just hang on and take it!
Wow this gave me something to think about