Day 7 March 17
I awoke in the hotel from which I had started. There was no breakfast but nor was Kerala there doing his morning rooster act. I was feeling hollow and it was not just because of the lack of breakfast. I was leaving behind many gracious people, welcoming families and lifeful kids as the enemy was nearing. Their immediate fate was, in a very real way, in the hands of those who could decide to intervene militarily or not. The intervention came but not before Qaddafi's forces made it to at least the outskirts of Benghazi and it was on those outskirts that Ali lived.

By good fortune I came across his ex-colleagues preparing tea in the absence of work down at the harbour. They spoke to him on the phone. But I think this was just before the forces reached Benghazi.

It was easy to get a ride, easier than getting the direction right. I had taken the road to Tripoli. I was soon back and on the right track. I managed to walk fast enough past the amiable taxi drivers and soon got another ride. It was a taxi. He insisted on taking me back to Tobruk to get a fast van, so-called V2, free of charge but I refused so he took off the small taxi button on the roof and drove me the 114 km to the border. I managed to partly balance the scales by abandoning my unspent bank notes on the passenger seat and muttering about his family.

I lingered an hour before crossing the border. My last encounter being with the border guard who barked at me that I needed permission to film. He of course wanted to see my passport and my non-existent press credentials not interested in my press pass. Knowing he could hardly detain me anyway he softened slightly and I was in no-man's land, stopping to photograph the perky rubbish collectors and preparing for the Egyptian border guards.

Two days later I got to the NZ embassy in Cairo which had been looking out for me and were keen to know more of the situation in Libya. The ambassador confided that on first receiving news I was in Libya he had bellowed "Get him out." Apart from the four resident Libyan New Zealanders I was the only other New Zealander in Libya at the time as far as they knew, a pain in the ass for them. But there concern had been genuine and I was grateful for that. They had however lost contact with Ali and I never got a reply to my sms once back in Italy.

Later I head from the NZ embassy that they had eventually re-established contact with Ali.