Diary of an entrepreneur – part 3

by Karen Darby - Monday, 29th October 2007

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Departure day: Petrified I’m going to miss the flight (there’s only one a day via British Airways), I arrive at the airport ridiculously early.

Later that day: I arrive at Tripoli Airport dressed head to toe in “Gaddafi Green” (apparently it’s his favourite colour), so I’m bound to impress. In fact, I’ve filled my luggage with green outfits the precise shade of the Libyan flag just to play it safe.

Clearing customs and passport control seems to take forever but eventually I’m escorted to my driver and whisked to the hotel. En route, I’m handed an envelope containing a map of Libya, some local currency and my itinerary – starting to feel a bit like a special agent now.

…

Looking out through the window of the taxi, I survey the local landscape and I’m struck by the complete lack of consumerism. Not only are there no advertising hoardings (all the ones I saw had giant pictures of Colonel Gaddafi with the number 37 on each) but I didn’t see any signs of commerce at all, aside from a few shops.

We reach the hotel, a large multi-storey building on the seafront. Apparently, it’s the only five-star hotel in Tripoli and, I guess, Libya. As I enter the lobby my bags are x-rayed before I’m allowed to check in.

In the sanctuary of my room at last. Very nice, modern, comfortable but the views over the car park could be better. Libya’s coastline has largely been ignored – there are no promenades or beachfront restaurants. I’m told this will change as the government has ambitious plans to increase tourism to one million visitors by 2015.

Might be tricky as it’s a dry state and I’m dying for a beer. Quick brush-up and change into another green outfit and it’s off to the British Embassy for the ambassador’s reception.

Even later that day: Thank goodness for diplomatic immunity [hiccup]. I availed myself of the free booze at the reception and met with my contacts at the British Council. I also met with my contact at Shell, a native Libyan who very kindly offered me a quick tour of Tripoli and a history lesson before returning me to my hotel.

I take the opportunity to find out what I can about Colonel Gaddafi. Here’s what I remember:

• Gaddafi seized control of Libya at the tender age of 28 during the 1969 coup – that’s pretty entreprenuerial.

• The number 37 is significant because that’s how many years he’s been in power.

• He has an all-female personal bodyguard, called the Amazonian guard. They are martial arts experts and highly-trained in the use of weapons. Bit like Charlie’s Angels, I suppose.

• He wrote The Green Book, outlining his views on democracy and his political philosophy.

• He also changed all the "red top" newspapers to green tops – literally.

Virtually every established business in Libya is 17 years old because, up until then, there was no opportunity to own and run a business outside of government control. And those that are now thinking of setting up a business are cynical and wary.

We drive past a large, isolated building – it was going to be a brand-new private hospital, headed by a Belgian doctor, but now it remains windowless and abandoned in silent testimony to the difficulty of living and working in Libya.

Day 2 in Libya: I have an informal meeting planned with a group of the country’s leading business owners in the hotel lobby, a lively and lovely group of women. Although they own and run widely varying businesses (retail, automotive, education), they have two things in common:

1. All come from affluent "middle class" backgrounds, without which they freely admit it would have been impossible to get their ventures off the ground.

2. Their businesses cater to the country’s most basic needs. There are virtually no second-tier businesses at all such as PR, media and advertising agencies.

I also learn that for foreign business investors there are five-year tax breaks, and most of the women in the group are keen to see if they can partner up with me on a venture in Libya – it’s certainly tempting.

Lunch with the guy from the British Council proves equally informative and amiable. He is not at all what I expected – an old rocker who’s about to leave the British Council to rekindle his musical aspirations.

He informs me that the ambassador is hoping to be at the conference tonight but it depends on the outcome of a "rather unfortunate piece of business" he has to deal with that day. I probe him over pudding and learn that he is referring to the trials of five Bulgarian nurses and a Palestinian doctor who were accused of infecting children with HIV – they'd been on death row for the past ten years, unaware of their fate.

(Note to self: be really nice and try not to upset anyone on this trip).

Don't miss Karen Darby's final diary entries of her adventures in Libya – and just how will her speech measure up in Arabic?

Diary of an entrepreneur – part 2