TRIPOLI -- When Libyans want to describe something as really good, they use the expression miyeh-miyeh, Arabic for 100 percent.
An American introducing himself on the streets of Tripoli, Libya's capital, is likely to hear miyeh-miyeh a lot. Perhaps more than other citizens of the Arab world, Libyans seem happy to greet Americans -- and do so without the usual complaints voiced elsewhere about Washington's foreign policy, its association with dictatorial governments and dominance of the world stage.
While plainsclothes policemen still patrol the old quarter of the Libyan capital, above, ordinary citizens seem to feel more free to express to strangers their frustrations with leader Moammar Gaddafi, below.
(Above, John Moore -- AP; Below, By Amr Nabil -- AP)
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As I could gather from a dozen conversations over the period of a week, the friendliness seems to be based partly on the belief that renewed relations with the United States, in store now that Libya is giving up its nuclear and chemical weapons programs, will bring Americans and their investment and tourist dollars to Libya.
But Americans have another appeal for those Libyans, many of whom are fed up with the 35-year rule of Moammar Gaddafi. Because of the role long played by the United States as Gaddafi's chief foreign adversary, these Libyans assume that American travelers are political soul-brothers sympathetic to their complaints.
"America is good. Miyeh-miyeh. I am glad we will be friends," said Mohammed Barous, a barber. He rubbed his index fingers together, a gesture signifying brotherhood. "Gaddafi is not good. He made a lot of trouble for us and America was right to be against him."
The pro-American talk is strange considering the history of the two countries' relations over the past three decades. In 1986, after Libya was linked to the bombing of a disco in Germany that killed two American soldiers, President Ronald Reagan ordered airstrikes on the country. Successive administrations enforced rigid economic sanctions on Libya, also first imposed by Reagan, that hindered development of its oil fields and inhibited trade. Libya had been named by U.S. governments as a state sponsor of terrorism and implicated in the terrorist bombing of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland. For two generations, Libyans were taught that America was an enemy, the evil heart of imperialism.
Yet many Libyans appear to blame Gaddafi and not Washington, recalling a litany of Gaddafi policies they consider harmful or downright ridiculous. Among them are the vast nationalization of industry, the suppression of salaries as a form of virtual slavery, tolerance of mass migration from poor sub-Saharan countries and Gaddafi's self-declared right to rule forever. For once in the Arab world, the United States is not regarded as complicit.
Omar Fakroon, an electrical engineer, was happy just to be able to practice his English. He pointed out that the government prohibits foreign-language signs in Libya, making it hard for outsiders to navigate.
"He said we are Arab and only Arabic should be seen. It's stupid. Every place in the world has signs of other languages, and here we want every visitor to know only Arabic," he said. "Gaddafi said he was king of the Arab world, and now he says he's king of the Africans. He can't even take care of Libya."
An electrical engineer who moonlights as a taxi driver praised decades of American policy for "putting sense into a crazy man." "You know Gaddafi is a lunatic," said the driver, Ghazi, who spoke on condition that only that his first name be used. "He has driven Libya into the ground. Thank you, thank you for saving us."
Libyans' familiarity with the United States mostly comes secondhand. Occasionally someone mentions having a relative in Chicago or Detroit. Gaddafi has permitted Internet cafes and residential satellite dishes, so Libyans are versed in such American pop products as "Walker, Texas Ranger" and even "Sex and the City." If you ask Libyans to name an American, they frequently answer with action heroes like Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger, or pop stars such as Britney Spears and J-Lo.
American pop culture is one thing, American political ideas quite another. Last week, Sen. Joseph Biden (D-Del.) visited the country and spoke to the annual gathering of Libya's People's Congress, a rubber-stamp body made up of several hundred Gaddafi loyalists. Biden said he was assured his speech -- about the need for democratization in Libya and the Arab world -- would be broadcast live on television.
But though his face and words were carried on a big TV screen at the congress hall in Sirte, a city on the Mediterranean coast, they were not broadcast outside. Giuma Abulkher, a government spokesman, said a live broadcast was not in the plans and did not know where Biden got his information.
The warming of relations with the United States appears to have emboldened Libyans to speak to strangers, within limits. For instance, at the Afriqiya Internet cafe in Sirte, the rows of computers are behind curtains. This permits users to work in private and in the case of Ahmad, an employee at a natural gas company, to converse with a reporter by typing onto the screen.
