After years of academic work in Benghazi, I began to feel constrained by limited horizons. What I had gained in knowledge there was not enough to satisfy my thirst or quench my longing for rigorous research. I yearned for a real scientific challenge that would test my abilities and fulfill my intense desire for excellence and innovation. However, this ambition collided with a bitter political reality represented by the invalidity of my Iraqi passport. With options closed, and thanks to an old friendship with a Libyan colleague from my study days in Britain—who had since become a minister—I obtained a Libyan travel document. But unfortunately, it was an additional burden, arousing suspicion at every airport and forcing me to face a torrent of investigations and incredulous questions: "Why doesn't an Iraqi citizen carry his country's passport? What is the secret of this Libyan document?"
I lived that period in a spiral of anxiety due to the Iraqi embassy's stubbornness and refusal to renew my passport. I still remember the tone of that official over the phone, saying in a tone laced with veiled threat: "The brothers will make every effort to renew your passport, but they insist on seeing you in person in Baghdad." It was a phrase dripping with sarcasm, suggesting that 'punishment' was all that awaited me there.
When I made my final decision to terminate my contract with the University of Garyounis and leave Libya, I contacted the British embassy in Tripoli, explaining our family situation and my desire to return to the United Kingdom with my wife. My joy was indescribable when the response came with approval, informing me that an official "Letter of Entry" would be sent allowing me to enter. I completed my obligations with the university, packed our belongings, and left Libya with the Libyan document—the airport staff in Benghazi did not notice the absence of a British visa on it.
But the most difficult station was at Heathrow Airport, where the immigration officer stood bewildered before the letter, asking with astonishment: "Why don't you have an Iraqi passport? This is your natural right!" I looked at him with a mixture of surprise and sorrow, and answered: "You speak from the standpoint of a citizen living in a democratic country who cannot imagine preventing a person from traveling, while I am a citizen of a dictatorial state that holds the power of life and death, let alone the right to travel!" After a moment of waiting, in which his humanity prevailed over bureaucracy, he refused to separate a husband from his wife, and stamped my entry.
Here began the journey of settlement in London. I first obtained a postdoctoral research position at the University of Surrey, which forced us to temporarily move to the "Woking" area. But the longing for London and its community quickly brought us back, especially after I obtained a teaching position at the University of Birmingham. There began a different kind of struggle—the struggle of weekly commuting. I spent workdays in Birmingham, a stranger in my new city, and traveled long distances every weekend back to the embrace of my family in London. That period was, in reality, a form of alienation. Despite knowing that some old colleagues were in Birmingham, my relationships with them remained hostage to total immersion in academic work. I was not, as is my nature and character, inclined to build wide circles of friendship, and since I was alone away from my wife and children, my days lacked that vitality that only family gatherings provide.
My memory takes me back to that pivotal period in Libya and during my work at the University of Surrey, when I received an official letter from Gaddafi's office carrying an invitation—indeed, a direct 'order' from the Colonel—to return to the Jamahiriya to participate in establishing an institute for genetic and biological research. I paused long at the content of the letter, wondering about its timing and significance, especially since I had left the country some time ago.
After investigation and clarification, the truth became clear—and it was not purely scientific. It turned out that the Colonel intended to launch a program for producing biological weapons and was seeking to gather an elite group of 'trusted' experts to implement this plan. Faced with this slippery slope that contradicted my scientific mission and humanity, I had no choice but to apologize for responding to the invitation and continue my academic career in the United Kingdom, preferring the freedom of scientific research over the constraints of suspicious loyalties.