In this post. I’ll be diving deep into what it’s like to live in Tripoli now days, and how is it affecting my mental health.

I was born and raised in Tripoli, Libya. I’ve lived here my whole life—well, almost. A few trips here and there, and, of course, those unforgettable six months when we were displaced. You know… fun stuff. I’ve spent three and a half decades in this city. I’ve seen it all: war, disease—the works.

Here’s my honest breakdown of what it’s like living in Tripoli.

Tripoli is a beautiful city. As a coastal city, you’re never too far from the beach. The history, the sights—especially the old part of town—are to die for. But perhaps… that’s a curse in disguise?

Are there drawbacks to city life?

I won’t dive into the usual drawbacks of living in a capital city—traffic, crime. That’s a global issue, often outweighed by the perks: job opportunities, better healthcare, better education. The full package. Many towns and cities, near and far, suffer from a lack of basic services. So naturally, everyone wants to migrate to the capital to enjoy those benefits. And honestly, can you blame them?

A revolution that changed everything!

Since the February 17 revolution, Tripoli has become the focal point for warring factions and a stage for countless clashes. This is a city of over three million people! Crazy, right? But that’s the reality we live.

A game of monopoly!

Everyone wants Tripoli. It’s the beating heart of Libya—the capital and the center of the country. Whoever controls Tripoli becomes the de facto ruler of Libya. And everyone knows it. That’s why Tripoli has been the epicenter of conflict and war for the past 14 years. That’s not to say the rest of Libya is peaceful (far from it), but the fighting around Tripoli is always about one thing: control and dominance.

Living in Tripoli is like rolling the dice. One day, everything’s calm and quiet. The next, two armed groups are exchanging shellfire in the middle of a busy street. There’s no way to predict it. No way to plan for it. It’s chaos, pure and simple. You can only hope—and pray—for calmer days.

Will this beautiful city ever taste peace? Will the guns rust, and the tanks turn into children’s toys? One can only hope. But for how long?

What it boils down to

I have a complicated love-hate relationship with this city. I love the culture, the history, and the deep roots I have here. But I dread the constant anticipation of violence. Are those fireworks? Or are they bullets? You run to the nearest window, trying to calm down, searching the sky for the green and red halos that usually accompany fireworks. That’s life with PTSD. That’s life in fear.

“Why don’t you leave?”

I bet this question is circling through your mind as you read this post. Why don’t I just pick up and leave? Why don’t I escape this mess instead of just blogging and complaining about it?

That’s a great question—one I’ll save for another post on another day.

For now, I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Leave a comment and let me know: What do you think?