Libya.

That time I did something impulsive.

In early 2000, I had three small children, the youngest of which was only eleven months. We were just settling into a routing with the kids, our own art, and the running of a large gallery in Holmfirth, West Yorkshire.

I was approached by a friend, Ben Smith, who was a freelance journalist, to ask if I would be interested in going with him to Libya in North Africa to photograph a football match? I was mystified, because everybody knows that I really dislike football, I've never followed it and have absolutely no interest in it. Apparently, Libya were playing Cameroon and they were playing to qualify for the Olympics. In my ignorance, I didn't even know that football was part of the Olympics.

I should have just said no, you have the wrong guy, ask someone else. I was 42 at the time, and I'd never been on an aeroplane, I'd never been to a football match and I'd never been to a fascist dictatorship. However, something inside my normally risk averse mind said I should just bloody do it and see if it turned into an adventure. -Well it was quite an experience.

Once I had decided, I asked another friend, Simon Mooney, who was a sports photographer, if I could borrow some specialist equipment. He lent me a pretty decent Canon kit with a number of lenses, and he also lent me two Pentax 67ii cameras with two lenses.

As soon as we landed, we had a Limo to the Al-Kabir hotel and were taken up to our room. We were just unpacking our suitcases, when our ‘minder’ asked us to get our equipment (camera for me, tape recorder for Ben) and to follow him. We were put back in the Limo and driven to a different building. We were then ushered up into what turned out to be a television studio, which looked like it was recording some kind of chat show (later we found out it was going out live).

There were a seven people on stage, sat on comfy chairs and a person who I assumed was the host. At first, the crowd were mostly sat down and well behaved, and there were a few appreciative noises coming from them, but it was ok. There were banners and posters of Ghaddafi being waved about in the audience and the people onstage were being asked questions. I began taking pictures, and the audience were getting more and more excited about what was being said on stage, but I had no idea what they were saying.

I had sort of filtered out the voices because I didn’t know the language and I was just thinking about the best way to shoot the situation. Then I heard my name come over the sound system, followed by Ben’s name. At that point we were both jostled down the isle to the front and somebody led us up on stage. I politely shook the hand of the man who approached me, and the audience were going wild. We then went back into the audience to continue recording the event.

Al-Saadi Gaddafi greets two men.

The next day as we walked around the streets of Libya, cars would pull up, windows go down, and men would call out to us; ‘Ah, BBC men. You come my house, my wife cook you food’ There was only one tv channel in Libya and we had been on it for everyone to see, and I had shaken the hand of Al-Saadi Muammar Gaddafi, Colonel Gaddafi’s son. This guy was head of the Football federation and had a bad reputation. You can read about him here; https://gulfnews.com/world/mena/ugly-past-of-gaddafis-son-in-the-worlds-most-beautiful-game-1.1318439

The next day was free, so we explored the city and wandered around. There were armed police around, but we were informed that Gaddafi was worried about them being armed, so he didn’t supply them with any bullets. The guns were just a deterrent.

On the streets there seemed to be little regard for safety, Large cables protruded from the pavement, tangles of wires hung down from buildings and cars weaved between people.

The people were so friendly and hospitable, we sat with them in cafes, took pictures of them and even went to someone’s house one evening and ate with a large group of people all sat in a circle on the floor.

On the day of the football match, we were driven up to, and into the stadium to the tunnel where the players would emerge. It was mid afternoon and it was blazing hot. The crowd had already been been there for about three hours in the North African sun.

The pitch had a running track around it, and me and a few poorly equipped Libyan photographers were on the track taking pictures. There was a marching band playing bagpipes, kids doing tricks with balls, fireworks going off and a lot of noise. Nobody seemed to know what was happening, or when it would start.

Eventually the players emerged and they lined up for the tv cameras.

As soon as the Cameroon players started limbering up, it was obvious that they were physically superior and would have no difficulty playing against the Libyan lot.

The match got started, I took up a position and started taking pictures. I wasn’t following the score, I was trying to get decent shots with equipment that I wasn’t familiar with.

As the first half progressed, the crowd seemed to be getting more and more angry. Cameroon seemed to be thrashing Libya (as well as foul tackling that even a novice like me could spot) and they didn’t like that. I began to wonder how this was going to pan out.

The crowd get agitated.

The bangs of the fireworks were louder than before, and things were landing around my feet. Some of the explosions were so loud, it seemed like it was stuff they had nicked from the military, rather than just fireworks. I stopped shooting the match for a moment and noticed that lumps of concrete were all around me and the Libyan photographers were cowering behind advertising boards! I thought I was immune to all of the danger and carried on taking pictures, but the match stopped shortly after because all of the players were in a huddled group in the centre of the pitch, on the only bit of grass that didn’t have concrete lumps.

The crowd were starting fires in the stands and it didn’t look like they were going to allow the rest of the match to happen. We were hurriedly ushered to our Limo and driven from the stadium, so that was all I saw of my first football match. I looked up the details about the match as I was writing this and found that Cameroon won 3-0. You can read about it here; https://www.national-football-teams.com/matches/report/22226/Libya_Cameroon.html

We still had a few days before our flight home, so I would wander all over the place looking for interesting things to photograph. On one occasion I got a bit lost after a few hours, so it seemed like a good idea to hitch a lift to the big hotel. That shouldn’t be too difficult I thought, even without a common language.

A guy in his fifties pulled up, indicated that I should get in, then set off. It soon became obvious that we were not heading in the right direction and I started to wonder what he was up to. He then pulled over, turned the engine off and started lifting up his clothing around his legs. He put his hand on my knee and indicated that he wanted me to touch him. I was more angry than scared, so I started shouting no! at him and pointing to the end of town where I wanted to be. He became embarrassed and started the car, dropping me off not far from the hotel. It was only afterwards that the incident shook me up a bit.

On one of the days, Ben arranged for two random guys to drive us out into the desert and two hours later we found ourselves at an ancient fortified grain store called Qasr Al Haj. This place has been in continuous use for nine centuries! It was a surreal experience.

Qasr Al Haj grain store.

Everything was made from a sort of hardened clay and baked in the desert sun. I found it a very inspiring place for pictures. How did they make that much clay? All of the water would have to have been transported a long way surely?

Another place we visited was a large Roman site called Leptis Magna.

From Wikipedia; One of the best-preserved Roman sites in the Mediterranean. Leptis achieved its greatest prominence beginning in AD 193, as the hometown of emperor Septimius Severus. Septimius favoured his hometown above all other provincial cities, and the buildings and wealth he lavished on it made Leptis Magna the third-most important city in Africa, rivaling Carthage and Alexandria. In AD 205, he and the imperial family visited the city and bestowed great honours. Among the changes that Severus introduced were the creation of a magnificent new forum and the rebuilding of the docks.

We had the whole place to ourselves all day, we didn’t see one other person there. Every part of it was fascinating and worthy of a picture.

When you read about the history of it, it is remarkable how much has survived. It was hit by a devastating tsunami in the year 365, partly demolished by the vandal tribe and buried under sand until it was unearthed in the 1920’s.

There were parts of it that were so well preserved, it was hard to believe that 1,800 years had passed since they were carved.

25 years after the visit.

I had largely forgotten about this trip, it had been 25 years ago, so the images have been really interesting to see. Many of them are a total surprise, because I don’t remember taking them. The negatives sat in a folder, ignored for 24 years. At some point early in 2024 I decided it was time to look through them and see what I had. I scanned the 35mm frames with a dedicated 35mm scanner, but the medium format negatives were taking ages on a flatbed. My friend Matt Lethbridge offered to scan the medium format negatives for me, and for that I am eternally grateful. It was a long job. At some point I would like to make a book about the trip, just for myself and my family.

Looking down from my hotel room.

Despite the possible dangers of getting in a strangers car, and greeting the local psychopath/footballer/presidents son, I felt safer there than I do walking around Manchester at night. I felt so safe, I even went out with a tripod and did a few night shots there.

The whole experience was interesting, though I could have got myself in to difficulties and things could have turned out very differently. This was the first and last time I did this sort of thing and a few years later I gave up flying altogether. I often wonder what became of the lovely people I met there who had no involvement in politics, but would have had their lives upended or ruined by those in power.

If you find my articles interesting or useful, please spread the word to anyone you can think of who might be interested.

If you have enjoyed this post and the information here and elsewhere on my Substack and you would like to support me, you can subscribe, or just buy me a coffee at Ko-fi.com/andrewsandersonphotography You can send as little as £3.00, or more if you are feeling generous. This money goes towards materials used for the tests and printing for these articles. Alternatively you can be a paid subscriber.

Thank you for reading, please let me know your thoughts.

Andrew Sanderson July 2025.