Imagine waking up and opening your phone, only to see the news getting worse each day. The currency keeps declining, and hours of work feel like they lose value as well. Living with uncertainty becomes normal, just like the gunshots and heavy weapons you hear once in a while. Sometimes they signal conflict, sometimes a wedding, you can’t really tell anymore.
Life here in Libya means living in a state of constant mental friction. You want to focus on your potential, but your energy is drained by the quiet, persistent fear of what’s coming next, from another conflict or the economy finally collapsing. It isn’t about ‘survival’ in a dramatic sense; it’s the exhaustion of having to worry about basic stability when you should be free to focus on your ambitions. While people elsewhere are discovering the world, we are stuck navigating the uncertainty of our own.
This article is not meant to dramatize our reality, but to show it as it is, beyond what you usually see in the news. It aims to share a perspective rarely told and to remind those living in stable countries to appreciate their lives more.
Endemic corruption
The amount of corrupt here is unprecedented, like Ghasan Salama stated
“In Libya, every day a new millionaire is born, and no one truly wants to solve the crisis”
they’re all in on it, nobody wants to solve the problem but instead they work on making it way worse for their benefits. Some fake companies get Letters of Credit to import goods, but they don’t actually bring them in. Stores get electronics and other items and sell them at the black‑market price instead of the official price. Not to forget that not everyone can get this credit, it’s all about connections. Some companies also have power in the country and are among the main corrupt players. Making it impossible for businesses to thrive.
Opportunities
No matter how hard you work, it doesn't really matter or it won’t really matter the opportunities will go to the people in power, militia. from scholarships covered by the government to lavish trips to working in embassies when you’re not even qualified it’s never about merit.
No matter how hard you work, it often doesn’t matter. Opportunities tend to circulate among the same people in power (or their relatives and families, of course), those with political influence or militia backing. From government-funded scholarships to embassy positions and lavish international trips, access is rarely about merit or qualification. Many of these roles are handed to individuals who lack the skills or experience, while qualified candidates are left waiting, applying, and hoping.
What makes this worse is the illusion of fairness. Applications are opened, requirements are listed, but outcomes are often decided in advance. The process exists more to legitimize decisions than to evaluate talent. Over time, this reality erodes motivation. People stop believing that effort leads anywhere, ambition becomes a liability, and talent either leaves the country or disengages entirely.
This isn’t a series of isolated incidents; it’s a system that rewards proximity to power over competence. And when merit is consistently sidelined, the cost isn’t just personal disappointment, it’s the long-term weakening of institutions, trust, and an entire generation’s belief in possibility.
Healthcare
The most corrupt sector of all: healthcare. Nothing is reliable. When you need proper checkups or anything even remotely serious, you’re forced to look outside the country like Tunisia, Egypt, and if you’re privileged enough, Turkey. Those who can’t afford that are left with general hospitals that barely help at all. Ironically, the same doctors work in both public and private hospitals; the only difference is that in private, you pay them out of pocket. The treatment itself remains largely indifferent, just more expensive.
Malpractice is common, and deaths caused by negligence are quietly normalized. Oversight is almost nonexistent. The Ministry of Healthcare is no better; many of its leaders benefit directly from the chaos, importing uncertified or fake medicines, approving ineffective treatments, and drawing salaries for people who don’t even work in healthcare, often friends or family members.
In this system, healthcare stops being a right and becomes a gamble. Survival depends on money, connections, or the ability to leave the country. For everyone else, illness isn’t just a medical condition, it’s another reminder of how broken the system is, and how little human life is actually protected.
Unprotected Lives
Police and militia are two sides of the same coin. From my personal experience, I’ve faced several threats. Once, someone even stalked me simply because I didn’t give way on a road he wasn’t even supposed to be driving on. He ran after me, tried to stop me, got out of his car, attempted to open my door, and then left. This is only a glimpse of countless experiences faced by many civilians, many far worse.
International sanctions make life even worse for innocent civilians, who are blocked from traveling, denied access to services, and punished for circumstances beyond their control. Meanwhile, criminal militias, corrupt officials, and others benefiting from the system move freely under 2nd nationalities/passports bought with dirty money.
“Not available in your country”
This is not just a phrase, but a nightmare, a ghost, a grim reaper haunting Libyans throughout their lives, especially online and when dealing with foreign companies or institutions. Ordinary people face barriers at every turn, constantly reminded that their nationality marks them as undesired, a burden, and a troublemaking nationality.
Conclusion
I didn’t write this to complain, exaggerate, or play the victim. I wrote it because I needed to get it off my chest, and because there’s a version of this country that most people haven’t seen or heard about. I’m aware that others live in even worse conditions, and I don’t take my own situation for granted. Still, that awareness doesn’t erase the reality I’m describing. Maybe one day I’ll come back to this article and laugh at how bad things once were. Maybe by then, we’ll be better. I hope we are.
Until then, all I can do is refuse to become numb. I still believe that effort matters, even when the system is designed to crush it. I believe that trying, learning, and staying principled is its own form of resistance. I may not be able to change the country overnight, but I can choose not to contribute to what’s broken.
And if you’re a young person living in a similar situation, especially if you’re interested in tech, design, or learning English, and you feel lost or discouraged, you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m open to sharing experiences, resources, and whatever I’ve learned along the way. You can reach out to me at fatimashsh4@gmail.com. Even small guidance can sometimes make the path feel less heavy.