NOTES FROM A LIBYAN LURKER XI - GIMMIE BACK MY BULLETS

Monday was a relatively slow day in Benghazi, so a few friends and I decided to partake in a little target practice. Strangely, finding bullets in Libya is a lot more difficult than procuring a gun. All that celebratory cloud shooting has skyrocketed the price of AK-47 bullets. When you can find them, they go for 2.5 dinar each. FM (a French machine gun/sniper rifle) bullets, however, are only a dinar each and readily available. We met outside of a friend’s place, where a man in a white sedan was waiting to sell us a gun. He stepped out of the car to show off his merchandise. A round magazine sat on top of the barrel. He decided to give us a demonstration by firing wildly into the neighboring block. Everybody ducked and giggled. Fidel gave him an earful and the guy started shooting again. After buying our gun and ammunition we drove to a farm south of the city. Overgrown fields and rows of packed greenhouses flanked either side of the long driveway. Apparently Libya's gardeners have abandoned the country—everything is unkempt. I actually thought I heard a lawnmower recently, but it was a few rebels with machine guns cruising around in a desert buggy with the new flag flapping behind them. I never shot guns during my time in Afghanistan. It struck me as unprofessional and juvenile, but also fun. Guns are loud. I used ear plugs whenever I got on a chopper in Afghanistan. I rolled them up and jammed them in my ears. Now I want to smell and feel these instruments of death. I want to shoot water bottles and watch them pop. I’d like to spray some cars and watch the glass shatter. We passed the guns back and forth but I couldn't hit anything. My friend hit the targets almost every time. A little black kid and an older kid in a blazer appeared out of nowhere and giggled at my shooting ability. Then I popped a bottle and everyone applauded. I missed the next few and my bullets shot over the wall into the next yard. What’s the pacifist position on recreational shooting? What’s the pacifist position on Gaddafi? Love him to death? Who cares. I was experiencing the joy of blasting a burst of bullets into the air. It made me understand why the rebels love to fire recklessly into the sky. We finished our bullets, drove back to the hotel, and collapsed on the couches.