Growing up in Fairfax as the son of Libyan dissidents, HeshamMansur was well aware of the horrors of Col. Moammar Gaddafi'sgovernment.
But when the U.S.-born computer networking student registered forclasses this semester at George Mason University, he had no ideathat he would soon be in Libya, trying to overthrow that governmenthimself.
"One of the Facebook comments was, 'If you're so brave, go do ityourself,' " Mansur, 27, said, recalling the flurry of Internetmessages between Libyans abroad as the uprising gained steam. So onFeb. 28, less than two weeks after the protests began, he packed upmedical supplies donated from Libyans in the United States, flew toCairo and crossed into Libya by land.
He was not alone. For Libyans living in the United States,Germany, Sweden, Britain and elsewhere, the sight of theircountrymen rising against Gaddafi's 41-year rule inspired them toput their own lives on hold and race out to help.
"I felt like I'd done all the Twittering I could do," said AhmedHnesh, 29, a management consultant from Falls Church who is friendswith Mansur and arrived here a few days before him.
The returnees number in the hundreds, if not more. Many weredissidents or are the children of dissidents. They came back toprovide humanitarian aid, moral support, expertise and front-linemuscle.
The rebels' provisional government includes a number of returneesfrom abroad, their cosmopolitanism and fluency in European languageshelping them build diplomatic relationships. For those who choose tofight, overseas experience tends to be less helpful, though the self-proclaimed rebel army commander, Gen. Khalifa Haftr, spent yearsliving in Fairfax.
Hnesh left the United States without telling his parents. Othersliving abroad have received tentative blessings from parents tornbetween fear for their safety and pride at their actions.
"For two weeks I pestered my mum," said Zackariya Waheishi, 22, aU.K.-born Londoner who was in his last semester at his universitywhen he withdrew to travel to his father's home city. "Finally shesaid, 'Well, it looks like you're going to go, so go, but don't befoolish.' "
Waheishi brought along an olive-green Urban Spirit jacket and hisTimberland boots, and headed to the front line.
"I was provided with a gun there," he said, adding, "When theysee that you're from the U.K., it's a morale booster for them."
The Kalashnikov was the first weapon he had ever handled, and hestood with it on the front line, ready to shoot if Gaddafi'ssoldiers approached. "I guess I haven't tried it yet," he said. "Ihope I won't have to."
Not all the new arrivals are young and of fighting age. AliTarhouni, 60, a professor of economics at the University ofWashington, sent a long e-mail to his students in February,explaining why he could not finish out the semester. Then he got ona plane, leaving his wife and children in Seattle.
"Everyone in my family understood," said Tarhouni, who wasrecently named the provisional council's head of finance, economicsand oil, and now spends his days meeting with diplomats and tryingto reel in oil revenue for the rebel-held east. "My students arecheering for me."
Tarhouni had been an activist as a student in Libya, and he saidthat after he came to the United States in the 1970s, he wassentenced to death in absentia. Returning now was exhilarating, hesaid. "I thought I'd never see my birth country again," he said. "Ithought I would die away. Many people died and never saw thiscountry."
Those who come acknowledge the risks. With Gaddafi's forcesadvancing toward Benghazi last week and the front line fluid,residents know they could wake any morning to find the citybesieged. But once the newcomers arrive, apprehensions about safetytend to fall away as they share the elation of a populace that iswilling to sacrifice much to hold on to its new freedoms.
Hnesh, Mansur and other friends from the United States have beenstaying here, helping to organize humanitarian aid. Four of them satlast week at Mansur's cousin's house, drinking Turkish coffee andwatching TV coverage of the uprising. Outside, shots rang out.
When Gaddafi forces shelled Benghazi last month, sendingresidents fleeing, the friends stayed as the alleyways becomefactories for Molotov cocktails.
"I think being here, your sense of normal just gets skewed," saidHnesh, who flew home briefly last month before returning. "Rightnow, normal is hearing guns and grenades flying. And seeing thecharacters that you do, walking around with major guns, and you goback to work and open your laptop and sit in your cube and you'regoing: 'Am I really here? When yesterday I was walking around takingpart in a revolution?' It doesn't compare."
Hnesh is not sure how long he will be able to stay, but Mansurand Waheishi vowed they will remain in Libya until Gaddafi leaves.
"To be honest, me personally, I don't think I'll make adifference," Waheishi said. "But I do believe that many stones makea mountain. There's strength in numbers. And the more people wehave, the higher morale is. And it makes me feel good to know that Iam part of that."
The passion drawing people to this revolution has led to thedisappearance of at least one American who is not of Libyan descent.Matthew VanDyke, 31, a Georgetown graduate from Baltimore, arrivedin Libya on March 6 hoping to make a documentary about the uprising.
On March 12, VanDyke said he wanted to go to the town of Brega toshoot some footage, said Nouri Fonas, the Libyan friend whom VanDykewas staying with in Benghazi.
But on March 14, Brega fell to Gaddafi forces and VanDyke stoppedanswering his phone. His mother, Sharon VanDyke, said she has askedthe State Department for help locating him.
Fonas, a tall man in khaki fatigues who is a writer in civilianlife but is now fighting for the rebels, looked down, his lipstrembling. "Never came back," he said of his friend.
"Matthew not only has family in America, he has family in Libya,"he said. "I'd sell my soul to find my friend. He came to help withfreedom."
bahrampourt@washpost.com
