After having to leave Libya for Syria during the turmoil of 2011, Intissar Rajabany reflects on her experiences, the support she had from British Council colleagues and how it felt not knowing if, or when, she would be able to return home.

As the Damascus-bound airplane left Tripoli International Airport in March 2011, I looked through the window at the receding ground and thought of the chaos, fear, death and destruction I was leaving behind.

I did not feel any relief; on the contrary I was heartbroken at leaving my loved ones and at not knowing if this was going to be the last time I saw Libya. I did not realise that I was crying until the passenger sitting next to me remarked: “God willing, you will be back again”.

Not wanting other people to notice, I furtively attempted to wipe the tears away.

The next few hours, as we hung between sky and land, were the only moment of weakness I allowed myself. Once we stepped on Syrian soil I banished this feeling forever and concentrated on surviving in the best way possible until my eventual return home.

Being half Syrian, I felt luckier than many of the wretched souls in the refugee camps on the Libyan–Tunisian border, after all I had somewhere to go and a house to live in.

On arrival, my mum and I were still in shock from the epic airport journey but also because we had forgotten what ‘normal’ felt like. It had been a month since the Libyan uprising had started and we were sure that if the no-fly zone was not implemented soon, the situation was hopeless – the looming slaughter of Benghazi, the spectre of vengeance awaiting anyone and their family who had dared stand up to Gaddafi, and the humanitarian crisis unfolding inside and outside the country’s border.

It was frightening to realise that my country was actually at war, yet it was exciting somehow, to feel that this time we may have a chance at freedom even though the writing was already on the wall that it was going to be a bloody, costly fight.

My arrival in Damascus on March 15 coincided with the ides of the Arab Spring. I was warmly embraced by my native country; its beauty worked its magic on the shocking memories of tanks in Tripoli, the images of military personnel stationed at various intersections in the city and the strangely aloof tall, masked soldiers standing guard at the airport. At times I would have believed that it had been a nightmare if it were not for the fact that the news was bringing disturbing images from home, or that phone calls to relatives and friends were kept very brief for fear of reprisals.

Everywhere I turned I was overwhelmed by the kindness of the Syrian people. Everyone wanted to know how it was in Libya, and I had to use discretion and personal judgement on what to divulge just in case the Gaddafi regime survived this crisis. Everyone I spoke to in Syria understood the limitations on my freedom of speech and accepted it graciously.

The very first person to ask about me when the crisis began in February was my colleague Vanda Hamarneh from the British Council in Syria.

Her email, which I still keep preciously, came almost out of the blue, because I had left the British Council back in September. Yet this should not have come as a surprise, because you never really leave the British Council – not only because your colleagues become more than friends as a result of poring over projects, brainstorming at workshops, reviewing budgets, chatting in hotel lobbies till the wee hours or relaxing over dinner, but also because of the values you have shared and which remain forever wherever you go.

Following Vanda’s message, my Facebook account quickly filled with worried questions, my inbox overflowed with emails and my cell phone never stopped ringing until the day all telecommunications in Libya was abruptly cut off.

And so it is that I knew that I was not alone in Syria, and that in addition to blood relations, and the gallant Syrian people, I had a huge family at the British Council, not only in Damascus but all over the world, and I felt the richer for it.

I was proven right when I picked up the phone to speak to Country Director, Elizabeth White.

When I walked in the office the next day it felt like being home. I did not need to ask a lot of question because I knew how everything worked and could start with my assignment immediately.

As a result of sanctions, I left Tripoli with no cash and few belongings. My goal had been to get Mum to a safe haven for medical treatment. I did not know what would happen to my career or even if I had job back in Libya. I left Libya knowing that as long as the Gaddafi regime was there I would not be able to return; I left knowing that everything I had worked towards for the last 25 years could disappear; I left not knowing when I would see my father again; but most of all I left not knowing if there would even be a Libya in the future.

However, less than two months after I left Libya I had a job, great friends and even a car thanks to Elizabeth’s generosity.

I spent seven and a half months in Syria and though I missed Libya every single day, never once did I feel a stranger, either to the country or to the organisation. I was adopted by the Syria team wholeheartedly, I enjoyed the all staff meetings and the various foods and other goods placed on the ‘fatayer’ desk.

When I started working for the British Council in 2006 Carl Reuter, at that time the British Council Country Director Libya, used to tell me: ‘Think of Cultural Relations as simply people to people diplomacy, Intissar.’

The British Council, always avant-garde in its thinking and values, had adopted the best objective and I witnessed that in practice in the Syria office. There was cultural relations with Syrians, British people, Palestinians, Yemenis and even a Libyan…

My colleagues helped allay my fears and heal the pain, they gave me hope even though Syria too was experiencing disturbing events which resulted in great uncertainty not only for the locals but also for UK-appointed staff. The support never wavered through the darkest hours of the Libyan war and my faith in humanity was restored.

It’s been a month and half since my return to Libya and sometimes I wake up and wonder where 2011 went. The war is over, but the hardest part has just begun.

Despite the country being awash in weapons, I’m still happy at the possibilities for Libya. The only thing marring my happiness now is that I miss Syria and my British Council colleagues every single day. It’s the other way round for me, having forged those relations I know that even if I don’t ask about them every single day they will understand.

I want to take this opportunity to thank all the Syria team without exclusion for healing my heart and my mind when I needed it the most. It is thanks to you that I coped so well and have no traumatic sequel.

Well done for keeping with your work and doing such a tremendous job under immense duress, and I pray that the situation in Syria gets resolved for the best as soon as possible.

Intissar Rajabany was British Council Assistant Director for Projects and Communications in Libya from 2006 to 2010. She now works with the British Council team in Syria as a consultant.

At British Council Afghanistan’s Social Enterprise Challenge, Paul Smith discovers that a country’s prosperity shouldn’t always be measured in economic terms, but rather by the vision and hope of its young people.

Prosperity – it’s a determination that most nations take for granted. But, perhaps because of its interminable strife and political precariousness, it’s rarely assumed that Afghanistan, too, has prosperity as a priority. But the future here has to be about much more than security and survival.

For one thing, Afghanistan has extraordinary depths of natural minerals currently valued at some $3 trillion. Education is the key to realising greater national prosperity from these resources. The country is at square-one in professionalising mining engineering and management but at least it’s a different and productive type of ‘minefield’ that Afghanistan can look forward to in the future.

It was the yearning for prosperity that was in the air as we reached the finale of our Social Enterprise Challenge a few days ago. Seven shortlisted teams of young people presented their proposals for social action and community cohesion projects, to win the British Council awards which would enable them to make their ideas happen. Winning themes included rural horticulture initiatives and website for youth engagement. The teams came from all over Afghanistan.

The happy winning team in the photo had a great idea. They’re going to set up a one-stop social business website for other young entrepreneurs to connect with large organisations. Young Afghans will be able to search for opportunities to put their ideas into action through business partnership and create business and job opportunities for many others. ‘We’re servicing Afghan youth’s dreams’ was how the team leader put it to me himself.

The day reminded us that prosperity comes not from macro-economic policies and fiscal strategies, but from the will of enterprising and visionary people, of young people who form the great majority of Afghans. It’s a will that says that ‘our future will be different and we’re going to take action, starting in our own local communities, to make that difference come about’. May they prosper.

Sharmeen Peshimam from British Council Pakistan discovers that, in some areas, nothing comes close to working with people face-to-face when building cultural relations.

Today we can share information and interact with millions of people across the world at the click of a button, and the British Council is continuously improving its digital platform to reach millions more.

While the digital space is high on impact and low on cost, when building cultural relations in developing countries such as Pakistan, there is no replacement for working with people face-to-face.

Internet penetration in Pakistan is one of the highest in the region, yet more than half the population doesn’t have access to any electronic devices. One of our aims is to reach those on the margins of society and in these circumstances, digital doesn’t quite do it.

Last month in Karachi, we trained 25 teachers from the Tharparkur district of Pakistan’s Sindh province, which ranks as one of the poorest in the country. None of them had ever been trained before, despite some having taught for more than 15 years. For most, it was their first time in Karachi (Pakistan’s largest city), their first stay in a hotel and their first interaction with a female instructor.

In the first few sessions, the teachers were shy to speak up and rather formal when they did. Trainer Lubna Punjwani summed up the stilted atmosphere:

‘While I understood their limitations on paper, it was another thing altogether to experience them first-hand. To accommodate the culture shock, I had to ease them through learning basic soft and social skills by conducting myself in a certain way.’

Over the course of the five-day workshop, the teachers slowly began to change. ‘On the last day, there was no noticeable sign of their early unease’, added Lubna with a sense of pride, ‘They were confident and spoke fairly articulately compared to the first day.’

Face-to-face training not only enables participants to learn social skills, but also exposes them to new ideas in an open and stimulating environment. These kinds of personal interactions are particularly important in a region where life can be isolated and lead to a conservative and myopic worldview, and where economic conditions often prevent people from experiencing the wider world.

Fifty-year-old participant Mir Muhammad was one of those visiting Karachi for the first time. He explains how remote his village is: ‘I have to walk through the desert for at least three hours daily to reach the school and, by the time I come back home, it is already dark.’

Of course, digital engagement can provide useful teaching techniques. But a real environment, where the subtleties of body language and tone of voice play a part, allows dialogue to flourish. It helps people to really open up, grow in confidence and learn the soft skills of teaching. These deeply personal skills will have a lasting impact on the teachers and ultimately benefit their students and the community as a whole.

Find out more about our work in Pakistan

Dr Jo Cable, Reader at the School of Biosciences at Cardiff University, gives an insight into the benefits of offering a placement to a student from overseas through the IAESTE Programme.

During the summer of 2011, The School of Biosciences at Cardiff University UK hosted Jacqueline Cristina de Oliveira Xavier on a placement through the IAESTE programme. Jacqy, an excellent student from Brazil, made her mark on several projects during her time in Cardiff.

Jacqy studies aquaculture in Brazil, specifically the importance of diet in optimising fish growth rates.

As many students at our university are interested in fish diseases, Jacqy selected an IAESTE placement with us and was an active part of the ‘Cardiff Research into Infection, Parasites and Ecological Systems’ (CRIPES) group.

The match was ideal:

During her visit, Jacqy assisted a number of researchers with their work, for example a Marie Curie fellow who works on fish personality and stress hormones in poeciliids (a family of fresh-water fish).

By helping several PhD students with concrete, problem-led tasks, Jacqy learned new techniques, gained new lab experience and expanded her knowledge of fish welfare. In turn, her contributions were significant in furthering the research that the students undertake here.

Jacqy also engaged in a range of social activities organised by the IAESTE programme in this her first ever trip abroad, and our students gained a new friend and potentially life-long international collaborator.

Are you a UK employer in the science, engineering or technology sectors with work opportunities to offer a capable overseas student? Then send us your training offer.

We will carefully match you with an international student and guarantee a UK undergraduate an overseas work placement in return. Find out more about offering work placements to overseas students or contact iaeste@britishcouncil.org, should you have any questions.

Younus Khan, a participant in recent Active Citizens training in Pakistan, blogs about a course which confounded all his expectations.

It was a warm sunny day in Islamabad, but evenings in Murree can get brisk in November. Murree is a popular tourist hill-station about an hour’s drive from Islamabad; as a child I frequently made trips up there with my family, but it has been many years since I last visited.

I was not in Murree for a trip down memory lane, but rather to attend a training of facilitators for the Active Citizens Programme.

Participants who successfully complete the course go on to spread Active Citizens training throughout the communities of Pakistan, forming partnership with local volunteers.

Being fairly new to the Active Citizens Programme I had only a vague idea of what to expect from the training. I envisioned long lectures in a strict classroom, shut off from our idyllic surroundings. But I was in for a surprise; one of many as it turned out.

Walking into the room where the training was being held, I tried to blend in; not easy when you’re not only the new guy, but the new guy that was late.

All the participants – roughly 35 in all – sat in one big circle. In the centre of the circle stood two trainers; one gentleman from the UK and the other from Pakistan. The room was well lit and the many windows provided a good view of the hilltops outside. A chair was brought in for me; people shifted, feet shuffled, a few glances – some annoyed, some sympathetic – were shot my way, and then I was in the circle.

In the next few minutes all my visions of classroom-type teaching were banished. What I found instead was a place unlike any classroom I had been in.

Socializing and collaboration went hand-in-hand with the material being taught. Most lessons took the shape of group activities where ideas were exchanged, solutions discussed, and decisions were reached on the basis of mutual understanding.

There were six trainers who led different discussion modules over the course of five days. What I found interesting was how each trainer’s personality came through in their teaching. I can safely say that I learned something from every one of them.

The participants attending the training came from all corners of Pakistan. Some came from cities, others from small towns and villages. For some the trip was a short one, for others the journey was longer. A few came from places with exotic names that I have always wanted to visit, but have not had a chance to.

By the end of the training some of us left as friends. Perhaps it is time to plan a trip to some of the places on my wish-list, after all I know people there now.