The border between Egypt and Libya on a hill overlooking the town Saloom. At six o'clock in the morning the only ones awake here are the five soldiers who, wrapped in blankets, blocking the road and control the few cars on the border. In the square in front of the immigration office are hundreds of people camped out, covered with nylon sheeting UNCHR, the UN agency for refugees.
Women and children wait inside where it's a bit 'hotter. They fled from their homes with the start of the war and the only safe haven they have found so far is this. The Egyptian border police have a wooden table. The officers drank tea and discussed the bureaucratic procedures are paid quickly.
A form to fill out a few dinar and best wishes of good luck. Then, walk, you go to what was the Libyan border. Need to travel 500 meters before seeing someone. On the wall that runs along the road is written in Arabic: "Welcome to the new Libya." Dirt and scrap metal piled not confirm the sense of welcome.
The former rebels on the road are a group of guys who try to warm up around the tires of cars set on fire. There is no request and obtain a visa. There is a military, a senior public authority. There is Mohamed, 23 years, until a month ago he was unemployed. Now, in Libya, which hopes to build, it saves a few people who come on a sheet of torn notebook.
Name, surname and passport number. And he admits to not knowing what it's for the transcription wheel. But they told him to do so. And he does. On a stack of papers lying on what should be the desk, but it is actually a wooden board resting on two chairs, there are names and surnames of the Libyans who these days have left the country.
He puts the mask "military bad" and we deliver the passports showing the way to find a car directly in Benghazi. Then, air master, lift the iron bar and beckons us to move faster. Later, of what must be some sort of market, there's nothing left. Only some leather sofas where men with Kalashnikovs sit between his legs.
Ibrahim, with his Hiunday gives us a step behind lavish compensation, up to Benghazi. Six hours on a strip of asphalt in the middle of the desert. Bring journalists back and forth has become a business. In the early days of protests to find a pick-up, get on the box and move to the capital of the rebels was a breeze.
Today, along the 500 km, costs 400 dollars. "We have to gain I - said during the trip - and I have to pay those who gives me the customer. What do you want? "In every war there are those countries doing business. It also offers to provide a sim card Libyan. Without credit and used by a trusted friend, the modest sum of $ 200.
Except Toubruk, the rest of the trip is a ride in anything. But as the car approaches in Benghazi, the more the situation changes. A hundred miles from Libya's second largest city, completely in the hands of the rebels, the checkpoints are beginning to be numerous. They are marked by boulders in the road that force you to slow down and Libyan flags waving.
Two or three people at each road block, armed with AK47 and, in some cases, heavy weaponry. Some people find the time to relax while smoking hookah in the middle of the road. Benghazi begins to approach. Life, with the light of day, seems normal. There is traffic chaos, but the market along the road leading out of town reopened and people do spend.
Uzo Hotel is recognized immediately. It is here that houses most of the foreign press and on the balconies of the large tower block sprouting satellite dishes required to deliver services. The phone line operates only within the Libyan and the only way to communicate with the outside world is the satellite.
The young "revolutionaries" have set up a table entry with information for journalists. They want the media on their side and do everything to facilitate the work of the foreign press. Before the court also set up a press center, where he withdrew accreditation for the first line. At 18, with darkness erases the city becomes a ghost.
Every time you hear shots of gunfire. The rebels, at least those tanks, firing into the air. No one knows what Benghazi rejoice even if today seems like a city at war. The first line is an hour and a half drive from here. It does not move for some time, the rebels advancing and retreating.
While in town everything seems motionless, suspended. 
Women and children wait inside where it's a bit 'hotter. They fled from their homes with the start of the war and the only safe haven they have found so far is this. The Egyptian border police have a wooden table. The officers drank tea and discussed the bureaucratic procedures are paid quickly.
A form to fill out a few dinar and best wishes of good luck. Then, walk, you go to what was the Libyan border. Need to travel 500 meters before seeing someone. On the wall that runs along the road is written in Arabic: "Welcome to the new Libya." Dirt and scrap metal piled not confirm the sense of welcome.
The former rebels on the road are a group of guys who try to warm up around the tires of cars set on fire. There is no request and obtain a visa. There is a military, a senior public authority. There is Mohamed, 23 years, until a month ago he was unemployed. Now, in Libya, which hopes to build, it saves a few people who come on a sheet of torn notebook.
Name, surname and passport number. And he admits to not knowing what it's for the transcription wheel. But they told him to do so. And he does. On a stack of papers lying on what should be the desk, but it is actually a wooden board resting on two chairs, there are names and surnames of the Libyans who these days have left the country.
He puts the mask "military bad" and we deliver the passports showing the way to find a car directly in Benghazi. Then, air master, lift the iron bar and beckons us to move faster. Later, of what must be some sort of market, there's nothing left. Only some leather sofas where men with Kalashnikovs sit between his legs.
Ibrahim, with his Hiunday gives us a step behind lavish compensation, up to Benghazi. Six hours on a strip of asphalt in the middle of the desert. Bring journalists back and forth has become a business. In the early days of protests to find a pick-up, get on the box and move to the capital of the rebels was a breeze.
Today, along the 500 km, costs 400 dollars. "We have to gain I - said during the trip - and I have to pay those who gives me the customer. What do you want? "In every war there are those countries doing business. It also offers to provide a sim card Libyan. Without credit and used by a trusted friend, the modest sum of $ 200.
Except Toubruk, the rest of the trip is a ride in anything. But as the car approaches in Benghazi, the more the situation changes. A hundred miles from Libya's second largest city, completely in the hands of the rebels, the checkpoints are beginning to be numerous. They are marked by boulders in the road that force you to slow down and Libyan flags waving.
Two or three people at each road block, armed with AK47 and, in some cases, heavy weaponry. Some people find the time to relax while smoking hookah in the middle of the road. Benghazi begins to approach. Life, with the light of day, seems normal. There is traffic chaos, but the market along the road leading out of town reopened and people do spend.
Uzo Hotel is recognized immediately. It is here that houses most of the foreign press and on the balconies of the large tower block sprouting satellite dishes required to deliver services. The phone line operates only within the Libyan and the only way to communicate with the outside world is the satellite.
The young "revolutionaries" have set up a table entry with information for journalists. They want the media on their side and do everything to facilitate the work of the foreign press. Before the court also set up a press center, where he withdrew accreditation for the first line. At 18, with darkness erases the city becomes a ghost.
Every time you hear shots of gunfire. The rebels, at least those tanks, firing into the air. No one knows what Benghazi rejoice even if today seems like a city at war. The first line is an hour and a half drive from here. It does not move for some time, the rebels advancing and retreating.
While in town everything seems motionless, suspended.
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