Greg Armstrong is an oilfield engineer in Tabriz, a North African country which is mostly desert. He lives in the town of Sabah, a sea port that looks out on the beautiful waters of the Mediterranean.
Not everything is beautiful in Sabah, as Greg starts to discover when he accidentally witnesses a covert military operation. His life is normally complicated enough by the demands of living and working under a ramshackle, oppressive State, but now the dark underworld of international terrorism begins to enfold him. Only the strange expatriate community of Sabah stands between him and the Security police.
A long time ago, we moved from the civilised luxury of Milano to work in a Tabrizi seaport. This came as a shock. We were used to living and working in some Middle Eastern countries, but what we found there was a beleagured island of westernised development that was slowly decaying into chaos.
The government - such as it was - had come to power by revolution. Initially the country's oil wealth was taken from the pockets of multinational companies and wealthy locals, and spent on grandiose development projects to benefit the community. To meet the pressing demand for housing, towns were expanded with towering apartment complexes, and modern roads and bridges. Those were heady days for the
American and European construction companies.
Vast government contracts were on offer, all designed
by the same foreign engineering companies that would
bid on them.
Of course, the foreign companies wanted BIG projects,
the bigger the better. The local government had money,
but very little else. It lacked experience, engineers,
accountants, administrators - in short, everyone. We
used to joke the only positions open to local workers
were night watchmen, drivers and managing directors.
Of course, the country became a by-word for wicked
waste and corruption.
By the time we arrived, things had changed. Money was still flowing from the oil wells, but there were so many other things to spend it on. In an effort to strut the international stage, the government had become an ardent supporter of crazy terrorist causes. Worse than that - in the eyes of the USA at least - they had nationalised all the foreign oil companies and were managing production themselves.
The big construction companies left town, usually without part of their payment for work done. Most of the resident foreign experts had gone too, as there was no longer money to be made. The government attempted to fill the gap by recruiting cheap substitute labour from Eastern Europe. Not bad people, but what could they achieve under the wretched management that the government provided?
Living in Tabriz was not easy. It was a time of increasing political and economic isolation, a time of food shortages and black market money. Foreigners and their skills were necessary, but there was no place for them in Tabrizi society. In practice, their legal rights extended only as far as the local bureaucrats and policemen permitted. Most of those people were, shall we say, educationally challenged and had
On the plus side, we were living on the wonderful Mediterranean coast and could lie on the beach every summer Friday. The North African coast is dripping with history, right from the earliest Stone Age through to the Ottomans. Most of the relics are not Arabic and have little attraction for the locals - meaning that they are just there, ready for anyone to explore.
And then there is the Sahara. Very few
kilometres south of the coastal strip, lies
the endless desert. It is austere, dangerous,
and beautiful. Avoiding the paranoia of
the security services, foreigners would take
every opportunity to enjoy its vast emptiness.
Once it has a hold on you, you cannot forget.
For all that, we remember Tabriz mostly for
the people we lived with, usually foreigners.
The various insanities of daily life, and the
dangers under the surface, brought people together in a way that is hard for outsiders to understand.
I am sure old hands from Tabriz will recognise the life style immediately, and I dare say they will be searching between the lines for characters they knew. They will be wasting their time. No matter how real the background will be to them, they will not find their friends (or enemies). My characters and their doings are a mish-mashes of reality and imagination, with imagination playing the major part.
And they will certainly search in vain if they are looking for real life spies and terrorists. On some subjects, my lips are sealed...
a whimsical attitude to their jobs. The result was that foreigners never knew where they stood. When they approached one of the many police check points, they would probably get through, and they would probably have their car with them. But maybe not.
Fortunately, most Tabrizis were inclined to be friendly, and life continued, more or less.
The Accidental Spy
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ISBN: 978-0-9805484-3-3
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John Singe, author My Island Home
A tangled web of espionage and intrigue played out against the gritty background of the Tabrizi oil fields. The author employs her intimate knowledge of North Africa and the Mediterranean to weave an absorbing tale with more than its share of suspense and chicanery in exotic locations.
I was fascinated by the descriptions of life in the antediluvian world of Tabriz, and the variety of characters drawn to work in this bizarre domain.
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