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Martin Geoff's Journal Entry #13 - April 29th, 2021.

The coup was a success, more than Ljubomir and I initially thought. We know Mahmoud’s men are as fearsome as a manicured cat, but we never thought he was that much of a loser to abandon them. Worse, he emptied the town bank and left with whatever bags he can carry, so I sent some of our men to chase him. Although it ended up being futile when we realized that he was heading north, so we have to let him go.

Honestly, for all his flaws, I admire how much he could even tolerate this place. It's awful: Not as bad as Tripoli, but if there's competition for the shittiest city in this war-riddled country, they'll be a second contender. Like, there's a gaping sinkhole the size of a suburban flat with water pipes jolting out. I asked one of the locals why they didn't cover it, and they said Mahmoud was too stingy to spend his money on maintenance. Even necessities like water and electricity are a luxury here: Most of their skilled folks left, so people here have had to trade goods like dates and scavenged goods for water and fuel since then.

Interestingly, we find out that Mahmoud did a bit of an auctioning show here. Ljubomir found a bunch of people locked inside one of the city warehouses. He thought they were refugees at first, which sounds reasonable considering the traffic happening across the desert. We didn't think much of them until Ljubomir realized they all had tags on their feet.

Even better, he left a ledger of all the transactions he made since: sold four as workforce for 273 dollars, an order of two by some northeastern folk for 171, a 2,1-meter tall man as a bodyguard for 112, and a Senegalese woman of "womanly duties" for a client at Ubari. And he made a decent buck from it too; making a decent average of $115,000 monthly. Hell, if he wasn't much of an incompetent shmuck, he would've made more from it.

Ljubomir told me what to do with them since they can't sit around the warehouse forever. I thought of letting them go since I’m not in the mood of babysitting them, but this place is such a mess, so I have them do some dust cleaning here-and-there. It’s the least they could do if they’re going to squat around here.

Martin Geoff's Journal Entry #108 - November 11th, 2023.

One day, I have to write a book about the entire history of Sabha because for every nook of gravel I can peer into, it just shows more crannies I can peek over. Even more so when a bunch of dummies thought threatening me would be a good idea yesterday.

They call themselves the Jaysh Al-Akhdar, or the Green Army. Surprisingly, they're the only Gaddafi-worshipping lot left in this country since most of their types kinda phased out. At first, I didn't think much of them; they seemed like a pamphlet-pushing bunch, and aside from ranting in front of the city hall, they don't amount much to anything of note. Hell, I thought they were not worth banning since watching them cry about their failed revolution gave me a delightful grin, even more so when realizing that Sabha used to be one of their biggest strongholds.

But honestly, they didn't strike a nerve until they thought of taking over the city hall and the radio station. Life-threatening? Not really, but they took down one of our men enough for me to treat the situation seriously. I didn't want to riddle both buildings with holes, so Ljubomir thought up the fabulous idea of just gassing them out, and it worked. We managed to arrest most of them, but a few managed to slip.

I thought that tarring their hides and dropping them off in the middle of the desert would be a funny idea, but some of the local elders would have none of that. Few of them are related to the local tribes here, and Ljubomir said humiliating them would be unwise since It'll give the LNA a bunch of ammo against us. So, I have no choice but to give them their least deserving punishment: Exile. It sucks that they’re leaving scot-free, but I'm not in the position of pissing off the Arabs without having my head shoved on a pike.

Martin Geoff's Journal Entry #237 - September 27th, 2025.

I don't remember when or where I thought up the whole idea of the Free State, must've been a long time ago, at least. I'm not a Rand-worshipping fart who screeches about taxes or liberty, but there's an appeal to living in a world where people won't screw you over by the success of your labor. Imagine, instead of paying the government to make shittier roads, you encourage small-time businesses to fund infrastructure projects out of mutual benefit.

Although, you think out of all the places you're going to start that dream, Libya isn't one of them. It's bad enough I didn't spend the cash the way they wanted, I pretty much gave them a middle finger when I phone-called Ljubomir into the scene. And honestly, I thought it was a goner the moment the LNA tried to rally the whole country against us. I was an inch close to committing a Mahmoud, except I didn't have anywhere else to go.

But I didn't. I just went with my ideas and see how it goes. There's no turning back from it anyway, so I might as well head on for the sake of it. And, you know what? It's all worth it in the end.

Sabha went from Libya’s second-biggest shithole to the shining city upon the hill. Ever since we took reign, we carved up an Eden in the middle of this war-riddled country: The lights shine bright, the roads are clean, businesses are flourishing, and for the first time of their lives, the locals have a happy grin on their faces.

They trust us now. Ljubomir and I used to have a hard time to even court with them without being gawked at by the elders, but ever since I dragged them out of poverty, they've been one of our most loyal lots. Everyone from every corner of this country are flocking to us: From carpenters, entrepreneurs, and even engineers, they spent their last buck to settle down here. Even the blacks the mainstream media keep crying over are thankful for what we've done for them; giving them purpose in their lives is probably the best thing that happened to them.

Best of all, some folks from home are flocking here in waves. Right now, there are like ten thousand of us here. Ten thousand! Like, there are more of us here than they are in Guam. And they’re helping us develop our little slice of heaven in strides. The marble palace stuff wouldn’t be a thing without the help of our friend from Wisconsin, and the Art-Deco nonsense is impossible without Matthias' work.

If I keep this up, the whole world might as well give me the key to Libya. If I can carve an Eden from a tiny patch of sand, Imagine what I could do with an entire country.

Description

Martin Geoff's Journal Entry #13 - April 29th, 2021.

The coup was a success, more than Ljubomir and I initially thought. We know Mahmoud’s men are as fearsome as a manicured cat, but we never thought he was that much of a loser to abandon them. Worse, he emptied the town bank and left with whatever bags he can carry, so I sent some of our men to chase him. Although it ended up being futile when we realized that he was heading north, so we have to let him go.

Honestly, for all his flaws, I admire how much he could even tolerate this place. It's awful: Not as bad as Tripoli, but if there's competition for the shittiest city in this war-riddled country, they'll be a second contender. Like, there's a gaping sinkhole the size of a suburban flat with water pipes jolting out. I asked one of the locals why they didn't cover it, and they said Mahmoud was too stingy to spend his money on maintenance. Even necessities like water and electricity are a luxury here: Most of their skilled folks left, so people here have had to trade goods like dates and scavenged goods for water and fuel since then.

Interestingly, we find out that Mahmoud did a bit of an auctioning show here. Ljubomir found a bunch of people locked inside one of the city warehouses. He thought they were refugees at first, which sounds reasonable considering the traffic happening across the desert. We didn't think much of them until Ljubomir realized they all had tags on their feet.

Even better, he left a ledger of all the transactions he made since: sold four as workforce for 273 dollars, an order of two by some northeastern folk for 171, a 2,1-meter tall man as a bodyguard for 112, and a Senegalese woman of "womanly duties" for a client at Ubari. And he made a decent buck from it too; making a decent average of $115,000 monthly. Hell, if he wasn't much of an incompetent shmuck, he would've made more from it.

Ljubomir told me what to do with them since they can't sit around the warehouse forever. I thought of letting them go since I’m not in the mood of babysitting them, but this place is such a mess, so I have them do some dust cleaning here-and-there. It’s the least they could do if they’re going to squat around here.

Martin Geoff's Journal Entry #108 - November 11th, 2023.

One day, I have to write a book about the entire history of Sabha because for every nook of gravel I can peer into, it just shows more crannies I can peek over. Even more so when a bunch of dummies thought threatening me would be a good idea yesterday.

They call themselves the Jaysh Al-Akhdar, or the Green Army. Surprisingly, they're the only Gaddafi-worshipping lot left in this country since most of their types kinda phased out. At first, I didn't think much of them; they seemed like a pamphlet-pushing bunch, and aside from ranting in front of the city hall, they don't amount much to anything of note. Hell, I thought they were not worth banning since watching them cry about their failed revolution gave me a delightful grin, even more so when realizing that Sabha used to be one of their biggest strongholds.

But honestly, they didn't strike a nerve until they thought of taking over the city hall and the radio station. Life-threatening? Not really, but they took down one of our men enough for me to treat the situation seriously. I didn't want to riddle both buildings with holes, so Ljubomir thought up the fabulous idea of just gassing them out, and it worked. We managed to arrest most of them, but a few managed to slip.

I thought that tarring their hides and dropping them off in the middle of the desert would be a funny idea, but some of the local elders would have none of that. Few of them are related to the local tribes here, and Ljubomir said humiliating them would be unwise since It'll give the LNA a bunch of ammo against us. So, I have no choice but to give them their least deserving punishment: Exile. It sucks that they’re leaving scot-free, but I'm not in the position of pissing off the Arabs without having my head shoved on a pike.

Martin Geoff's Journal Entry #237 - September 27th, 2025.

I don't remember when or where I thought up the whole idea of the Free State, must've been a long time ago, at least. I'm not a Rand-worshipping fart who screeches about taxes or liberty, but there's an appeal to living in a world where people won't screw you over by the success of your labor. Imagine, instead of paying the government to make shittier roads, you encourage small-time businesses to fund infrastructure projects out of mutual benefit.

Although, you think out of all the places you're going to start that dream, Libya isn't one of them. It's bad enough I didn't spend the cash the way they wanted, I pretty much gave them a middle finger when I phone-called Ljubomir into the scene. And honestly, I thought it was a goner the moment the LNA tried to rally the whole country against us. I was an inch close to committing a Mahmoud, except I didn't have anywhere else to go.

But I didn't. I just went with my ideas and see how it goes. There's no turning back from it anyway, so I might as well head on for the sake of it. And, you know what? It's all worth it in the end.

Sabha went from Libya’s second-biggest shithole to the shining city upon the hill. Ever since we took reign, we carved up an Eden in the middle of this war-riddled country: The lights shine bright, the roads are clean, businesses are flourishing, and for the first time of their lives, the locals have a happy grin on their faces.

They trust us now. Ljubomir and I used to have a hard time to even court with them without being gawked at by the elders, but ever since I dragged them out of poverty, they've been one of our most loyal lots. Everyone from every corner of this country are flocking to us: From carpenters, entrepreneurs, and even engineers, they spent their last buck to settle down here. Even the blacks the mainstream media keep crying over are thankful for what we've done for them; giving them purpose in their lives is probably the best thing that happened to them.

Best of all, some folks from home are flocking here in waves. Right now, there are like ten thousand of us here. Ten thousand! Like, there are more of us here than they are in Guam. And they’re helping us develop our little slice of heaven in strides. The marble palace stuff wouldn’t be a thing without the help of our friend from Wisconsin, and the Art-Deco nonsense is impossible without Matthias' work.

If I keep this up, the whole world might as well give me the key to Libya. If I can carve an Eden from a tiny patch of sand, Imagine what I could do with an entire country.