Postcolonial Reclamations
Architect Jawad Elhusuni’s Postcolonial Reclamations exhibition brings together proposals from local architects and architecture students which reconstruct Benghazi’s urban landscape while engaging with its colonial history (image: Jawad Elhusuni).
“While we were preparing the exhibition, the square was empty, and we could see plants and wild trees growing through the rubble like in a zombie film,” architect Jawad Elhusuni says, shaking his head as he recalls the crumbling facade of Benghazi’s Maydan al-Shajara (Shajarah Square), which he helped to renovate back in 2014 before it fell into disrepair once more. “I know this sounds strange,” he adds, allowing a smile to spread across his face, “but there are actually times when I enjoy the ruin.”
It is unusual for an architect to smile about his own project’s demise, but like many Libyans Elhusuni’s relationship with Maydan al-Shajara is complicated and ever-evolving. Originally built during Italian colonial rule in the 1930s, the square later became a symbol of freedom after hosting protests against authoritarian leader Muammar Gaddafi. “When we renovated it, people saw it more as an, ‘In your face, Gaddafi,’” he says, explaining that the commission came three years after Gaddafi was deposed and killed. “The revolution and the Arab Spring were very fresh at the time, so people didn’t link it all the way back to the colonial period.” While poring over archival material in order to faithfully reproduce the square’s original colours and details, however, Elhusuni was faced with stark reminders of its history. “We noticed that in almost all the photographs, there were no Arabs in the square,” he remembers. “That’s when we first started to realise that there were zones where Libyans lived, and where they didn't live.”
Image: Sanad Egrima.
Elhusuni was required by law to preserve the original design of the square, but started to wonder whether he could subtly reimagine the design of its landscaping. “The idea of a reclamation started coming up in my mind – a way of creatively taking ownership, to see if that would ease the complex feelings somewhat,” he explains. While Italian designers had commonly imported materials such as travertine and Carrara marble to give their colonial projects an air of exclusivity, Elhusuni used North African materials such as granite cobble flooring and limestone seating as a way of reasserting local ownership over the square. Soon after the renovation was completed, however, the square was damaged during the Libyan civil war and has remained dilapidated since the ceasefire in 2020, alongside much of the city’s historical centre. Elhusuni has now returned to one of the square’s few remaining buildings, Barah Gallery, to host Postcolonial Reclamations, an exhibition exploring how the city can critically engage with its history as major reconstruction works are starting to take shape.
Image: Sanad Egrima.
The exhibition includes proposals from local architects as well as Elhusuni’s students at the Libyan International University, many of which use North African materials and building techniques as a means of reasserting the beauty and power of local expertise. Student Saif Alhasi, for example, reimagines Benghazi’s demolished railway station as a structure built out of palm trees rather than reinforced concrete conceived in Europe, while architect Ali Alnaas envisions a school made out of local terra rossa soil imprinted with the texture of palm leaves. Alnaas’s proposal includes descriptions of the scent of different mud types, with different aromas planned for different areas – salty coastal mud would line the hallways, for example, while the rainwater-like scent of desert mud would trail children up the staircase. Student Haya Noureddin, meanwhile, recommends covering the facade of the old Italian grain silo with jasmine flowers, whose sweet scent would give the building a softer and more welcoming impression. “She was trying to feminise colonial architecture,” Elhusuni explains. “For her, this was part of the reclamation, because there were almost no Italian women involved in the production of fascist architecture, and floral landscaping was rare unlike in traditional Arab gardens.”
The exhibition included archival images framed by windows found around Benghazi (image: Sanad Egrima).
Other students took inspiration from Islamic architecture, with Raneem Benfadhl proposing a hidden fountain inside Tariq bin Ziyad school. The circular fountain, which is located in the heart of the building, aims to give the students a reprieve from the concrete, Italian-era landscape that surrounds the school. “The idea of design originating from something visual is a very post-Renaissance European idea,” Elhusuni says. “In the rest of the world, especially the Islamic world, they use many different tools to conceive of buildings – poetry, music, geometry – which are all used to create a sense of spectacle. I always encourage my students to step back at the beginning of a project and try to find that spectacle.” Water also plays a central role in Ahmed Algazali’s project “Monument”, which is designed to mark a new era of architectural sophistication in Benghazi, with an arrow-shaped glass roof overhanging a garden with a series of fountains. This sense of looking towards the future is also embodied in Mariam Alashebi’s railway station made of curvaceous lines of steel, designed in honour of Libya’s recent announcement that it will be constructing the world’s largest direct reduced iron (DRI) plant in Benghazi.
Image: Sanad Egrima.
While Elhusuni and his exhibitors creatively engage with ways to reassert power over history, they also approach the forces of time and change with humility. Student Islam Alfallah’s idea for an educational building, for example, was inspired by the spread of invasive ivy slowly taking over the facades of nearby buildings. In his proposal, ivy proudly lines the school’s windows and spirals up its central tower – the supremacy of nature over architecture woven into its design. “When I studied at the Bartlett, the late architect Jonathan Hill, who was also a historian, often wrote about ruins and how time is an architect in itself,” Elhusuni says. “At the Bartlett, it was imagined conceptually, but I actually experienced it – time is an architect, but war is another.” While these external forces transcend the architect’s authorship, Elhusuni sees the cyclical act of destruction and rebuilding as a powerful symbol of resilience. “We were standing there in this a ghost town preparing for the exhibition, and it was so surreal, but it was a lot of fun,” he says, laughing. “This square was built to project imperial fascist Italian power, and now it’s a ruin with dogs running around, and we’re sitting here at golden hour making an exhibition.”
Words Helen Gonzalez Brown