It’s 2:15 pm on March 31. We’re in a car headed toward the front, which is west of Ajdabiyah.
Muhammad, our driver, slips a CD in the car stereo. Arab house music comes on.
A photographer sitting behind me starts pumping his fist in the air to the beat.
Muhammad (in Arabic, to me): “Tell him not to do that, man.”
Me: “Why not?”
Muhammad, laughing: “The rebels will launch a rocket at us.”
Muhammad: “The fist-pump in the air — that’s what Gaddafi and his guys do. The rebels do this [he puts two fingers up in a “V”]. Stick with the two fingers.”
(Muhammad changes the CD.)