Trapped in the Closet

The previous week here has been a bit of a down note.  Friends leaving, meetings cancelled, and the newness of Jordan wearing off has been an adjustment for me.  I'm still quite happy to be here, but the ratio of jaw-dropping awesome moments to everyday life has decreased considerably.  This also accounts for the decreased blog content.  Anyway, a few things happened yesterday that are worth noting.

I was meeting a guy, let's call him "Creepy McSketch," to do a language exchange.  My Arabic is getting a lot of work here, and I'm improving, but I figure, if I have the free time, why not force myself to speak more Arabic.  However, when I arrived to meet him, it became clear that neither Arabic nor English were on his mind.

We sat down at a bench in a square, and he brings over a cup of mango juice.  This is a good start, I figure.  Many of my best experiences here involve food.  So we're talking, and I ask what he does for a living.  Creepy says, "I'm in the mukhabarat."  That's the secret service/intelligence group in Jordan.  He says that in a whisper, leaning in close.  Oh, I realize, he doesn't want the people around to hear what he's saying because he's mukhabarat.  This is exciting.  A minute later, he asks, "Can I message you?" with every word except message in Arabic.  Sure, I say.  I mean, the guy has my phone number.  Then he starts squeezing my leg.  LOLWHAT?

It turns out that he meant "massage" when he said "message."  This conversation is taking a dangerous turn.

"Are you married," he asks.

"Ummmm....YES.  I am most definitely married.  My wife is in America.  She works in a business."  (I speak like an intro to Arabic textbook)

"America is very far away," he says.  "Are you alone in Jordan?  Would you like to sit with me at my house.  I hope we become friends."

"I am sorry, my friend.  I'm not gay, and I'm married."

"But America is very far away.  We should be friends," Creepy said as he leaned in closer.

Then he grabbed my crotch.  I elbowed him and called him ibn kelb, son of a dog.  I didn't want to make a scene in front of a street full of people, so I stayed, which was really uncomfortable, but also when the conversation got really interesting.  After propositioning me for sex, Creepy McSketch then tried to convert me to Islam.  I've experienced both of these things in the Middle East, but never in succession, which must be akin to a Larry Craig/Ted Haggard/Every Other Republican Closet Case experience.  After being groped by this aggressive officer, I was obviously a bit upset.  In our conversation, this manifested itself in my being extremely difficult.

"Do you know Muhammad?," Creepy asked.

"Well, not personally," I retorted.

A few minutes later, I made up an excuse to leave, and then walked around Jabal Webdeh until I had somewhere to be an hour later.  I spent a while thinking about what happened, and I really blame it on the closet.  I know a few gay guys in Jordan who are personally (if not professionally) out.  And the thing about out gay guys is that they don't really hit on straight guys.  It's a waste of time.  But when someone is so far in the closet like this mukhabarat officer, his sexual energy is so repressed by Arab culture that when his sexuality comes to the surface, it is aggressive and willfully ignorant of the other party, namely me.  Combining that with the religious stuff, and you have a barrel of issues in one creepy man.

After going to the Chaldean Church for mass (Who knew a Catholic Church would be a bastion of not-creepiness?), I went to the bar with a few friends, where a couple of pitchers brought the world into balance again.