Chapter 2

I tried to wrap my head around how difficult, how hopeless, life must be for him. No wonder he turned to a gay web site. What other means was there for him?

I decided to do a little research on Algeria. It was, of course, a French colony from the nineteenth century until 1962. A bitter war for independence ensued in the 1950’s. French policemen were shot on the streets of Algiers, the largest city, situated in the north of the country on the Mediterranean. Battles on the narrow, winding streets of the casbah,the old section of the city. France finally granted independence in 1962, and the country moved toward regaining its Arab heritage and tried to de-emphasize French language and culture. But just thirty years later, a nasty civil war claimed at least 100,000 lives. Entire villages were butchered: men, women, and children, even babies. Most foreigners left; those who didn’t were killed, along with journalists trying to cover the events. It certainly didn’t sound like a country where westerners would be welcome—or safe.

Tell me what life is like for you there, I said in my next email.

I am currently in my last few semesters for my master’s degree in French. I live in a small city of about 100,000 in the western part of Algeria, on the edge of the Sahara Desert. I am actually much closer to the border with Morocco than I am to the big city of Algiers, which is about a ten-hour drive. My family comes from nomads; that is our heritage. We often go into the desert to camp like our ancestors. There I enjoy climbing sand dunes and playing with the camels and the sheep. Our entire days are spent there searching for water and firewood, as the animals must have water to survive. The temperature there during the day can reach forty degrees Centigrade and above.

Wow. That would be 105 Fahrenheit.How do you survive? I answered back. And you play with a camel? I thought they were nasty creatures who spit at you!

You just have to know how to handle the camel, he wrote back. And the heat—it is something we are used to, for the most part, although at times it is very hard to deal with.

He lived with his family in a small house on the edge of his town. That family included three generations in one house. He sent me pictures of the kitchen, which seemed fairly modern, and of various foods he had prepared: hummus, breads, sweets. He told me that cooking and housekeeping were strictly women’s work in his culture, making me wonder if his love of cooking raised people’s suspicions about him. The function of men in his culture, he said, was providing for the family and the “boom-boom,” as he called it, making babies.

The more we corresponded, the more fascinated I became with this glimpse into life in another part of the world. I wanted to know more. Most especially, given the picture of him in the mosque, I wanted to know more about what his religion meant to him. How devout was he? How on earth could he be Muslim and gay?

My religion is very important to me, he told me. I pray five times a day. The rules of cleanliness and purity of soul are something I carefully observe. As far as being gay, that is my business, a separate issue entirely.

I thought of a friend of mine, a devout Catholic, who was gay, but seemed to overlook the church’s view of this issue. I suppose a Muslim could do the same, though his culture was surely less forgiving.

Can you tell me about the five pillars of faith? I asked.

That would require a lengthy discussion. I am not sure I could do it adequately in an email. Given your interest in my religion, Mr. Questions, I would suggest that we try to Skype. That would also allow us to actually see and hear each other for the first time. Then you can ask me all the questions you want, Mr. Questions!

This was to become his new nickname for me, for a while at least. But Skype? I had never attempted it. I asked the advice of some friends who were savvier on the computer than me, and they told me how to set it up. A time was selected for an upcoming Sunday afternoon.

His call came promptly at one P.M. At first, I could not seem to get my computer to answer the call, and it dropped. But he called me again, and this time was successful. I remembered to turn on my camera and found myself staring at the image of a good looking Arab man.