Woman Who Fell From the Sky - Jennifer Steil [64]
Unsurprisingly, everyone is much more productive in the evenings. During the day, they are cranky with hunger and thirst. My original impulse is to fast along with my staff. It seems like the right thing to do. I want to squeeze myself into as much of Yemeni life as possible. But at the moment, fasting is inconceivable. I am already losing weight and am constantly so tired I can barely stay upright. I often go days without eating meals—I have no time to cook or go out—but forgoing water just seems unhealthy. Fasting throughout Ramadan would indubitably weaken me too much to run this newspaper properly.
Al-Asaadi is quick to reassure me that no one will judge me. “We are open-minded,” he says. “We understand you are being true to your own culture.”
But I am careful not to eat or sip from my water bottle in front of my staff. Only when my office door is firmly shut do I delve into the secret stash of dried fruit, nuts, and oat biscuits I keep in my desk drawer for emergencies. Luke isn’t fasting either and comes into my office to sneak food. Occasionally, a reporter will burst in and catch us with our mouths full and our hands dirty with crumbs. Like guilty children, we hide our hands under our desks and swallow hard. But our reporters never seem to mind; we are not Muslim and are thus held to different standards.
Luke and I have grown much closer as a result of an intimate hour we spent in my office while closing the election issue. This was when he finally confessed to me that he is gay, which I had suspected all along (the Will and Grace videos on his laptop, his love of Project Runway, etc.). I am curious about what it is like for him to live here, in a country where homosexuality is punishable by death.
Yet homosexual acts between men are hardly rare in Yemen, he tells me. A large percentage of the male population has sex with men. Luke, for one, is propositioned regularly. This doesn’t surprise me; he is blond and blue eyed, attractive, and speaks charming Arabic.
“But how does it work?” I ask. “I mean, how do you know who it is safe to hit on?”
“Well, once in Aden a guy cruised me in an ice cream shop. When I left he chased me down, and I got his number and he came over later that night. Easy.”
“Very interesting.”
“Naturally, this does not leave this office.”
“I wouldn’t dream of saying anything.”
In return, I confess my past romantic relationships with men and women alike. This is an enormous relief. I hadn’t realized just how half-alive I was feeling, unable to be my full self with anyone here. Suddenly I can tell someone the truth about my sexuality and not risk punishment or judgment. I am so grateful for Luke I want to hug him. I feel lighter than I have in weeks.
ONE BENEFIT of our Ramadan schedule is that I actually have free time during the evenings. On the first day, I head home a couple hours after my staff have fled and make myself dinner for the first time since arriving in Yemen nearly a month before. I boil water and cook whole-wheat pasta. This feels like a major achievement. I take my bowl of pasta into my bedroom and eat it while watching a DVD on my computer. This is the first truly relaxing, nonproductive, leisurely thing I can remember doing in weeks.
But this would be more satisfying if I could do it in a real home. Maybe if I bought some spices and flour, I might start cooking for myself. I could fill a corner of my kitchen with water bottles so I wouldn’t have to stop and buy water every day. I could make friends with my neighbors. I really have to ring Karim’s friend Sami soon. I’m tired of living in between places;