The Fine Line

There's a fine line between good old-fashioned Arab hospitality and outright creepiness.

"Nikki," said Max, "as much as I admire your stubbornness and strict adherence to all things illogical, you need to get your ass over to the pharmacy and buy some fucking aloe cream for that sunburn before you start falling apart. Your skin isn't supposed to be purple."

It was 9:00, and speaking of strict adherence to all things illogical... well, by all rights, I ought to have asked Max to go with me. We all have finals for our morning classes tomorrow, though, which are oral and conducted entirely in Arabic, so everyone's more than a little on edge. I opted to go alone.

Jubeiha is a very safe neighborhood, and while most of the girls in our group move in pairs or threes just out of habit, it's not uncommon for one of us to nip across the street for peanut butter or falafel by ourselves after dark. I walked three blocks to the pharmacy and edged into its cramped, whitewashed little front room. "Do you speak English?" I asked the pharmacist, because I couldn't remember the Arabic word for 'burn' (my medical terminology is severely lacking, considering the amount of time I've spent at the hospital here), and my final option would be simply to say al-shamss ('sun') and make a sizzling noise while pressing against my shoulder. I really didn't want to resort to that. Luckily, he did speak rather good English.

We went through the usual preliminary game of twenty questions. Where are you from? Why are you visiting Jordan? What do you study at the university? How do you like it here? Where are you staying? I got around to explaining that my skin had been on fire for three days and was getting worse with each passing hour, so he went to a high shelf and pulled down two boxes printed with dubious expiration dates which, combined, cost me eight dinar.

I paid him, but he didn't give me the medication.

"I would like to offer you coffee," he said, smiling graciously.

Shit, shit, shit.

"I'd love to stay, but we're reviewing for a big test - imtihaan kebir - and my professor is expecting me to come straight back..."

"Please, one cup? I would like to share my coffee with you."

I wanted my stupid sunburn cream, so I followed him into the back room (within clear view of the door, mind you) and curled into a chair while he tended to an ibrik on the stove. The coffee was delicious, as Turkish coffee usually is, and we chatted about a variety of things: religion, international politics, hospitality, travel, languages. I stumbled through an awkward rift in our conversation when the topic of American post-secondary education suddenly morphed into a discourse on how 'blacks are lazy people who don't like to work', and despite my best efforts to knock him down a peg, he only continued to insist that his knowledge of the world was vastly superior to mine; I decided it was time to go.

I was particularly annoyed when this disagreement came up not five minutes after he admitted that a major shortcoming of Arab mentality is their stubborn narrowmindedness.

"Will you please visit me again before you leave?" he asked, and I smiled as comfortably as I could manage.

"Sure."

"When?"

I blanched. "Well... before Sunday."

"You can come tomorrow, yes?"

"Aindee mtihaan kebir, remember?"

"You can come at this time, then. At 9:30. After your imtihaan. You like cake with your coffee, yes?"

"Well, sure. I guess. But, ah, my professor doesn't like the girls to go out alone at night, so would it be all right if I brought my friend Max along with me tomorrow?"

His face darkened just a bit in a way that made me feel extremely uneasy. "I do not know your friend, and I prefer conversation between two; conversation between three is too different. Maybe if I had had coffee with him before, then yes, but I would like if you come alone."

"Okay," I said weakly. "Tomorrow night at 9:30."

He gave me the medication, and as soon as I was out of his sight, I ran flat-out back to the hotel.

Maisel was not pleased. His epic German moustache bristled as he confirmed my interpretation of the situation: "No, you're absolutely right; that was really inappropriate of him. I won't go tonight, but in the morning I'll be sure to check out the pharmacy - and to give Jamil a talking-to about proper Jordanian hospitality. There's a very fine line in these kinds of situations, and he crossed it."