Geneva Gibber

Highlight of yesterday – Eric (my roommate) stumbled on an open network and we had an internet connection in our apartment for about two hours. I of course, took full advantage of the situation, and downloaded the season finale of Lost, after which three of us huddled around my tiny computer to partake in all of its glory. I love that show. If you’ve never watched it, you should get Netflix, order Season 1 and 2, and get all caught for next fall. It would be a very productive use of 34 hours of your life.

But I digress from my story:

Admirer number two is not nearly so interesting as admirer number 1 (Fardeen), as he is a perfect gentleman. He has cooked me dinner, which he was absurdly proud of because it was only his third time cooking rice, and his first time cooking meat. Sometime during dinner he mentioned that he had a Canadian friend who lived in Switzerland, and that he planned to visit her and her husband in the mountains. He then of course invited me along. As I couldn’t claim that I was busy for the next three weeks, I said yes maybe, if it worked out, and then dropped the subject hoping it would be forgotten. It wasn’t. Last Thursday morning he called and woke me up… (It was a holiday here – we were celebrating the Ascension. I’ve never heard of this holiday, but I was happy to celebrate it by sleeping a lot. Apparently Jesus didn’t actually ascend to heaven until 40 days after he was resurrected, so eating chocolate bunnies and searching for eggs is only the first step in commemorating his death. On the Ascension, according to what I witnessed from the Swiss, to continue the worship of our Savior one should go to the park by the lake and have a beer. Amen. )

But back to my story – Admirer Numero Deux (a.k.a Jawaid) called me Thursday morning to let me know that he had looked into train tickets for our trip to Interlaken on Saturday. Having just woken up, my defenses were down, and I couldn’t think of an excuse not to go. My one tactic to avoid the trip was to ask how much the train ticket would cost and then plead poverty. Unfortunately that didn’t work because Jawaid insisted that he pay for my ticket, as I was a poor student. I told him he didn’t need to pay for me, he said he would have it no other way, and then, because I really am a poor student, I agreed.

So, some might wonder why I was so unhappy to go on a trip to Interlaken, for free, with a man who is a perfect gentlemen. My only good reason – he never shuts-up. He can’t handle one moment of silence; he complains every time I stop talking. I knew that 15 hours of trying to entertain him with conversation was going to drive me mad. I did my best to lay down the law when we first got to the train, insisting that he give me some quiet time on the train to watch the passing scenery and have my own thoughts. He agreed, but then when quiet time came, he lasted for about two minutes, before he blurted out that my thinking to myself was too stressful for him because he was sure that I was thinking bad thoughts about him or the trip. I assured him that I was doing no such thing (a little bit of lie), and commenced looking out the window again. A couple of minutes later, out of the corner of my eye I saw that he was staring at me… can you say “creepy”. I don’t know if it was a cultural difference, but honestly who sits across from someone and just stares. My only solution was to go to sleep, or at least pretend to sleep, so I wouldn’t be able to see him.

The day went on without much excitement. We rode on a two cable cars, hiked around, ate some food, enjoyed the splendor. I realized quickly that I was in far better shape than him, so I walked quickly to make him out of breath, so he couldn’t talk. This was effective sometimes, although he managed to work in plenty of miserable Afghan jokes, mid gasp. .. “Did I (wheez wheez) tell you the one (gasp) about the father who…" Not to be culturally incentive, but the Afghans are not a funny people.

On a brighter note, Interlaken is gorgeous, and I can’t wait to go back with my friends, so I can enjoy it without the pressure of near constant contrived conversation.

Back on the train that night, I was completely exhausted from talking, and my introvert was going into overload. We had more issues with him staring, resulting in me sleeping, but by the end of the ride he begged me to stay awake because he was “so bored” when I slept. At this point I was quite grumpy, and feeling extra grumpy because I felt guilty that he had spent some much money on me that day (I would guess around $200), and I was being completely ungrateful. But, I couldn’t make myself enjoy his company, so I decided to direct conversation toward things that might make him uncomfortable, hoping that he would then end our talking. I dove right in with the need for separation of church and state and the unfairness of women having to cover their heads – none of it worked. He had heard it all before, and expected nothing less from a American women. I was feeling desperate, running out of ideas, when I thought of the perfect subject. Something I was passionate about, and would be willing to stand up for, no matter how offended he became – gay rights! Man did I hit the jackpot. He was horrified. He couldn’t believe that I thought that being gay should be legal, and not just legal but accepted and embraced. When I asked him why it shouldn’t be legal, he said that it hurt society because men were meant to be with women to make babies and continue the race, and not doing so is a sin.

Now, if this were an episode of Lost I would flash you back to Jawaid in college when we was in love with a girl from his class, who he couldn’t marry because of cultural differences. Then we would see them break up, her get married to another man, and Jawaid swear that he would never love again and never marry. (Jawaid told me about all of this on the train.)

Noting to Jawaid his claim that he would never marry or have kids, I asked how he was any less of a sinner than a gay man. You’ve never seen a more horrified and perplexed face in your life. Jawaid was completely traumatized. Clearly he had never had any contact with a gay person and thought of them as some kind of monster. At one point he told me with absolute certainty that there wasn’t a single lesbian in Afghanistan – it was funny and depressing all at the same time. I broke the last straw when I told him that he would most definitely have gay classmates when he began his graduate studies in Monterrey next fall. I told him that they would be in his classes, in his groups, and that he would find out that are perfectly normal, wonderful people. The only word I can use to describe his face – terror. I kept saying, you’re going to meet gay people in Monterrey and in the end he actually begged me to stop talking. Success!

So the lesson of today’s story is – if you want to make an Afghan quiet talk about meeting gay people.

A closing note: If any of you have any concerns about all of this admiring going to my head - not to worry. As far as I'm concerned, this whole experience has been yet another example of my superior ability to attract strange men.

# posted by Hoptrop : 5:59 PM