Abu Hamad

I have a lot of trepidation about sharing this story; it was told to me as part of a series of interviews I conducted in English, but 'Abu Hamad' has assured me that this story can be released in this way. There are a number of things in it that concern me--namely cultural elements that require explanation, but I feel that presenting those explanations here damages the narrative itself. I intend to add them in a later post.

His name was Abu Hamad--the father of Hamad--but he hadn't seen his son in six years. Yet he insisted upon being addressed as "Abu Hamad"--as opposed to his given name that I've since forgotten.

Abu Hamad didn't drink, but he said that I could; in fact he said he'd pay for it. I declined, and he commented that it was rare for an American to refuse alcohol under any circumstances. I said maybe another time.

Until that day, I had met Abu Hamad only once in passing--he was the friend of a friend--and he had spoken to me then only briefly. He had told me that he wanted to meet with me over drinks sometime and talk to an American, and that he had a story I might like to hear. I had asked him then if he wouldn't like to tell the story then, but he declined. "Now isn't the time," he had said.

Presumably now--as he took a long sip of his lemon juice--was the time. He wiped his brow as though the coldness of the juice had made him sweat, and stared blankly at the glass.

I don't think either of us knew precisely what to say, so we took a long while trading small talk and comments about religion or politics. In the Middle East, these topics are small talk.

After a time, he seemed ready to talk about whatever it was that he had called me here to discuss, whatever it was he thought I'd need a drink to hear, and that he himself had needed two tall glasses of lemon juice to talk about.

"I'm going to tell you a story that hasn't been told many times," he said. "I'm telling you not because I have any real reason to trust you, but because you're an American and I think you'd be better able to hear it than most people I know here." He sipped his juice again. "It seems to be relevant to what my friend says you've been studying--Islam and modernization or whatever--so I think it'll help you out. I want someone to know--indeed I'd like everyone to know--but I can't tell anyone and so few know."

"I'd love to hear whatever story you care to tell me," I told Abu Hamad. "I can tell others if you want me to."

He paused a moment, and then said, "I'm trying to decide where to start. The story itself was about seven years ago, but to tell it right, I'd have to back up still further."

"Please do," I said.

"No," he responded emphatically after a moment of thought. "All you need to know started seven years ago." He ordered another juice--this time pineapple--before he continued, "I loved my wife, let that stand clear. We had our ups and downs just like any married couples, but that wasn't why I did what I did. I loved her, and the whole way through it I still loved her.

"But it wasn't perfect; perhaps no marriage is perfect. I discovered that the internet was the only place that I could go to try and make it right, so I went there. I don't know what I was looking for or what I was hoping to find, but something told me that it was there.

"I had a few girlfriends there for a while, but they never really went anywhere. It wasn't what I needed, and I realized very quickly that I could never hope for a better woman in my life. Somehow--I don't exactly remember the process--I started to realize that what I needed was companionship in general--not a replacement for my wife. So I started to develop friendships with people all throughout the world. My English got a lot better that way, and I made a few friends that I still have.

"In time though, I began to look a bit closer to home. I don't know how I got there, but I began to talk to some of the guys around Amman. I got to be friends with some of them--online only-- but there was one that was unique. His name was Mahmoud.

"To be honest I don't remember the first time I talked to Mahmoud. I started conversations with hundreds of people that never really went anywhere. I probably started talking to Mahmoud in the same way, but for whatever reason we just kept talking.

"He began to tell me all sorts of things, and I began to talk to him. We became close--very close--as close friends on the internet can be. And then we became closer."

Abu Hamad stopped talking for a moment and awkwardly sucked the lees of his pineapple juice through his straw. Clearly he was looking for my reaction to see if he should continue. I told him that he should. He told me then that they had begun to trade pictures so that they would at least know what each other looked like--but that was as far as Abu Hamad and Mahmoud ever wanted to take it.

"Then it changed again," Abu Hamad continued. "I realized I had broken a barrier that I had never known had been there. I realized everything all at once, and I built everything into one person--Mahmoud.

"We never wanted to see each other--let me make that clear. I suppose I was concerned about what people would think, but more than that I was concerned about what I would feel. If we remained friends over the internet then our friendship could go on forever. If we met then we would have to decide if we were going to risk the impossible." Abu Hamad paused and then added, "And I never wanted to risk that.

"We got closer and closer and then one day--I remember the day and the place--I saw him. It was strange because I saw him from behind, and I thought to myself 'That looks like Mahmoud might from behind,' but I had never seen a picture like that so I didn't really know what he would look like. But then he turned around--as though he knew he were being watched--and we sort of stared at each other." Mahmoud took a long sip of fresh pineapple juice.

"I don't know what the expression on my face looked like, but his was surprisingly cool. It was sad in a way, but it wasn't surprised. In fact for a minute I thought that perhaps it wasn't him. I thought to myself many times what I would say if I ever met him, but when that time came I didn't have the slightest idea. Perhaps because the staring was so awkward he began to walk toward me, and I toward him."

Mahmoud coughed and thoughtfully continued, "I know it sounds hokey, but you have to trust me on this. We walked towards each other, but I knew and he knew that we weren't going to acknowledge each other. We just walked by each other like two strangers might, glanced briefly and walked away. We couldn't say anything to each other, but were at least able to communicate that was what we wanted."

Abu Hamad had finished his pineapple juice and was playing with the straw. "I still care for him, I want you to know that. But I also want you to know that I've never talked to him since."