Snake on a Plane

My adventure didn't begin at touchdown.  It began at the peak of my combination jetlag and digestive misery at the very beginning of flight #3 from Charles DeGualle International Airport in France to Queen Ali International Airport in Amman.  I don't know his name but his right hand was twitchy, dark and bony for a 30 year old.  I would come to know this hand because I watched it from the peripheral of my left eye 3.5 hours out of the 4.5 hour flight.  Here's what I do know: there is no one who I would rather NOT sit next to as we awaited the okay from the tower to take off.  At first I thought he was just new at flying.  He appeared extremely nervous as his hands danced over the tray table lever and moved as if he were playing invisible bongos.  He had announced his Jordanian heritage at the beginning of the flight.  He was outwardly a man who prided himself on his brandname clothes (true religion jeans and rolex) and clean-cut hair.  It became apparent by his tone of broken english that he must have thought himself a businessman of great importance.  He kept invading my personal space and the personal space of the woman on his left (he was in the middle seat).  I thought it was strange that he did not bring any entertainment with him--no books, no head phones or notes.  But I am used to giving people the benefit of the doubt...Mistake #1.  I fell asleep against the window for forty glorious minutes and let my guard down.  Upon take off, I awoke to feel his fixed gaze on my face.  I was too tired to emotionally react to this blatant dismissal of social norms and I chose to ignore him once again.  While Delta is notorious for lacking sufficient foot space, I had begun to take notice of the man's legs which had snuck beyond the limits of the invisible lines extended from the arm rests until they formed an obtuse angle from a birds eye view.  He was slowly bouncing his legs up and down like a horny butterfly resting on a stick.  What I had taken for an extreme case of ADHD and the nerves of a first time flier quickly escalated into something more when the stewardess served dinner.  Dinner was an unpleasant surprise.  The only part of it I could eat was the side salad and the 2 inch wedge of cheese; other food items on the tray included an ambitious apple pie attempt, bread and a noodle dish.  The man who had been watching, took notice and  offered me his cheese.  Not being able to deny cheese in any circumstance, I took it and ate it happily while he watched.  Re-energized by the innate wonder that is cheese, I resolved to read a book.  As I cracked open Chapter 2 of "El Señor de Los Anillos" (The Spanish version of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring that I picked up in Quito), I could no longer deny the presence of his leg on mine.  He was slowly raising his calf against mine.  I promptly repositioned my backpack to serve as a first line of defense.  Not five minutes later he turned to me contemplatively and asked me if I was a student studying in Jordan, I said yes without turning towards him.  He thought he was on a roll now and proceeded to ask me a question I have never been asked in my life besides as a unconcious baby:

Are you male...or female?

I had to laugh a little at that one.  My shoulder-length haircut hung down below the brim of my winter hat and jewelry dotted my wrists and fingers.  The moment that followed can be described as the most awkward and emotionally conflicted moment in my 20 years of life.  I didn't know whether to be angry, hurt or indifferent;  was that his idea of a joke?  Being Anne Hobson, the happily hosting turtle, I decided to forgive him for his rude comment and return to my shell (LOTR).  Yet, not five minutes later, his hand was on the offensive again, crossing the arm-rest boundary as seemingly slow as the Oregon trail caravan crossed from the East to the West of North America.  I honestly didn't believe what was happening.  This man would have  hit on a dead horse.  At this point in my journey, I was worse than a dead horse--bags under my eyes, gastrointestinal discomfort, dirty clothing and pit stains.

He went for it and touched my hand as I was reading my book.

"excuse me sir, please move your hand."  I spat, in shock at his lack of shame.  Doesn't he know the Rolling Stones song "You can't always get what you want.."  How could he be so naive to think that any women would submit to this objective mental and physical game?  How could he have assumed that I am one of these women or men (haha) that would have such low self-respect to dole out sexual favors.  Now I felt anger and resentment to whatever cultural, familial or societal structure had promoted his behavior.  And on our first day of orientation, I am told to expect more of this behavior. 

For the remaining hour, he did not touch me but rather preoccupied himself with his invisible bongos again (why does this sound sexual?)  I awaited the end of the flight restlessly.  Upon exiting the aircraft the man did turn and apologize with a broken "I am sorry for what happened in there" and went on his way, his true religion jeans billowing in the recycled air.  Dios Mio.

In short, I got my sexual harassment training a day earlier than the rest of the kids in my program.  I also became disillusioned with wealthy young Jordanian men.  This is how stereotypes are born.

I am reminded of a story that Aunt Marcia told me in December.  She was teaching Arab exchange students ESL and one of them had asked for extra help on his paper.  She invited him to her home and he brought alcohol.  Once she had finished correcting his paper, he had made motions as if he expected to get something more from the encounter.  Marcia had to explain that she does not do that because she has a certain degree of self-respect.  The student felt such great shame that he refrained from coming to class for a while.

This is a culture gap I am not prepared for.  It helps me to understand why Samual Huntington's theory abour a clash of civilizations is valid--because the arab culture and the American culture inadvertently offend eachother.  I am not sure that I will be able to handle this aspect of daily arab life.  To be determined.