Mohammed, Mohammed, Wherefore art thou Mohammed?

He grabbed my arm within an hour of being in the city. "Hey Man, where you from, do I know you? C'mon Man, Why not you speak to me? America, hey, alright man, I love the America, I was living in Texas, you know Texas. Hey man, don't you worry, you're my friend."

If somebody approaches you like that, in any country, things will only get worse, so you best be movin' on along. Especially if they lived in Texas. But he kept following me. "We gonna be friends, why I don't show you around. America. Yeah. Dallas. You know that place, right. I friend with the nigger people there. They my homeboys now. Yeah, America is great place. I love the America woman. She beautiful man. I want to make me one American girl. They the best…"

He didn't stop. You're fortunate to find somebody in Yemen who is relatively fluent in English. And when that moment comes, it's a good idea to befriend if some insight into local culture is desired. But this guy, he made you regret knowing your mother's tongue. A gangly 20 year old with an oblong cranium and an anteater's nose. A cheap polyester blazer covered a Chinese knock-off on a bad American t-shirt (UNIOUN PACIFIK). And a tight pair of Jordache cemented the deal. The words were definitely a version of English. But they poured out in high pitched tones doused with odd grammar sequences and American ghetto imitiations. And the mouth just kept going, "Hey, whatever you want man, I'm Ali Aziz. Everybody they know me. You want tour. I make for you special tour. Maybe women. I bring you the best women…"

"There are no women in Yemen. Actually, I think your country name means what you get here. Yeh. Men."

"What you talking about Man, we have the beautiful woman here."

"Maybe in your imagination."

"C'mon man, this good place for the woman. Hey, look at her…[directing his heckles to some veiled thing] Hey Lady, why you no come and meet my friend. He American. You are the beautiful baby. I be see you."

"Did you know her?"

"Of course, man, I know everypeople"

"I have never seen a guy hit on a girl in the street here, You know what, I've never even seen a man talking to a woman in public before. And how the hell could you know her if all you can see are some eyes."

"Hey, look at that one. It's how they walk. And how they look you. You know them."

"This is absurd. You're hitting on a walking ghost. A friggin' ninja, dude. They can't even stop to talk with you, AND they've got no sex to show. Just that frumpy black sheet"

"Ninga, what this. I tell you, man, I am Ali Aziz. Everybody they a know me. C'mon, you take walk with me. I show you city. You are my MAIN Man. Friends, yes?"

Street Hustlers. Turkish carpet guys. Moroccan backsheesh guides. 42nd street fake ID men. They're really quite harmless. That's why their hustlers. Otherwise, you'd have a knife to your back. You only need fear the eventual sales pitch, quick money loan I'll pay you back. And unlike Time-Shares, there's no free VCR just for listening. So, amuse yourself, and upon purchase request, start walking away. No prob.

Through a souk full of overflowing raisin bins, burning frankincense and weathered men forging metal, we wound our way around the lost in time Old City.

"Hey Man, you have wife America. I like American wife. So nice. In Texas, I see me She-Man before. Serious. I think her beautiful man. Ali Aziz likes. Then close she come. She have this thing (point's to adam's forbidden apple). Yeah, that. The apple, it keep moving. I say, shit man, this not woman. So I yell her. Yes, I yell her, 'You bitch, you bitch. Why you like that. That crazy. You fucking bitch.' Then I hit. Her hit in head. Crazy person."

"Why did you get so offended? That's our free country. I'm surprised you guys don't have more of them. Since you've eliminated the public face of woman, that's your best bet. Shit, I've probably got the longest hair many of these guys have seen outside their house."

"Yeah man. You are cute one. Seriously, I like the American woman, but not the she-man. You like smoke the shisha. I take you place to do the smoke. Fuck shit man, Texas no having this. You like."

15 minutes later we were in some travel shop cum Arabian pillow fairytale. Very clever. In local tourism's infancy, a few suckers would definitely fall in here.

"Look, I'll hang out and smoke with you. I'll have some tea, but I'm not going on a tour, and I'm not buying any souvenirs. Just remember I told you this before we ever sat down."

"Hey Man, you think I fuck you, I'm not a fucking with a you.You my friend. Enrico and Ali Aziz. Two man that like to catch the ass. Trust with me Man. This just place I work sometime. I think you like to rest here."

There was no charcoal for the hookah. The slovenly owner was chomping away on the Qat leaves, oblivious to his protégés wooing. The tea was a shot of sugar with a splash of water. But the ghetto superstar was right. Not a single offer to mount camels or sleep in payrolled villages. No Chinese crafted locally sold jewelry. No swords. No one of a kind hand-stitched turbans manufactured by the ton. He really did just want to talk.

In a traditional society, where sex roles have changed little over the past two millennia, the tsunami of globalization promises upheaval. It's only a question of 'how much?' And in a nation where 70% of the population is under 24, elderly conservatism will surely lose out. Men, especially those of Arabia, have misconstrued (or not?) Islam for the past 1400 years to gain final say over women. Where she goes? What she does? Who she's with? And of course, what she wears. The traditional Islamic societies of the Arabian Peninsula are plagued with jealous men who feel that only a husband has the right to see his woman. And as stated clearly in the Koran, despite contrary verses suggesting otherwise, a woman is to obey her man.

So, who better then the Youth to guide an outsider to the future of this society. Especially those who have direct contact with the Infidel's World. Ali Aziz was no longer an unsuccessful spastic hustler, but a window into Arabia's post-modernity. And perhaps the living embodiment of western cinematic influence.

"Since you seem so keen on meeting women, and lived for a bit in the States, do you now disagree with the veil and lack of public contact between man and woman."

"Yeah Man. I love the woman (blows kiss in the air). She is beautiful Man. Why you ask this. You are love the woman. I know this. Ohhh. She is great."

"Yeah, I know you dig women, but that wasn't my question. Do you think it's ok now for the Yemen women to take off the veil, the black frocks, and have social interaction with men in public."

"Hey, what you talking Man. The Yemen woman not going to do this, Man. No way. She can't. I don't want some man looking at my sister, or my mother, or my wife. Then he is going to want the sex from her. No way, Man. This is the tradition. Yemen people."

"But you like the American women cause you can see what they actually look like. You can talk to them. You probably even touched them. They make you feel happy when you pass them on the street, and you are never having sex with them. Its just a positive feeling. I thought you would want this at home."

"Yeah, of course, I like the American. She nice. But we can't have here. Not possible. The people will not like. They curse the woman. 'You bitch. You are bitch. What you wear.' We yell her. We tell her go home. No one like this. Your woman, ok. We like. But if Muslim woman, I yell her and hit to her if she not go to her house."

Unbelievable. His attitude mirrored those of older men, and those who had no contact with foreigners. What kind of youth, especially one in the Brave New World, doesn't deviate from the previous generation?

"Marriages are still arranged here. Do you think you might want to date a girl first, get an idea of how you are together before you have to spend your life living with her?

"Hey man. That is haram. Islam not allow. Maybe I try to talk some woman. But I keep very secret. And I not do with the Yemen girl."

Some girl passes by in the street.
"Konichiwa! Konichiwa! I know her man. She Japanese. I love a Japanese girl. I be right back. Have more tea, it is free."

5 minutes later.

"So you got a phone number, or she hit you."

"You are crazy Man. I fuck the shit. Yes. The Japanese like Ali Aziz. She want to meet me."

"You fucked that girl, the one who just walked by us."

"I fuck the shit, man, I fucking it. Now she meet me. But we fuck."

"So, you don't even know her. When you use the word 'fuck' in sexual way, you must put a conditional word like 'will' or 'want' or 'can' in front of it. If not, this means you already had sex with her."

"Yeah, Man, I am getting you. I want fuck her. Yeah. I will fuck the Bitch. I can fuck. I am fuck."

"Not the last one."

The conversation began to lose its appeal when Mr. Smooth sent off a non-stop flurry of text messages. Presumably to all his bitches. It was time to leave, lest the owner gain consciousness and demand money for something. But Ali Aziz was too much a character to permanently dispose. We'd meet again.

A labyrinth of dead end stone streets offered the occasional goat, but no passage. Children kicking soccer balls, jubilantly asked for photographs, but had no clue where to go. Women behind stained glass looked but never spoke. Grey bearded men with faded skullcaps offered greetings. An occasional speeding motorcycle threw you from the narrow alley into a wall of ancient masonry. Eventually, the sanctuary of the GuestHouse lobby was procured.

Another young male speaking comprehensible English. I hadn't met him before. Quite a change from Ali A. He went by Hassan. A soft spoken mellowness pervaded his Yemeni James Dean stylings. The stoned gaze of his large brown eyes left him in a perpetual state of dreaminess. 19 years old and a mere 6 months in the Infidel Hotel Industry. His father was a respected language professor, who had a stern demeanor and high expectations for his son. Hassan enjoyed smoking cigarettes from the left corner of this mouth. Probably the result of stuffing his other cheek full of narcotic green leaves. He must have went shopping with Ali Aziz as his wardrobe was quite similar. Except he took the care to press his jacket, and coif his hair, into a small gelled mass. When he spoke, his words dripped out, enjoying extended syllables and a sleepy illiterate eloquence.

"Where…aaare…you from? I have not met Amerrr-ican girl yet. Are they beauuu-tee-ful?"

"Compared to Yemeni women, they are the nymphs of paradise."

"I must to meet…the Amerrr-ican girl. She must be beauuu-tee-ful."

"Do you meet a lot of women from other countries here?"

"Soooo many. I have love them aaall."

"Does that mean you had sex with these foreigners?"

A mischievous grin, and his seemingly thin groomed eyebrows raise those big brown pupils even wider. "They are aaall…so…beauuu-ti-ful. I can not have make luuuve with all. Sooo many."

"I'm the only one staying here and this place looks like its been abandoned for years. Are you telling the truth?"

"Yeesss. Before you are…come…here, sooo many. From Italia. From Francia. From Swiss. From Japan."

"So, who are your favorite. From where are the most beautiful women?"

"Italia. Number 1. (He holds finger up while regaining the smirk) Italia woman is best woman. Sooooo …very…beauuu-tee-ful. I am love."

"Aren't you worried about breaking with Islam. Isn't it bad if you talk to these women, and try to kiss them or something? It is forbidden, right?"

"I am not like this thing. If I like the woo-man, I want to talk with her."

"So you don't like the way Yemen women cover everything. You want to see a change."

"Yes, this old way. Women are so nice. I like talk with the wooo-man. She is sooo nice.
I don't want to be like this….other way."

He wouldn't even look at you sometimes, when he spoke. He'd just grin, and look to the ceiling corner where he saw a breast apparition, or something.

"Have you actually had sex with a woman, one of these women?"

"Italia. She is my luuuuuuve. She study… Arabic here. Speak verrry well. Stay here 3 month. She luve me. She come to my room (grin is at its ultimate arch now). We have make luuve many time. I am luuuuve her. So beauuu-tee-ful."

It was like he swallowed an eternal tablet of ecstasy. He would continue staring into air, smiling, and repeating his beau-ti-ful mantra.

There should be nothing abnormal about late teen males embarking on sexual misadventures. But in a culture drowning with threats of hellfire and fiery damnation for even looking at an unrelated woman, few young men take the opportunity to discover the predilections of non-muslim adolescence. It's only upon immersion into the infidel's 'western' world that an Arabian male even has a hope for non-paid liaisons.

The last call to prayer had faded into the surrounding mountains, swallowed by the swirling dust and clawing scrub bushes. People had taken to the darkened streets, which in Arabian parlance means the Men began to roam and chat. Women are not people here.
As I made my way outside to discover new friends, one had apparently already been waiting for me.

"From where, you come?"

"Lappland."

"Good country. You like the fuck."

I already had two Romeos to work with, but this kid couldn't have been older then thirteen. He sat hunched over on the edge of a stone wall with a larger boy shying away behind him.

"I like The Fuck. I own two of them. They are on sale in the souk right now."

"Fuck is bad. Haram. I am not fuck. Our Prophet tells us this not allow. How many fuck, you fuck?"

"Counting your sister, I think four, maybe five but that one's a question of definitions."

"Why you fuck? This bad. Very bad. I no fuck. You go hell."

"Ok. I'm done. I won't do it again."

The inquisitor clutched a small notepad and a pen. He resumed looking at his script while the larger character peered curiously over his shoulders.

"What are you writing?"

"I write love letter for friend. He like girl. I know what write the girl like."

Odd. Very odd. This younger then 13 looking Mohammed de Bourganac was writing love letters for his big boned eighteen year old friend.

"Make sure to comment on how much you like her mobile phone. Teenage girls really love that."

"I write no problem. I don't want Fuck Man help me."

"You know, Mohammed said it's forbidden to write notes to women unless you have their parents permission and at least one of their brother's is present."

"Not haram. I write nice note. No Fuck letter."

"Why isn't your friend writing this? And how do have such experience to write these things?"

"The girls they like. I know many girl. I write them nice thing. You are fucking man. I don't talk you no more."

"Bye."

"Wait. How you fuck? Tell me how the fuck. I want know."

Demonstrating on a nearby Eucalyptus tree, I dry humped the peeling bark while chanting, "Who's your Muslim Daddy?"

"I don't like this. I not fuck. If woman fuck, not marry, I kill her. You go hell. YOU GO HELL. I finish to write my letter of love."

The little tyrant was another example of the disturbed attitudes of young men, or any Yemeni men, toward the liberated clitoris. As I walked away in a state of placid bemusement, a familiar voice followed, albeit distantly. "Stop to fuck. You must have no fuck. BAD MAN. BAD MAN."

One tea later, and several blocks away, a frenzied Ali Aziz came running up to me.

"I meet Belgian girl today. I want to her. She have beautiful body and face. I like this. I must a have to her. You help me."

"Well, how did you meet her and what is she like?"

"I meet father. Second time in Yemen. I show him around and he bring daughter. I must a have to her. She tells me she is the Virgin. This good, yes?"

"How old is she?"

"15."

"You want to sleep with the virgin 15 year old of a client you have. Are you crazy?"

"Please, Enrico, tell me how to have a her. When I look at the body, I can not a too speak she is so delicious to eat. I want ask her to have me take her virgin. This ok, yes? I can ask to her this?"

"Are you practicing to be like an Al-Qaeda fighter so you are prepared for Paradise?"

"Why you say this. I not Al-Qaeda. I am Ali Aziz. I make the love not do the fight (laughing)."

"I think, if you want to deflower a ripe Belgian, you may want to have some experience so you don't embarrass yourself."

"Ali Aziz no virgin, man. I know the fuck. I can make the sex nice. Super Nice."

"I think you're full of shit. I'd be surprised if you've even touched the hand of a woman."

"Man. Why you make this talk. I have the sex before. I tell you."

"How many times have you made this sex?"

"One time. But good. I get Iraq woman. She have big…what you call these (points to chest)?"

"Hooters."

"Yes. She have the big hooter and the nice big butt. The Iraq woman like to fuck the Ali Aziz. I make the sex to her three times in the night. She sleep in my bed in Aden (city on Southern coast of Yemen known for easy access to prostitutes)."

"And where did you learn to have sex, or did you just figure it out as you went along."

"C'mon Man. Look at me (he points to his gangly body with a big beaming grin). This Ali Aziz. I know. I watch the video. Many video. And she like it. She tell me it very good. Of course. Now she know the Ali Aziz."

"How was this experience for you, being that you are a Muslim and are forbidden to have sex before marriage and with anyone other then your wife? Any problems?"

His entire demeanor changes, assuming the expression of a sullen boy rather then the proud fornicating Yemeni warrior. His hands slip into the safe oasis of his Jordache jean pockets. The words are slowly leaving his mouth, probably under acknowledgement of impending HellFire.

"I think maybe something wrong. I tell you after I finish each time. You know, after I…what you say…yes…ok, this thing you say…when I blow the load, I am feeling bad because I blow the load. I feel shame. Real shame. Only lie there in the bed. And she touch me. But I hit her hand. I say to leave me. But she stay. And then later, we make the sex again. I don't know what happen me. Each time finish, same thing. Very shame. I feel the shame. Why. Allah know. He know so he punish me."

"I think your natural sexual urges are conflicted with your religious upbringing. Either you choose to accept your sex drive and torment the Iraqi refugees, or find somebody to marry this week."

"What? I am not knowing what wrong. In morning, I leave and she ask the mobile number. I say to her, 'Bitch', and then I make slap to her (demonstrates slap and chuckles). I go from Hotel. And she follow and ask why I not like her. But I am not listen and leave the city."

The next day, upon exiting the Hamam, a fine Turkish relic of steam rooms and physically taxing massages that only the ruthless Ottomans could endure, brought me a giddy Hassan in yet another finely pressed pinstriped polyester blazer and knee-hole ripped jeans. Despite a cool evening breeze, his pompadour held stiff. Some generic cigarette hung limply from the left corner of his mouth. "I have new luuuve. I see her too-day in souk."

"But what about the Italian. She is your love. How many loves do you think you can handle?"

"Yes. Yes. Italia. She is my true luuuve. But now she is not here. I not know where this woman she come from. I think that she is from the Denmarka but maybe she is the Sweden. I must to meeeet her. You have to see my new luuuve. She is the most of pretty."

"You really like the foreign girls. Don't you ever want to have a love from Yemen. There are probably a lot of cute girls under there."

"Pssst. No from here. You can not have talk with the girl from here. I not like this. Now I have for me from Ethiopia. She is so beauuu-tee-ful. So so so beauuu-tee-ful. But I am not luuve her. I am not. I like the girl she come from Europe or America. So much I like."

Two goats eyed us suspiciously, pondering whether they should inform the nearest Imam of this local sinner. I eyed them lustfully. They ran away.

"How do you deal with all the guilt from Islam, and knowing that you can not really meet these women?"

"I am not like it. I must always make the meet in see-cret place. I not to tell my father or any people. It is problem. I don't like. And the woo-man, she is not free here. The police they stop me if they see I have a woman next me that not my wife. Always they do this when late in the night. They make problem. The girl here have to wear all the clothing and on the face. I not like. The Europe girl. She can talk. She talk with me. Soooo many. They are beauuu-tee-ful. I want to move there. I can study there. My father help me to Sweden. I hope for this."

"Careful, Swedish girls are very conservative. I don't think they like men. Unless they are lying naked on a streamlined teak couch with a bucket of herring by their side."

"Yes. Soooo many beauuu-tee-ful from Sweden. I will go to see."

He continued on a drunken wanderlust, proclaiming his love for some mysterious white girl he briefly chanced upon in the market, over and over until I had to excuse myself to maintain sanity.

Steps from the quiet sanctuary of my abandoned guesthouse, I heard a familiar voice. It was too dark in the streetlightless corridor to find the face, but the angry high pitched voice was unmistakable. "Why you fuck? Why you do the fuck. Haram. You can not the fuck."

"I thought your mother locked you up. Shouldn't you be writing love letters for somebody? Or maybe you should simply try fucking something. Just for fun. Go ahead. Have a fuck."

Screaming, "I NO FUCK. NO FUCK. WHY YOU FUCK. Islam you can not. Do you want be muslim. I like you to be muslim."

"I'll think about it and let you know tomorrow."

"Tell me how the fuck. How it is the fuck. You show me."

"Do you say this stuff just to set me up so you can start yelling again. Look, just stick your thing, from between your legs, the thing you make peepee with. Go buy a hot shwarma sandwich. Leave it for 10 minutes and then stick your thing in it. Move it back and forth. This will give you good practice to make fuck. Ok."

"Why you tell me buy shwarma. I am not eating shwarma. You fuck man. YOU FUCK. Be muslim."

The mid-morning egg sandwich saw the return of the Jordache King, Ali Aziz the First.
Seconds later, the remaining sandwich disappeared into the Emperor's mouth. In these parts, food is considered communal, especially amongst friends. Asking for bites and slices is like asking to see a local woman's hair. His mouth still chomping up the hard-boiled egg was unable to restrain the excitement. "I have meet a girl. New girl. She from Japan. I think she is same girl I tell you other day."

"What happened to your Belgian virgin?"

"Yeah, man, she is nice. Really, man, she is a love. I am I want to ask her to make sex but she is leave today. I have email to her. I meet different girl in work. She 25 and I think she have sex with 7 men before. Whore. I not like the whore. I tell her to leave the store. But, hey, man, you want hear about Japan girl. She nice. Very nice. I meet many before from Japan. I am speak in Japan too."

"You don't speak Japanese. Tell me something."

'Konichiwa. Domo arregoto. Ichiwani."

"That's great. You can say 'hello' to a Japanese girl. Then, start kissing her. When you are finished, say 'thank you very much' and still have one word left over if she wants to have a conversation."

"I want you help to me. I like to her. She pretty girl. We meet for lunch today. What to do. How I can kiss her? My stomach not good."

"Ah. You're nervous. This may be your first kiss. Just grab her head, and shove your tongue in there. Either she'll slap you or let you finish."

"Really. This is how to make the kiss. I follow you. Help to me. I think she love me."

"You're going to have to wait until night time. Go some place private, maybe a rooftop or something. Lean in and gently kiss her, very softly and not long. And don't put your tongue in there. And then you have to wait and see what she does."

"Ok. I will try. I want to give the tongue. Maybe I can a little. I see in video. The woman like the tongue."

"Fine. Do what you want. Maybe wet your finger, then stick it in her ear and turn it around. Japanese girls like this."

"Ok. Thank you. I catch your ass later."

The following day. Progress report. Over heavily sweetened tea with a squirt of canned milk.

"I take what you tell to me. Last night we go on the roof of one hotel. She is talking me. Then she stops. I looking to her. I put my hand like this (under the chin) and give her kiss. My tongue. It touch to her. Really, man. I can to believe it. I am make the kiss. But she stop me. She say no. I touch her again, like this (same under the chin spot). I say to her, 'Look into my eyes. You have the key to my heart and you can open it anytime (he mimics door opening a door with key).' She make smile. I know she like me. But I am not kiss her again. I think if she have the key it is ok. I wait. She will open it."

"Can I use this key to open my door, cause my key isn't working too well."

"Hey, Man, this is not a key like that. It is key for the woman. The woman like to have the key. Ali Aziz is not give the key to anybody. But for the Japan, I am giving."

"Good luck in your pursuit. Don't forget to tell her that you want to eat her like a roll of sushi and soak her with your soy sauce."

Same café. Same time. Same beverage. New story.

"Why you give me this look, Man, it is me, your main friend, Ali Aziz. Don't you want hear about the Japan?"

"I'm looking at that goat. He looks familiar. Like I've seen him before. And he keeps checking me out."

"The white people feed to them. Maybe he want food. I am telling you now, ok. I tell you. I meet her the night last. We go to roof. I make the kiss. Really, man, I am doing the kiss, but she turn from me. She not want. Then her phone ring. She have boyfriend. He call from Japan but she make him on the speakerphone. He is speak to her in English. He tells her that he love her and miss to her and then she put phone to ear. When she finish she explain that she has a love but I tell her not to matter me. I bring her to new roof. I make for kiss again, but she move her head (he re-enacts timid Japanese girl slowly turning head from young predatory muslim boy). Now I am tell her that she can use the key I gave her to my heart. But she is not using. I don't know to why. Really, Man, the Japan girl is for me. I like very much. I bring her to one more roof. But she not to kiss to me. I am thinking that maybe I can have the tongue but she must be to think about the boyfriend. I can have to her. Ali Aziz can be better then a Japan man. She is having my key."

"I think you're finished. You may want to get back in touch with the Virgin."

"Ali Aziz will make to work."

The following evening. Stone steps to a shuttered storefront play host for our new café. Men are passing throughout the night oblivious to our blasphemous speak. No goats are in sight. The faint sounds of the Arabic oud are crackling through a far-off radio. The Rising Sun Seducer is wide eyed and smiling as usual. His faded blue t-shirt is some Chinese replica of the American surfer style, a hallucinogenic font surreptitiously proclaims, "WaveRider Alls the Way."

"She just leave me. I am sure I am love, man. I think I take me to Japan or she will to break the heart. Tonight is good but problem. I need to win her. She is for me."

"What did you do during the day with her?"

"First, I am only sending her the phone message (texting). I not want to see her to early, only her to read my words."
He passes over the phone, a beat-up Nokia with a cracked screen probably found amongst the Tsunami rubble and shipped to Yemen as Public Aid.

There are two messages. The first displays, "The words begin with ABC. The number begin with 123. The music begin with Do-Re-Mi. And the love begins with you and me."

An hour and twenty minutes later, the following message alerted the coy Japanese girl to her pursuer's conviction: "I waited 9 months to see the world. 1 year to walk. 2 years to talk. 3 years to study. But really I waited to many years to find a friend like you."

"Did these things come with your phone when you bought it?"

"Hey, man. What you speak? You are crazy. I write these. They are for my love. I make for her."

"You are very talented. I know a local 13 year old who could use your help writing letters. Maybe you can make a living writing love notes for Yemeni boys. Just don't forget the website you found that crap on. So, what happened later?"

"We go to place for shisha. But nobody is there. Only her and me. I make to kiss her but she turn head away. Ali Aziz find a new way to make her. I sit on her. Like this. (He straddles my legs informing me of the extra onions his mother must have put in his dinner). I pull the shirt down (as he continues to demonstrate) and catch the hooter (demonstration persisted). She slap my hand. But I stay. (he remains perched on my lap). I am liking her very much now. Then a something happen. Really, shit, man, I don't know what to happen." He stands up and moves back on the stairs so that he is standing above me. His arm salutes stiffly into the air, in a Hitler like fashion. "What is this? What you call this, this happen?"

"You're an Aryan. You probably hate Jews already so I can see where you might do that. Or maybe you want to fly."

"No. Look." He points to his groin. "My dick have this."

"Your dick hates Jews."

"What you call when my dick make like this?"

"Boner."

"Yes. Yes. I have a this."

You must repeat it or you'll forget. It's your new vocabulary word for the day.

"Yes. Ok. I have a bone. My bone is very hard. I not know what do. So I am touching to her and trying to make kiss but she push me. Then the bone make cough."
"I don't understand."

He starts spitting on to the ground. "It do this. A spit, you say, right, Spit. Yes. My bone is spit. I make spit right here (pointing to crotch area of Jordache shame)."

"Jesus. You came in your pants while you sat on top of this poor, shy, frightened Japanese tourist. You're a freak."

"I not came. I am already there. I don't know what I to do. Really, man. I fucking shame. I feel embarrass. It is first time I make this."

"What about your Iraqi bitch that you spent the night with?"

He seems confused, either caught in a lie or making some differentiation between hooker sex and Japanese tourist lap dance rape.

"No this is not that. She is not the whore. She is my love. And she push to me and stand up. Then she say me, 'Are you finished?"

"Sounds like she is a pretty accommodating girl."

"I will find again tomorrow. She leave me but I can not to forget her. Now we have share this special moment. I must have bone again."

The next afternoon, I decide to pay a visit to Hassan. He resumes his typical afternoon post in the opiumQat den nestled behind the front desk of the guesthouse. He is sitting alone, hair in ready-to-be-photographed position. His eyes are staring dreamily at the peeling plastered walls.

"Yo. Hassan. How's life?"

"It is sooo good. I see again my Luuuuve. I see her on the street. She have a friend. A Yemen girl. I am watching her. Her hair is soooo looooovely. Her eyes are beauuu-tee-ful. She is my luuuuve. I want soooo much to meet her. But she keeps the walking with friend."

"You should talk to Ali Aziz. He is really good at meeting women and he can tell you many wonderful things to say to her."

"He is soooo stuu-pid. I not let him know of my luuuve. Inshallah, I will meet her one day and she can know how it is that I love her."

"Good luck."

Our meetings are never arranged. Being watchless and phoneless makes exact time seem positively sci-fi. By the fate of Allah and sophomoric sensibility, the labyrinth alleys of the old city always seem to bring us together. We pass beneath a row of tilting stone and brick apartments, their stained glass slightly illuminated by the nearby streetlight. It’s a bit later then our normal rendezvous' and foot traffic is minimal. A goat turns out to be a shadow of three abandoned boxes, flaps raised high. Mr. Aziz is all smiles. His beakish nose takes turns hiding in the swaying streetlight.

"Today is a day. I must to tell you about the Japan girl. I think she is really like to me but I not understand everything."

"I'm listening."

"I take her for a dinner. It is very nice. She is lovely to watch to eat. I then go to different café. It is nobody there. I tell her she is not using the key I give her. But I want her to use the key. I tell her that my heart is only for her. Then I say to her, 'I love you.' Really, I am say this. I ask to her, "Don't you love me?" She look to me and say that she likes me. She say I am nice but she have boyfriend. Then she start to talk sexy with me. Really. She say she not love to me but then she ask me if I ever touch to the dick. What you say..Yes..Ok, I say it..monkeyspank. I tell her that I can not monkeyspank because Islam forbid it. But Enrico, you know it is only lie, right. But I not tell her. I say life is hard for me. I am not allow to touch. So she take my finger and begin to move her hand up and down. I tell her I would like. Then she ask to me if I have somebody suck on the dick. I tell her it is not so. But I bring out the dick and she tells me to stop. She does not like. And then, she tells to me that her boyfriend makes suck on her. Really, Man. Fuck shit. She tells me she like to this. I not understand why a man to do this, but I put my face in the pusee and she hit my head. She not let to me. Main man Enrico, what I can do. She make crazy."

"Look. Ali, we're friends now, so I'm going to be honest with you. You're love is what we like to call a 'cocktease.' And really, she is simply a lonely female tourist in a culture not used to talking with women. She wants to spend time with a local guy so she can be part of the culture. And she doesn't want to upset you because then she will have no one to spend her nights with. So she lets you do these things. She doesn't love you. I'm sorry."

"But maybe she do. You not know how she look to me. She will use the key. I tell you now."

'Fine. If you want to gain her affection, you're only choice is to ignore her. One of two things will happen. She will either not get in touch with you and you'll never see her again, meaning she feels you got the idea and she is free to leave, OR, she will call you after a day and ask why you are not calling her. If this happens, make sure you make her wait another day because you are busy. Then when you see her again. Be nice but don't try to touch her and tell her you love her. Maybe something will happen."

"Ok, really, man, this is the fucking good advice. You are my main man. I like you. I will try to what you say."

It was late in the afternoon, the following day. The shops were beginning to re-open from their Qat and large lunch siestas. Somewhere in the area, two voices were shouting in broken English. In a land of Arabic, English seems to gravitate unimpeded. It took some time, but I finally got to the source. I couldn't believe it. Ali Aziz and the young heckler were going at it, verbally. I stayed behind a parked taxi so the show could continue free of commercial interruption.

"If you fuck the Europe girl you must make special talk like this and not be hard like we do the Yemen woman."

"How to fuck. Show me the fuck. I wait for to learn."

"You are the boy. I can not show you. If you wait, you will be to learn."

"Fuck to you. You are fucking man. I no want to fuck. It is bad. You are go to hell."

"You must to practice the speak to English. If you speak more better, then you speak to the woman, and she will like you. You listen me, ok."

"I am speak English. I know the fuck speak. I want fuck. Why you no help me."

"When you are more old, you learn. Keep speak the English. Look for the Europe people. The white people can help to you. Speak them. Then you can speak the woman. Then she will love to you. And you have the fuck."

"I am not fucking. You are bad. Haram. You get problem with Allah. No fucking woman. You marry. Fuck to you. Fuck to you."

"Hey man, why you say this me. I am here to speak the English with you. Fuck you, man. You shit. Fuck to your shit. You are fucking shit. Fuckman."

Weird. What are the odds of overhearing that conversation. It was direct insight into the positive influence a western media education have over the youth. Things would only improve in the modernizing Yemen.

Two days elapsed. Other new friends were met. All of whom had children and shaven libidos. I didn't know where or when, but Allah has his ways, so I trusted that around some corner, my favorite Romantic would appear jubilant as always. An unveiled woman with a rainbow headscarf had recently passed followed by two young leering boys. A sign. He was near. Over there. His unmistakable countenance clearly stood out among the multitude of chattering tea drinkers, perched on a flattened stone space above a sunken roadway that served as a river during the rainy season. He sat alone, typing into his love phone. He was dressed for success as he substituted the Jeans for a clean pair of beige pressed slacks and the worn leather sandals for a pair of dress shoes. The pinstriped blazer still concealed a tight fitting cheap Chinese t-shirt. I came up behind him, as the turbans turned to see what the Infidel was up to.

In a womanly voice, I whispered behind his ear while grabbing cover over his eyes, "You like fuck me, I wait you here."

He drops the phone of irrefutable romance. The small wooden chair falls over and he rises. "Fuck man. What you doing. You want kill Ali Aziz. Don't make that to me. I think you are a love of mine. Have seat. I am typing to the Japan now. She is at airport."

"I'm ready."

"I listen to you man, Really, I do. I not call her after we meet. And she call me five times. But I no get the phone. Then we speak. She tell me it is her last day. She want to see me. I tell her I will try. We meet at her hotel and I don't make to kiss her on the face or touch or anything. I only I listen with her and we make walk in the city. One time she make to touch my hand, but I move it. That's right. I say no to fuck her. You no fuck me. I no fuck you. You don't want to do me the suck. I don't fucked you."

"You said that."

"No. I want to say but only I tell her that 'You are a woman of your own.' Then I no talk about her but only about her trip and about my country. She tell me she want me to go with taxi and go airport with her. I say maybe. I have many thing to do. But she keep to asking me. I finally say to her that I will be to my honor to take her." His ceaseless smile has somehow found room to grow. The teeth are flashing triumph. "Then in the cab she put her hand here. What you say this..no, not dick, I am knowing the dick. Why Ali Aziz ask what is the dick. I always talk the dick. What is this...ok, she put on interer cuadricep. She is putting her hand here (groin area sometimes confused with the interior quadriceps). I try to not make the dick to grow. But it want to grow. I say to me, to Ali Aziz, 'please not make spit on me.' And then she kiss me. Really man. She make to kiss me. I am counting. One. Two. Three. I count to ten. She still kiss to me. Maybe it is 15. Whoa. Really, Man. Fuckshit. It work. She want the Ali Aziz. You are the main man. Fucking man, you are my brother, man. The advice is working. So I say her, 'You have used the key to my heart that I give you. My heart is now in your heart.' I am now looking to her in the her eyes. She have the beautiful eyes. I hold her hand, and I say her, 'When you are home, you only share the love with the boyfriend and your love here in Yemen. There are no more loves. Me and a you, and a him.' She puts her head down and make look to me. She understand."

"You're a real Cassanova. I am proud of you on this day. I will buy your tea for you."

"There is more. We get to airport. And they no want let me in. I tell them I am Ali Aziz but no one believe. I tell police she not speak English and I speak the Japan speak. She have difficult time and I must to be with her or she can not get the plane. They let me to go with her to place where you get on the plane. We wait together. But now we not say much. She go to get the plane, but I take her hand and not let her to go. I look her in the eye. I speak to her only these word, 'I am very sad this day cause I lost my heart.' Then I make to leave and say no more. I turn back one time to see her and I see she is having water on face, what you say…yes, she make tear. She cry. I make her to cry." He is giggling now. "I am sending her the message on phone but she not write back. I think she is leave."

"So, you are in love. It must be really special for you, having your first love."

"Yes, really, man, she is my love. I will talk her again and she tell me that she come visit to me again the next year. I wait here for her."

"Why are you leaving me? Don't you want to hang out and watch all these hot men come in and out of the café?'

"I sorry but I have to go. There is the one American girl that call me. She live here to study Arabic and she always making call to me. She call me many time, man. Really. She like to fucken call. You think she wants fuck. I go talk her. We meet now for a dinner. (smile reaching to bottom of the ear) There a more keys to my heart."