Lebanon defies stereotypes. Simply put, this country is infectious. The antithesis of the Middle Eastern stereotype of sand dunes and camels, Lebanon is mostly lush green mountains and valleys dotted with incredible cedar trees, olive groves, and vineyards, all with the backdrop of the strikingly blue Mediterranean to the west. Once called the Switzerland of the Middle East, Lebanon unfortunately has been plagued by violence and tribal-like unrest since its civil war that lasted from 1975-1990. Any tensions hung over from the decade and half of conflict broke free during the 2006 Summer War between Hezbollah, Lebanon’s Shiia opposition group, and Israel.

Yet despite the quarter century of country-wide conflict, Lebanon is at the forefront of gay rights in the Middle East. No other country even comes close. Like most Middle Eastern countries, homosexuality is technically considered illegal, but barely enforced. What sets Lebanon apart from the rest is the organization Helem, the first and only Middle East LGBT organization. Meaning “dream,” Helem was founded in the capital city of Beirut in order to further the rights of Lebanese homosexuals, as well as the gay communities in other Arab countries. As stated on its website, it is an official, legal organization under Lebanese law, a feat almost unheard of in other Middle Eastern countries. With a regular publication, “Barra” and various programs that aim to help and protect gays in Lebanon and the Middle East, Helem is making leaps and bounds in raising awareness of LGBT rights and issues in Beirut and elsewhere, including publishing guidebooks for parents with LGBT children translated into Arabic and psychological counseling and HIV testing at their community center in Beirut. This is quite shocking in a region where to even speak about homosexuality is completely taboo.

What do you get when you combine the second longest river in the world, a whole lot of desert, a crossroad between Africa and Asia, and dozens of ancient pyramids? One of the most populous countries in Africa and the Middle East, Egypt is also one of the most famous locations in the world. I would bet there are not many people who aren’t familiar with the terms “pharaoh” or “sphinx.” Egypt embraces its ancient history steeped in rich civilizations, the results of which take the form of magnificent architecture that still stands despite thousands of years under the harsh North African sun. But contemporary Egypt is a much different place. The stepping stone for the Muslim invasion of North Africa in the seventh century, Egypt’s pharaonic culture of old has been replaced by an Arab, mainly Islamic one. Withstanding colonialism and other invasions, it would be safe to say that most Egyptians today identify with the greater Arab society, as was showcased in the Arab socialism movements in the 1960′s and 1970′s. But with the assassination of Egyptian President Anwar Al-Sadat in 1981, Egypt was ushered into an era of “emergency rule” under the regime of President Hosni Mubarak, who still holds office today. I would argue that with the fall of Arab socialism, Egypt’s more open society was replaced by one very much repressed by its own government. From Islamists like the Muslim Brotherhood to pro-democratic reformers, the current Egyptian administration’s strict rule of law has impeded social progress in many arenas, especially that of Egyptian homosexuals.

“Sadj” is the colloquial Arabic word for “gay” in most countries of the Middle East. While a more appropriate adjective “mithli” (“like me, similar, same-(sex)”) has found its way into the elite academic vernacular of contemporary Arab society, “sadj” is the term I heard most during my travels in the Middle East. Meaning, roughly, “peculiar” or “strange,” sadj is the easy way to classify a homosexual in the Arab world. The concept of homosexuality, of intimate and romantic same-sex relations, is still so taboo, that there is no need to delve farther than that one word. Forget butch or fem or any other adjectives you’ve come to appreciate as descriptive markers in Western gay society: sadj pretty much covers all the bases. More a result of culture than of religion (but now, unfortunately, reinforced by the three dominant monotheistic religions of the region), homosexuality in the Middle East nowadays is something people don’t particularly care to talk about. In some more progressive parts of the region, people understand and recognize that these “sadjeeyeen” exist, but there is no need to discuss them. Morocco is one of these places.

If you juxtapose Morocco against many other countries in the Arab world, such as Sudan or Iraq, the sliver of North Africa looks likes a calm oasis for Middle Eastern gays and lesbians. While sporadic acts of violence against homosexuals is definitely a threat, they pale in comparison to the recent violence that has flared in post-invasion Iraq. And while many Moroccans are just as torn on the issue as most Arabs across the Middle East, Morocco tends to be a more lenient society overall than other North African countries. Morocco itself is a patchwork of cultures and languages, ranging from Berber to Spanish, Portuguese to Arab, and French to Senegalese and sub-saharan African. Most Moroccans are descendants of the Berbers, the original inhabitants of the the “maghreb” region of North Africa, including the current Moroccan ruler, King Mohammed VI. Throw in there a mix of all the ethnicities listed above and you have a country steeped in cultural diversity and plurality. In my opinion, this kind of melting pot of cultures, minorities, languages, and religions is the ideal environment for the acceptance of homosexuals. Look at the United States or Britain: two countries with relatively accepting social policies with historically large immigrant populations. Currently Morocco has the potential to reach the level of acceptance needed for an open society that embraces homosexuals, but with the rising threat of Islamic fundamentalism and extremism, as well as a cultural revival aiming to bring Morocco back to the seventh century and the time of the Prophet Muhammad, homosexuals (at least Moroccan homosexuals) continue to be looked at, thankfully in a mostly nonviolent manner, as taboo: as “sadj.”

The Middle East gets a really bad wrap. A product of backwards colonial policies and a general ignorance on the part of many people in the world, most associate this region with wars, terrorists, conservative fundamentalists, Muslim extremists, and close-minded societies. Some people only know the area for its connections with the two Gulf wars and the War on Terror in Afghanistan (which is not even actually part of the Middle East). To many Americans, the Middle East and North Africa region are characterized by oppressed women in veils, turbaned and bearded jihadist fighters sitting in caves plotting world domination and destruction, and, in general, societies that despise Western civilization and America in particular. This romantization of the “Evil Arab/Muslim” has reached a height of such massive naivete that there are now movements out there to quell this spreading unintelligence, especially in America. These have taken the form of various films, documentaries, and books such as Reel Bad Arabs by Jack Shaheen and various publications by Edward Said. Simply browsing through these works, it is astounding to see how negative stereotypes of Arabs and the Middle East have been hammered into our minds. From Disney characters to basic education surrounding current events in the Middle East, America’s perspective on the region, via the media and popular culture, has been cast in shadow, suspicion, and fear. Most Americans can’t find Iraq on a map and many have either never heard of Palestine or think it is a legitimate part of Israel. This callowness is disgraceful and exceptionally embarrassing. For a country that claims to be at the pinnacle of education in the world, this is unacceptable.

While I spent almost four of my most formative years in this Appalachian urban wonderland, I can’t help but feel, after being separated from Pittsburgh for almost two years now, a distinct separation from my former home. Since I moved to DC, I’ve tended to think of myself as a Yinzer,uprooted by way of graduation from university and re-planted back in Washington, DC. I tried to immerse myself in my new community as much as possible, but my heart still soared if someone offered me a can of Iron City beer or if I stumbled across pierogies or a bright yellow terrible towel. I would daydream of strolling through the markets in the Stip District on a blustery November Saturday, steaming coffee in hand, as winter made it’s early debut in the Allegheny Mountains. I’d think back to riding my bike up and down the steep hills that make up the city of Pittsburgh or, as some call it, the San Francisco of the East. Six hours, at least, by car to most of the East Coasts major cities, contemporary Pittsburgh evolved into it’s own being isolated from the outside world. Even a trip to Philadelphia, located in the same state, but several hours by car, was a hefty trip. Through this gritty isolation Pittsburgh, along with its gay scene, grew into something completely different than any other in the region. Not quite mid west, but miles from the East Coast, Pittsburgh is the awkward in-between and it was in this mountainous grey region I thrived. Despite a hard first year in college, I quickly found myself falling in love with Pittsburgh and fast.

A couple weekends ago I, and all others in the Northern hemisphere, woke up to the deathly heat of the depths of summer. Hailing from the the Northeast, summers had a tendency to get pretty damn hot, but because my childhood neighborhood consisted of fairly new, insulated, suburban, stately baby-boomer brick homes with fenced in swimming pools, summer could easily be avoided by cranking up the A/C, sneaking into Dad’s secret beer stash, and waiting out until October. Summer starts out with the best of intentions: warm, usually sunny weather invites us to leave the confines of our homes in which we’ve spent the past several months to spend time outdoors, whether that be a run through a park, a vacation to the beach, or simply a nice glass of iced tea on the stoop of one’s apartment building. Much like its cold, snowy cousin, summer means well, but almost two months in, I think it’s safe to say summer is starting to overdo it. As temperatures rise into the high nineties and the humidity of our swampy home settles like a suffocating blanket over the city, I’m beginning to think that August, while given the hard job as the last month of summer, is becoming increasingly less sexy.

I can’t stop staring at this guy’s hair. It is incredibly gelled. Massively so. I adjust my drink and attempt a sip as I trace hisI can’t stop staring at this guy’s hair. It is incredibly gelled. Massively so. I adjust my drink and attempt a sip as I trace his shiny barbershop masterpiece up and around the crest of the greasy wave, frozen into place with expensive beauty products. Marveling at the engineering of it all, I am slightly saddened by the fact that this wave of hair will never crash, as if the moon had been plucked from the sky and gravity frozen in this godforsaken, dark, Washington gay bar. He is going on about his life as a manager at a trendy chain clothing store and I’m still staring at his hair, awaiting the impending crash as his riptide smalltalk tugs me violently into this encounter. I can’t help but feel that this whole situation is unnatural and somehow wrong. What am I getting out of this and will that wave of glittering scalp fur ever crash? Suddenly, the music stops, a bell rings, and he juts his hand in my direction. “That was fun,” he smiles and immediately starts eying the Next-In-Line, despite still shaking hands with me. Even his hair seems predatory. I smile awkwardly, still not knowing what really to say to all of this, and realize that I’m at a loss as to how to initiate a goodbye that, five minutes ago, was only a shy greeting. I stand and move down the line as the guy behind me takes my old seat. I can hear Riptide dragging another helpless, unsuspecting soul into a fresh, new conversation. If you are wondering what the hell is going on, I’ll let you know that this is me, on my own, in a new city, speed dating. shiny barbershop masterpiece up and around the crest of the greasy wave, frozen into place with expensive beauty products. Marveling at the engineering of it all, I am slightly saddened by the fact that this wave of hair will never crash, as if the moon had been plucked from the sky and gravity frozen in this godforsaken, dark, Washington gay bar. He is going on about his life as a manager at a trendy chain clothing store and I’m still staring at his hair, awaiting the impending crash as his riptide smalltalk tugs me violently into this encounter.  I can’t help but feel that this whole situation is unnatural and somehow wrong. What am I getting out of this and will that wave of glittering scalp fur ever crash? Suddenly, the music stops, a bell rings, and he juts his hand in my direction. “That was fun,” he smiles and immediately starts eying the Next-In-Line, despite still shaking hands with me. Even his hair seems predatory. I smile awkwardly, still not knowing what really to say to all of this, and realize that I’m at a loss as to how to initiate a goodbye that, five minutes ago, was only a shy greeting. I stand and move down the line as the guy behind me takes my old seat. I can hear Riptide dragging another helpless, unsuspecting soul into a fresh, new conversation. If you are wondering what the hell is going on, I’ll let you know that this is me, on my own, in a new city, speed dating.