In Middle-Eastern nations heterosexual men are free to touch others of the same sex on the street within traditional guidelines, as we see in this affectionate gesture recorded near downtown Cairo, Egypt. This might be father and son, or two brothers waiting together for traffic to clear. The visitor to this part of the world notices men of every age — and pairs of young women too (sisters, girlfriends) — holding hands while out walking together in urban and rural settings.

It is commonplace, until it happens to you, an American male resident of Egypt.

I experienced this myself with my old comrade: Ramadan, a black Muslim cab driver who dressed habitually in robes, father of ten children. After folding our arms and hands together as if we were romantic lovers, Ramadan escorted me several blocks on crowded streets through the Dokki District of Cairo. I never found out the reason he chose that moment to express his regard for me in this way.

Our walk produced a peculiar sensation all over my skin; an awkward self-consciousness ensued. I felt stripped of my clothes, exposed to public ridicule, exactly like an adolescent male feels when embarrassed in front of macho peers. The event provoked a response conditioned into my body at least sixty years ago; a way-too-extreme, out-of-context reaction in this Arab social universe where nobody took notice, because nobody cared.