Being gay and HIV+ in Taliban country

Islamabad-based Qasim Iqbal, a former Microsoft engineer, shares with The Mag his long and painful journey, from the day he first discovered he was HIV+, to his present life as a gay rights and Aids activist in Pakistan where he works under the fearful shadow of the violently homophobic Taliban.

I shouldn’t be smoking, I know. It’s dangerous as it is, but with my HIV+ status, the risks are worse. As an activist working for the rights of gays and HIV+ people, I travel a lot, and the schedule doesn’t leave me with much time to look after myself the way I’m supposed to. I do have my medicines regularly though. I’ve lived with HIV for almost 11 years now. And its not just HIV, I have full-blown AIDS.

I’m a Pakistani. And I know it’s probably easier to be gay and HIV+ in India. Indians, at least, don’t have a conservative and powerful (and armed) religious lobby to deal with. The Islamic culture in Pakistan makes it very difficult for people to accept homosexuality.

As for HIV, why, it’s considered ‘a disease of sin’. Both gay persons and HIV+ people have to remain in the closet.

I know I look much younger than I am, but I’m 38. I was born and brought up in the US. And it was in the US, ten years ago, in 1999, that I was diagnosed with the virus. It was a day that changed my life, forever.

LIFE-CHANGING DIAGNOSIS
I’d never really told my parents I was gay. I didn’t have to. I think they understood. My father even knew about my sexual promiscuity. It was he who insisted I take the test.

Those days, it took approximately five days to get the test result. But I already had a foreboding of what it would be. I can never forget those five agonising days of waiting. I wasn’t as nervous, as I’d resigned myself to the worst. But Abu [father] was a complete mess. At the time, my mother was on a holiday, visiting my grandfather in Pakistan. So Abu had no support… nothing to help him cope with the stress of waiting to find out whether his son will receive a death sentence or a reprieve. 

I lived at the time in a one-bedroom apartment in Dallas, 15 minutes from my parents’ home. I worked at Microsoft. Every one of those five days, I would get back from work to find Abu waiting at my front door. He would sleep on the couch in my living room. Almost every night, I’d wake up to find him lying on the floor near my bed, sobbing.

Finally, when Judgement Day arrived, I went to the clinic with Abu. I was immediately whisked into a room where a psychologist was waiting for me. She started out by giving me a lecture on HIV and the different ways one can contract the virus.

Then came a barrage of questions: Have I ever had a homosexual experience? Have I ever used intravenous drugs? Have I shared needles? Have I ever been in a relationship? Am I sexually active right now? Do I use condoms? Do I use water-based lubricants?

THE TASTE OF TEARS
Confused, wary and anxious, I answered her questions as best I could. Then she left the room, and returned 20 minutes later with another doctor. This second doctor held my hand and looked at me with sorrow and pity…at that moment, I knew. I didn’t cry. But I remember feeling the tears on my cheeks.

Abu was waiting outside. He looked at me intently, trying to read my expression. I told him the results weren’t in yet, and pretended it was the clinic’s fault. I dropped him at his place and went home.

Then I called a cousin who lived in Washington DC. I told her everything and asked her to tell Abu, since I didn’t have the courage to do it myself. After she broke the news to him over the phone, Abu came over. We talked. We decided not to tell my mother. We didn’t want to spoil her holiday in Pakistan. 

Three weeks later, as I stepped into my parents’ house, my mother hugged me. Abu had told her as soon as she returned from Pakistan. She hugged me tight… she was sobbing like a baby who had just lost her doll. I was their only child.

LIVING WITH AIDS
All I knew was that I would probably die within 2-3 years. But I accepted the idea
of death.

I look tired because of the medicines. I’m currently undergoing the second-line anti-retroviral treatment (ARV) for HIV/AIDS. In the beginning, it was hell. I had to deal with nausea, diarrhoea, dizziness and vomiting every single morning for about four months. The side effects of ARV were so bad I had to be hospitalised twice during that period.

As if the side-effects of ARV weren’t bad enough, I developed a serious case of Kaposi Sarcoma, an AIDS-related skin/blood cancer. I underwent two years of weekly chemotherapy and radiation therapy. Oncologists in Pakistan had little or no experience with this cancer, so I had to get my treatment from Bangkok, which cost about Rs1.7 lakh per week. Thankfully, my parents could afford the treatment. Without it, I would have died, as the cancer had spread to my kidneys, liver, stomach and lymph nodes.

Besides, to combat the side-effects from ARV medicines, I have to take several other medicines as well — about 24 tablets/capsules a day, every day. And these medicines, in turn, have their own side-effects. I throw up at least three times a day. But now I’m used to it.

I ENVY INDIANS
I’m actually jealous of Indians, what with the Delhi High Court’s decision making Section 377 unconstitutional. Realistically speaking, I don’t think I’ll get to see that happening in Pakistan in my lifetime.

In Pakistan, long-term homosexual relationships are almost unheard of, as most gay men know they will be forced to marry a girl. Homosexuality in Pakistan generally means one-night stands, making gay men highly vulnerable to HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases. I’m open about my HIV status. My experiences, I trust, will help others.

Living as I do in Pakistan, I really wish I could tell people I’m gay. I wish I could set an example. But I have no choice but to be extremely careful about publicly admitting that I am gay, especially to the media. I could very easily have a fatwa over my head. I know this because I have seen it happen to at least one brave and vocal transgender.

My HIV status, on the other hand, is public knowledge. After all, the ARV treatment is provided by the government. Unlike in India, where only the first-line treatment is free and available to all, Pakistan offers the second-line treatment also free of charge. 

NOT AS CONSERVATIVE
But come to think of it, Pakistan is not nearly as conservative a society as people make it out to be. Our country has the largest S&M (sadomasochism) factory in the world. But wild things happen behind closed doors. Alcohol, for instance, is illegal but can be delivered to your doorstep. We even have underground night clubs and wife-swapping clubs (membership only).

Being openly gay is tough, though. Under the Hudood Ordinance, the punishment for someone caught in a homosexual act is 10 years in prison, extendable to life imprisonment. You could also be stoned to death. So we have no gay bars. Gay men usually link up from social networking websites. The ones who do not have access to the internet or are not literate meet at certain public parks or through word of mouth.

We live in a culture where homosexuality is not accepted or even discussed. But in parts of Pakistan, it is normal for grown men to have young boys with them at all times. Their wives know what the boys are for, but choose to look the other way.