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It took me several days to locate the AIDS Prevention Center – literally, in Arabic, “The Center for the Combating of AIDS.” I was given the name of its neighborhood, but not the street or address, and I received only funny looks whenever I tried to ask for directions. When I finally found the building, the Center was closed. It was a Wednesday. I returned the next day, to find the doors again firmly locked. Finally, on Friday, my patience ran out and I stood outside until a policeman asked me what I was doing. “Of course it’s closed,” he told me. “It’s Friday.”
I was admitted to the AIDS Prevention Center on Sunday, to be told that the test could not be conducted until I brought two wallet-sized photos of myself. In Syria, where computerized records have not yet made it into all levels of bureaucracy, photographs are often used to confirm identity.
I eventually found someone who agreed to take the shots immediately and have the prints ready for the next day. However, in what was either an unfortunate miscommunication or an odd prank, the photographer seemed firmly under the impression that I was on the verge of getting married, and he therefore insisted on placing me in front of a rainbow-patterned screen. As a result, I was put in the uncomfortable position of walking into the Syrian-government run AIDS Prevention Center with what looked entirely like a gay wedding photograph.
In the end, no one made fun of my photograph, nor did I end up infected by the needle of dubious origin. However, the entire AIDS testing experience proved enlightening about the approach that Syria takes toward public health in general, and AIDS prevention in particular.
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