The Order of Nature

by Josh Scheinert

  “Good!” Mr. Jalloh proclaimed as he took his arm off Andrew and turned to face him. “And you must tell them how passionately our president spoke. About his commitment to building this free society.”

  Andrew must have looked startled, or puzzled, and failed to immediately react and assure Mr. Jalloh he would do just that. Mr. Jalloh sensed his apprehension.

  “Don’t be embarrassed because you are American. He wasn’t speaking out against America. We love America here. But sometimes the country goes too far in trying to control everybody, and make everybody copy its customs.” There was a pause before he continued. “Like with the gays.”

  Andrew still didn’t react. He was nervous to even open his mouth. Afraid of what might come out.

  “I know you don’t like to hear it. You are too polite, Andrew. But even you must see how the president is right that they have no place here. This is not part of our culture. And America shouldn’t make us try and give respect to such people. It’s not in our nature.”

  It was not anger or fear, but disappointment and an overbearing sense of loneliness that was making it harder and harder for Andrew not to break down. He really liked Mr. Jalloh. In their many months together, Andrew grew to appreciate him. He personified a work ethic and commitment that had the potential to be a tipping point for the country. There was an apathy Andrew sensed among many working Gambians: they knew the lots were stacked against them so they did the bare minimum, took their pay, and went home to live quiet lives. It was easiest that way and he did not judge them for their begrudgingness. Invariably, pushing the envelope would have meant rubbing up against a government that cared more about preserving its own interests and entrenching its own power than advancing the interests and empowerment of others.

  But Mr. Jalloh was different. Sure, he spent most of his time frustrated and exasperated, but he didn’t give up. He kept pushing – students, teachers, and administrators. He wanted everyone to excel. Education, he would say, is the only path forward. And because Andrew adopted the same persistence as Mr. Jalloh – coming early and staying late to help his students, going above and beyond the basic lesson plans – he always took his side in disputes with students or other teachers. Just look at the energy and creativity he has, Andrew once overheard Mr. Jalloh saying to another teacher in response to that teacher’s suggestion that Andrew might follow ministry lesson planning more closely. It was a suggestion Mr. Jalloh dismissed and later confided in Andrew he believed was motivated by resentment.

  Besides his work ethic, Mr. Jalloh was kind. Though he never invited him back to his house, he often brought Andrew food prepared by one of his wives. Especially for you. He always made him try it in front of him. Isn’t it delicious?! I will tell them to make you more. Sure enough, the next day, he always brought him more.

  Not that he ever needed to, but if Andrew found himself in trouble or a misunderstanding, he knew Mr. Jalloh would be the first person to call.

  So there he was. Standing under the canopy in the VIP section of the Roots Festival, celebrating the triumph of freedom, listening to one of the people he admired most in the country say that Andrew was a person unworthy of dignity.

  “Andrew!” he exclaimed. He took his right arm and jovially smacked it against Andrew’s left shoulder. “Enough of that for now. Today is for celebrating! Who are you here with? Where are your friends?”

  Andrew saw Alex up ahead and pointed in that direction. “Over there,” he said, his voice getting caught as he spoke, his throat still tight from listening to Mr. Jalloh speak.

  “Very nice. I am going to speak to Pastor Gomez over there. Have you met him?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. He is one of the most popular preachers in the country. Do you want to meet him now?”

  “It’s okay, thanks. I should get back to my friends.”

  “Of course. So I shall see you tomorrow at school.” He said with a big smile, reaching back, this time more gently, towards Andrew’s left arm and shoulder. “I’m glad you were here.”

  “Me too.”

  And with that Mr. Jalloh took off into the crowd leaving Andrew alone.

  Before Andrew could take his first step, someone stepped in front of him with a wide smile.

  “Andrew!”

  Suleiman walked right up and hugged him, holding him tight and close in a genuine embrace. They had met a few times since he visited Andrew’s house. Thomas wanted Suleiman and Andrew to become friends and spend more time together. So he arranged for Suleiman to come by the bar on a number of Friday evenings.

  “It is good to see you here,” he said. “This is an important event in the Gambian calendar. Did you see the parade?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you find it impressive?”

  “I did,” he answered, trying to muster enough enthusiasm to sound convinced.

  “You heard the president speak, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Suleiman sighed before looking around quickly. “I know it’s hard, but try not to pay too much attention to it. It’s merely talk; he wants to boost his popularity. Don’t take it personally.” Suleiman had never shared his concerns about the relationship with Andrew. Transparency was reserved for when he was alone with Thomas. Not knowing him all that well, he didn’t think it was his place. Instead, he tried to be reassuring. And there was something reassuringly gentle in how Suleiman spoke. His big eyes heightened whatever emotion or point he was trying to convey. “You will be all right. Both of you.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, trying to believe it. “I hope.”

  “Where are your friends? Are you here with Alex?”

  Andrew pointed to where they were.

  “Great. Let me say hi. Let’s go enjoy the rest of the afternoon.”

  They walked over to where Alex and Liv were talking to Liv’s colleagues. Suleiman joined the group, introduced himself to those he didn’t know, and fit right into the conversation. Someone was telling a funny story about their workplace. They all laughed.

  15

  Thomas was over watching a movie with Andrew and Alex. Over time he started feeling more comfortable at their house. It helped normalize their relationship – sitting up against one another on a couch watching movies, talking without checking over their shoulders and lowering their voices if someone passed them by. It provided them a new normal. They’d cook together too. Thomas showed Andrew the few things he remembered from watching his mother as a child, and together they tried their best at making yassa and domoda. Thomas was frustrated he could never get it to taste like his mother’s, but it impressed Andrew nonetheless. Spending time together like any other couple allowed them to connect in ways they couldn’t before. Rushing to the stove to take the lid off an overflowing pot. Laughing after one of them slurped up spaghetti, sending sauce all over his shirt. Or being comfortable in front of one another during life’s mundane routines, like getting dressed and putting away clothes.

  It was always dark, or at least getting dark, by the time Thomas arrived, so there was never much concern of him being spotted. Isatou never came around after dark and Andrew always checked to make sure no one was within sight of the compound before Thomas appeared. If he stayed late at night, he hopped the gate when leaving to avoid its creaking when it was pushed open.

  There had even been a few Saturday nights when Thomas slept over. The first time it happened was by accident. They were lying on Andrew’s bed when they fell asleep. The next day Thomas woke up early before the sun had fully risen. He grew nervous and tense once he realized what had happened, having missed his chance at escape. But then he looked over and saw Andrew sleeping peacefully, his still face dimly lit by the light starting to piece through the curtains, and his chest rising rhythmically with each breath. A calm overtook Thomas in that moment. It was impossible to think there might be something not okay, that that wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Thomas lay back down, nestling his head between Andrew’s arm and chest, and fel
l back asleep.

  On those Sunday mornings, which Thomas previously reserved for a weekly run along the beach, he and Andrew would laze around before making their way to join the group. Even though the streets on Sundays were generally quiet, leaving the compound in daylight was trickier. Andrew had to go out first to make sure the area was clear before Thomas slipped quickly out from the gate, walking towards the main road along the path like he’d always been there. He’d then walk to where he parked his bike, an isolated area close by. Even from there, Thomas never went straight to the beach. He always biked home first and put on his football outfit, conveniently allowing ‘enough’ time to elapse between when Andrew and Alex arrived and when he did. Eventually Thomas allowed himself to be persuaded to leave at least a pair of sport clothes in Andrew’s room so he didn’t waste time going home. They’d still arrive separately, but wouldn’t it be easier this way?

  “You don’t think people might start noticing things?”

  “What? That we have gone from arriving an hour apart to twenty or thirty minutes apart? No. I do not think people notice these things.” And so Thomas, under the guise of his day off, started to spend more of his Sundays at the beach.

  Alex got a text message just as they settled in to watch their movie that Sunday evening.

  “Liv’s coming over. She sounds pissed.”

  “Why?” Andrew asked.

  “I dunno. She was at some thing her work colleagues invited her to. That’s why she didn’t play soccer today.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Liv burst into the living room letting her purse forcefully plop down onto the table. Her face was distressed. Alex was slow to pause the movie and Liv seized on that, standing deliberately right next to the television, staring at him, looking impatient and aggravated.

  “Not a good event?” Alex asked with a smile, pausing the movie. He wasn’t trying to be insensitive, but so many mass gatherings they’d both attended had been laborious – stuffy, non-air-conditioned halls, long winded speeches, mostly self-congratulatory, and short on concrete action. They were events that invited daydreaming while time seemed to go slower.

  “No. It was not a good event,” she answered affirmatively. She quickly looked over at Andrew and Thomas before turning her gaze back to Alex. “In fact it was very upsetting.”

  Liv worked with a women’s cooperative that received microfinance loans to manufacture beauty products. She was a proud and militant feminist and believed her small efforts were part of a larger movement that could slowly undo Gambian patriarchy. She easily befriended most of her coworkers. They always invited her to their houses to meet their families.

  Earlier in the week, a few of the women she worked with invited her to attend an interfaith dialogue event promoting tolerance and inclusiveness within Gambian society. The co-op was made of Muslim and Christian women and coworkers of both religions were going. She was happy to be invited – always impressed by the authenticity of religious coexistence in the country and the role women played in keeping it that way.

  She met her colleagues at an Islamic center and mosque near the Serrekunda market, a bustling, if rougher area of town, where the streets were narrower on account of shops and shoppers spilling into them. The meeting was a cross-section of Gambian society made up of women and men and young and old. There were probably two hundred people present.

  “It was fine for the beginning. What you’d expect at such a gathering. How the country is a model of religious and cultural understanding. All the different speakers thanking all the groups in attendance for being so committed to pluralism, blah blah, blah. You know how it is.”

  “We like to talk,” injected Thomas jokingly but also a bit defensively. “But we are also much more patient listeners than people from the West.”

  “No, it’s not that,” Liv clarified. “That’s true I mean, but that wasn’t the problem today.”

  She continued to explain how after the first hour or so of speakers, the Imam of the host center got up to introduce a special guest, a Christian pastor in the country who started a new organization and was undertaking, in his words, a holy mission. The Imam said he hoped the whole community would come together to support the work of the pastor; it should be a joint effort between the country’s Muslim and Christian groups.

  By this point, no one in the small living room had any doubt as to where Liv was going with this. A lump was forming in Thomas’s throat. He grew nervous for what Liv was about to say. Not because it made him uncomfortable – this was no surprise to him. It was Andrew. He wished he could shield and protect him from this side of his country. The Roots Festival should have been enough. He saw from Alex’s expression that he also felt bad for Andrew. Someone who arrived with such innocence was so clearly losing it.

  Liv went on to describe how a portly man of unimpressive proportions approached the stage. He wore an ill-fitting suit jacket that fell off his shoulders. It was either charcoal, or black and dusty. She couldn’t tell. His tie was too short. He walked on stage clumsily and without coordination, while in his hand he clutched a crumpled mass of papers. When he looked up, however, she saw his face was very clear and distinguished. It revealed the type of contrast that made Liv do a double take to confirm that the head and body were connected to the same person. He was completely bald. The complexion of his dark skin made his cleanly-shaven face look soft and well cared for. He had a chin that was deliberately pointy, as if in protest of his round face. Inquisitive eyes peered out from behind circular glasses perfectly perched on his short nose. He had the aura of being part of the intelligentsia. His bottom lip curled downward, an accessory to a slightly open mouth permanently poised, ready to speak. “His name is Pastor Gomez.”

  He was from Gambia but spent the past many years abroad. Liv didn’t remember all the details, but he studied and was trained with a Pan-African Evangelical Christian group. “I think they said he studied in Kenya? He worked in Uganda before returning to Gambia a few months ago.”

  As she started speaking, Thomas saw Andrew’s face turn quizzical.

  “Wait, I know that name,” he interjected. “Jalloh introduced me to him at the parade. Jalloh knows him!”

  “Well,” Liv continued, “since returning from wherever, he started an organization called Pure Gambia. Its sole mission is to promote ‘pure’ Gambian values and Gambian families. He says the greatest threat to Gambia’s future is that it will be undermined by a sinful and hedonistic valueless society, at the root of which he says is homosexuality and a homosexual takeover of Gambian morality.” Turning to Thomas she added, mixing discomfort with disbelief, “He spoke with such conviction. It was frightening.”

  “Everyone hung on to his every word and intently followed the rise and fall of his cadence as he spoke. He was lyrical in his defense of the traditional family and how it must not fall ‘to the homosexual agenda’. He pointed out that gay rights groups are becoming more common across Africa, and that South Africa’s constitution guarantees equality for gays.”

  “’This,’ he said, ‘threatened the family structure throughout Africa,’” she reported to them. “He’s using his organization to try and stop that from happening here.”

  “The family is the only structure that survived from the time of creation,” Pastor Gomez told the crowd. “Kingdoms have fallen and kings have been slain. Great nations and civilizations have come and gone, their great creations and buildings leveled. But all through history, one thing has remained constant – no matter who rules and what great monuments are created, men and women have ultimately organized themselves around the family.”

  Growing bigger and bigger as he spoke, as if finally filling into his suit, Pastor Gomez pronounced that “today, for the first time in human history, the family is under attack. Our Bible, your Koran, is under attack. Homosexuals are being sent to infiltrate and destroy our families, and they will rot the foundation of what makes our Gambian and African societies great. No longer will we be a great nation of Af
rican Muslims and Christians. We will be a depraved nation, of no families, no faith, no freedom to be ourselves any longer. We will have all been perverted.”

  “And what was amazing,” Liv exclaimed, a little too loud for the small living room, “was how no one seemed to disagree with him. Everyone’s expression was the same – staring out to him with anticipation and agreement, wanting to take in more and more, as if he couldn’t spew it out fast enough. Looking around, you’d think they were all raptured or something, that they were being programmed like robots to be sent out on a mission.”

  As Liv continued speaking and retelling the pastor’s remarks, Thomas tuned out and found himself transported back to his village, into the church pews. He had seen the expressions she described – they were real. He didn’t need her description of Pastor Gomez to picture the man she spoke of. The people in the crowd too were familiar. They were his parents and siblings. Neighbors and teachers.

  “His goal now is to create a coalition of churches and mosques throughout the country to raise awareness about the dangers posed by what he called ‘the homosexual agenda’.”

  Sitting on the couch and listening to Liv speak, Thomas realized he and Andrew were no longer holding hands. At some point they’d subconsciously come apart as each of them sat still and listened. Their faces were stoic, the worries and discomfort being unearthed within them stayed hidden.

  “When Gomez finally finished, the Imam got back on stage with him and said how appreciative they were for his efforts. They stood ready to do everything they could to support him. He went on to thank the president, and said how everyone should appreciate that this was a country where the president understands the importance of this issue, and the danger posed by this ‘evil’. He encouraged everyone in the crowd to speak to their imams or pastors about the work Pure Gambia was doing and to participate however they could. On the way out some of the volunteers were distributing pamphlets that were so vile and horrible in their descriptions I couldn’t even take one.”