“I’m sorry,” offered Liv, looking longingly at both of them. “I didn’t mean to upset you like this...”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” interrupted Thomas. “It’s important to remember that our world is not equal outside this house. Especially when left to our religions and politicians.”
As they all nodded, Thomas looked at Andrew. “Like the teachers at your school, who except for how they think on this issue are so nice.”
“Exactly,” he said. “And what about your colleagues?” Andrew asked Liv. “You always talk about them being so forward thinking. What was their reaction?”
“They agreed! The work Pastor Gomez is doing is extremely important they said. One of them told me we needed to do a better job at keeping our homosexuals away. It was horribly upsetting for me to hear them speak that way. They could tell I didn’t agree, but I knew it wasn’t the right time to confront them about it.”
An uncomfortable silence followed.
“There was one more thing though,” she said hesitantly. “Isatou was there.”
“Our Isatou?” asked Alex.
“Yes. I’m almost positive she didn’t see me. We arrived a little late and were at the back. She was closer to the front. But she was there. I don’t know who she was with. It wasn’t Awa or her other daughters.”
Thomas grew visibly concerned. This wasn’t a real reason to fear Isatou, but it meant he and Andrew weren’t as protected as they may have thought. Looking at Andrew, he saw that he came to the same conclusion. His eyebrows raised slightly and his lips started to quiver as he tried his best not to reveal whatever was racing through his head. When he started shaking his leg restlessly, he tried to hold it down with his hand.
“Don’t worry about her being there,” Alex offered calmly. “It really makes no difference. She doesn’t know anything and isn’t going to. And her being there means nothing anyway. It was an event about religious tolerance. She’s not signing up to be an informer, part of some neighborhood watch group.” He reminded Andrew that sometimes she and her daughters cooked for their local mosque and probably heard about it that way.
“Right,” said Andrew, trying to convince himself. “Right.”
They didn’t go back to the movie. Liv made tea and they spent some more time talking before each couple retired to their respective bedroom where Liv admitted to Alex that she was worried about Andrew.
“He may be in over his head.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember when he arrived? How he was quiet and timid.”
“You called him lumpish,” he reminded her.
“Yes. Lumpish Andrew.”
“You think he’ll go back to being that way.”
“No,” Liv answered. She wasn’t worried he’d revert to his old self. It wasn’t that. “It’s that I don’t think he’s strong enough to carry on in this relationship as things keep heating up all around him.”
“He’s so happy though. You’d never know he used to be so quiet. And he really, really likes him. It’s nice to see. Whenever we talk about it his face lights up. And when they’re both here it’s pretty amazing how natural they are together. I wouldn’t have expected them to be as good together as they seem.”
“Yes,” she clarified. “I’m not ignoring that. And I can see it too. But don’t you think he’s riding this wave, and he’s so caught up in the thrill of it he can’t bring himself to stop, even though he knows it’s dangerous? I mean, think of it,” she continued, “he’s so completely focused on Thomas that he can’t see what’s happening all around him.”
“Well then, you certainly gave him a shock tonight.”
“Right, but he can’t handle shocks,” she contended. “He’s not programmed to be able to deal with them. And I’m nervous that at some point he’s going to realize he’s not in fact invisible or invincible, and when that realization arrives, he’s going to panic and won’t know what to do.”
“They’re really careful, Liv,” Alex shot back. “We’ve seen how careful they are. I don’t think they’ve ever done something I would’ve said not to. I know you worry about the whole thing more than I do. That’s good though. Someone should worry.”
“You don’t see them when they’re out alone together on the beach. We don’t know what goes on.”
Alex was both confused and put off by his girlfriend’s insistence. “Sometimes I don’t think you give them enough credit.”
“And I think you give them too much credit. Did you ever have that talk with him you said you’d have, about being careful and making sure he knows what he’s gotten into?”
“Yes, and it was awkward, exactly like I told you it would be. They’re careful, and Andrew’s happy. That’s gotta matter!”
“It does, but you didn’t see what I saw today. It’s completely fucked up, Alex! If something happens, no one will come to his rescue. Or Thomas’s.”
His girlfriend’s attempt at reason frustrated him. “It’s not fair, Liv. They probably love each other. You want them to stop?”
“No one said this was fair.”
The mood in Andrew’s room was sad and serious. Andrew sat on the bed up against the wall, Thomas resting against him between his legs.
“Do you get used to it?” he asked Thomas. “I mean does it always sting just as much?”
“It stings more with time,” he answered without taking a moment to think before he spoke. “As I grow up and can process it more, understand more and more what it all means, about how my own home sees me. It hurts much more. It drives you mad that this is the world you belong to. And you think you’ve pushed it away and are coping and then things like this happen, or you hear someone say something. I’ve realized I can’t escape it.”
“So why do you stay here?”
“Where should I go?”
Andrew had no answer. He hadn’t thought about that before he asked the question and immediately felt guilty and regretted it. He forgot not everyone shared his luxury of being able to uproot oneself in the search for greater comfort and acceptance.
“A few months ago Suleiman came to see me. You and I had already met,” Thomas said as he sat up and around to face Andrew, “but I can’t remember how far along we were. He said to me he was worried things might be getting worse. But because of you I didn’t want to listen to it. I didn’t want to think there was something that might get in the way of us. And then he said something how maybe I should look to leave, and go someplace else.”
“What did you say to him?” Andrew asked.
“That there was nowhere for me to go.”
Andrew didn’t respond.
“This is home. And even though it’s so terrible, it’s still not something that’s easy to walk away from. I still want to believe there is goodness here, even if this may be foolish.”
“Do you think there is?”
“I don’t know. Now it’s getting more difficult to think so. But I don’t think I can give up on it. At least not yet.”
16
Thomas woke up especially early with a sinking feeling. He was spending his Sunday morning with his brother and father, who were skipping out on church to organize new inventory at one of the warehouses Sheriff ran in Banjul. At first, Thomas tried to refuse, thanking Sheriff for the call and for wanting to help him out and involve him in his business. But, as I said, I am happy working in tourism. When his father intervened, grabbing Sheriff’s phone, he pointed out how the work was being done on a Sunday, Thomas’s day off.
“You will not have to miss work. It is only one morning to come and learn a bit about what your brother does. How can you say you want no part of something if you have never given it a chance? I will be with him. I hope you will join us,” his father said, leaving him little choice in the matter.
“Fine, Father. I will join you.”
Stepping off the minibus in Banjul, Thomas found himself in nearly-deserted streets he only barely knew. Low-rise buildings of worn concrete, pai
nt faded or chipping off, and shuttered doors or garages were plastered with torn APRC posters lauding the president as the country’s “Shining Light” and “Savior”. Abandoned wooden carts cluttered the sidewalk outside the Albert Market. Dogs, worn down by the heat, and probably hungry, lay still in packs on the roadside. In the morning’s emptiness, the paucity of activity in Banjul revealed the many cracks in its unkempt skeleton. The president’s smiling face and the messages of propaganda looked all the more pathetic to Thomas. There was no light, no savior. Only empty promises, long-receded false hope. The city, like its residents, suffered at the hands of neglect.
Walking down the empty lane, narrow enough to keep out the light, Thomas could hear the commotion – metal tools hitting concrete, heavy boxes being dragged, tearing off tape. Nearing the open door, he could make out Sheriff firing off instructions.
“Move that one over there. Next to the spark plugs. Yes, yes. No. Here, I will help.”
When he turned towards the inside he saw a mess of a room. The crowded concrete floor was littered with open boxes, packing paper spilling out, and closed boxes clumsily stacked waiting to fall over. Tools and auto parts, Thomas had no idea what any of them were, hung along the walls protruding out in a jumble of shapes and sizes. Light bulbs hung from the ceiling on wires. His father was unloading contents from a box onto a shelf. He was wearing what he always wore when he worked on motorcycles in the village – grease-stained brown trousers that were too big on him, his black belt, a short-sleeve white shirt, and sandals. Thomas could only see Sheriff’s back, but saw he was smartly dressed. His clothing, with oversized prints and buckles, was what younger, more modern Gambians wore. Thomas saw he was holding a clipboard.
“Hello?” he offered, stepping cautiously into the shop.
“Aha! Brother, it is wonderful you have joined us!” Sheriff smiled broadly at him. It was welcoming and mischievous at the same time.
John also turned and smiled at him. His, there was no mistaking, was genuine. He wanted his son to feel comfortable and a part of Sheriff’s business; it was something they could all bond over. “Why don’t you come and help me with this. We need to empty these boxes of different parts. After we need to put some of them together. I will show you how.”
Thomas and his father worked mostly in silence, with John showing Thomas what needed to be done – how to stack the parts and then how to assemble them. John was always a patient teacher. In the village he rarely got frustrated when Thomas or his brothers made mistakes or had trouble following. He displayed that same patience again as Thomas, clearly out of his element, fumbled with wrenches and screws.
“The nut,” his father said gently. “You forgot to put on a nut. That’s why it’s not fitting properly.” The softness of his father’s voice, the lack of judgment in his expression, helped put Thomas at ease.
“Right. Thank you.”
Thomas’s phone dinged through the quiet. He took it out to see a text message from Andrew’s number. How’s it going? He put the phone back in his pocket without responding.
“Your friends are messaging you?” Sheriff’s voice rumbled across the room.
“Yes,” Thomas answered.
“That’s good. It is important to have good friends in life. In Banjul I have made many friends,” his brother boasted. “Good friends. We socialize often.”
“That is good.”
“What about you, Thomas? You have made good friends here? At your work? Ones you socialize with?”
“Yes, I have made a few friends. Not many, but I have made some.”
“Very nice.” There was a pause. He and Sheriff rarely carried on long or personal conversations. Just as Thomas turned away, Sheriff’s deep voice pierced through the silence. “And women too?” His tone became more seriously inquisitive. “There are many beautiful women in Banjul. Father and I see them every day going to and from work. Not like back home, where everyone is worn from working in the fields and on the river. Here the women are delicate. Beautiful and smooth skin. They dress well, put nice makeup on. The women in Banjul have been very kind to your brother, even if I have not found the one to make my wife.” He smiled like a braggart.
Even John chuckled. “I only ever knew your mother. But Sheriff tells me how times are different. How now there are more games to be played.”
“And games to be won,” Sheriff added. “And brother, I am winning at all the games.”
Why must he ruin everything, Thomas thought to himself. The day was turning out much better than he expected, but now the lump in his throat was forming, the sinking feeling in his stomach returning, his hands becoming clammy.
“What about you, brother? How have Banjul’s women been for you? I mean, at that fancy hotel you must be surrounded by beauties!”
When Thomas didn’t immediately answer, still trying to formulate his words, Sheriff filled the void.
“Are you hiding any from us? You should share and save some for your brother,” he laughed. Thomas felt disgusted and horrified. “Or have you not met any? It would be a pity if all this time here you have done nothing but work.”
Turning to his father, Thomas saw that he saw nothing wrong in his brother’s questions. His face bore the same curious look as Sheriff’s.
“I haven’t met anyone yet,” he answered. “Maybe I will.”
“Brother,” Sheriff’s voice grumbled, “this is not good. Do you want me to come to your hotel one day to show you how it is done, how you play a lady’s game? Or maybe you need to come with me and my friends one evening. We can introduce you to many fine women. Would you like that?”
“Maybe,” Thomas muttered, his heart pounding and mind racing.
“Maybe?!” his brother exclaimed. “That is not encouraging, Thomas. What’s wrong with you? You don’t want to have a wife?” Sheriff’s eyes were piercing as he stared directly at Thomas, as if he was looking into him, seeing past the façade. “Every Gambian man is supposed to take a wife. Why are you any different? Something is wrong with you?”
Thomas was so unnerved that he had trouble fully paying attention to Sheriff. His mind kept telling him to keep calm and not make any expressions that might give anything away. He heard his brother ask if he was different and struggled to decipher his tone. Was he asking a question or being suggestive?
“No,” Thomas said, his eyes breaking away from his brother, scanning the room around him, the foreign tools and parts hanging from the walls adding to the intimidation. “Of course I want to take a wife. I am young, though. I should work now to become successful first so I can properly support her.”
“But if you have no experience, or wait too long before you show any interest, the women will not want you. Worse, people will start to wonder maybe you are not interested in women. That would be the end for you, brother, to have people saying maybe he does not want women. Is that what you want people to start saying about you? About someone in our family?” Sheriff’s voice grew impatient.
“No, no. Never.” Thomas was terrified of his brother now. He had never so much as hinted at broaching the subject of homosexuality. No one in their home had. It was so far from people’s minds there was never any reason. That Sheriff now raised it stirred a new kind of fear in Thomas. Does he know? Does he suspect anything? He desperately wanted to be out of the shop, away from both of them, but he knew he couldn’t leave.
“Then it is settled. You can come out with my friends one evening so I can introduce you to the women of Banjul. If you don’t, I’ll come to you at the hotel and make sure you talk to some of the beautiful women you see there.”
“Okay,” he puffed emphatically, desperately hopeful it would end the conversation.
“I should come to the hotel?” Sheriff asked aggressively, clearly knowing what Thomas meant but seeking a more enthusiastic answer from his brother.
“No,” Thomas said, trying not to sound scared or exasperated, “I will come out with your friends one night.”
“Good
,” Sheriff answered, before turning back to his work.
Thomas too turned back, only to catch his father’s glance. “You are lucky to have a brother who watches out for you like this.”
He tried to smile just enough to appease his father.
After finishing work, the three of them were supposed to go back to Sheriff’s to have lunch with Grace, but Thomas couldn’t bear the thought of more time with his family. He imagined the four of them sitting around that small table, his mother invariably inquiring about their morning, what they did, what they spoke about. Surely, he thought to himself, either Sheriff or John would bring up Thomas and women and the whole conversation would happen again.
This time, however, there would be no stacked boxes to create artificial barriers between him and Sheriff, no tools in hand to distract their focus. They would all be sitting closely together, staring right at him, trapping him as they earnestly spoke about the importance of him quickly finding a wife. His mother would support Sheriff’s plan. It was a prospect he couldn’t endure. No, Thomas thought to himself, he couldn’t go back for lunch. There was still a sufficient amount of work to be done before then. He hoped it wouldn’t be obvious if after enough time elapsed he made up an excuse as to why he was going home. His father seemed to buy it. Sheriff, on the other hand, was suspicious.
“I hope I didn’t upset you before, brother.”
“No, you didn’t,” Thomas said, standing in the doorway, barely able to keep himself from breaking away.
“I am only looking out for your best interests.”
“I know you are, Sheriff. And I thank you for that.”
“As long as you know this.”
“I do.” With that, Thomas turned from his brother and walked speedily down the shaded alleyway until he emerged into the sunlight. The same discomforting streets of Banjul greeted him as they did in the morning. He made his way to where the minibuses departed, jumped into one half-full and sat, legs shaking impatiently, waiting for it to fill up so it could make the journey back home. It was then he remembered he hadn’t written Andrew back.
The Order of Nature Page 15
