“Both. Because I’m a journalist I am able to come, but now that I’m here, I’m also your friend.”
“Then you have come to do me a favor?” he asked with sarcastic impatience.
“In a way,” he explained. He was granted ten minutes to ask questions for a story he was writing about the case. The police and government had at first refused, saying Thomas was under no obligation to answer any questions, but when Suleiman pressed them further and further and had his editor make some calls on his behalf, they relented, granted him access, and said he could try. “Because I don’t want to lie, I’m going to ask you a few questions. You don’t have to answer them. I will report how you maintained your right not to answer. But that’s not the real reason why I’m here.”
“So why did you come?” he asked. Thomas hated how the present forced him to wash over the past and all that Suleiman had done for him. He hated how easily he could be angry at someone who meant so much to him.
“I want you to consider changing your plea, to plead guilty. It’s the only way they might be lenient with your sentence and not give you the maximum of fourteen years.”
Thomas didn’t immediately respond.
“Do you really want to spend fourteen years in this place? Your life will be over.”
Thomas paused long enough for Suleiman’s eyes to widen with anticipation for his answer. Turning his gaze away before speaking, a calm returned to Thomas. He looked back at his friend.
“You don’t get it.”
“What don’t I get?”
“It’s already over,” he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“Life. Whatever I had of it. It’s finished. Walking down a street with the sun on my face and to feel at ease. To have a home. Laughing. Being together in bed with the person you love and feeling protected. The relief that comes from knowing you’re not alone, that life’s most important piece has found its place. All of that, Suleiman, it’s over. I’ll never have it back. Even if one day I am released, it will be gone. There was a time when I thought that life was about being alive, that breathing was living. Luckily, I was able to discover how I was mistaken, how there is so much more to being alive. But that part of life, for me, is over now.”
“Maybe there’s a chance that if you get free, one day you will be able to start over?” Suleiman suggested, delicately.
“Start over as what?” he asked him. “Look, maybe something might happen. But I don’t think so. Hope is important, but we must also be realistic mustn’t we?” Though he continued to whisper, Thomas’s voice became stronger. “Do you know what they say to me in here? The threats? The look on everyone’s faces as they watch me? It’s like they are wild animals waiting to pounce on their prey. And I never know when it will come, but I’m certain it will. Every night as I fall asleep. The guards. The other people in my cell. What they promise they’ll do to me after the trial? Do you know what they already did to me?” he said in an excited whisper leaning across the table as Suleiman’s face started to grow uncomfortable, registering what he thought Thomas meant. This shouldn’t have surprised Suleiman, given his job. But everything personal is always experienced differently.
“Do you know how I sleep? However many men there are in my cell, there is always one sleeping mat missing. I sleep in the corner, like a dead rat, curled up. Do you know what they throw at me? What buckets they dump on me? And do you know what it’s like to hear people laugh and cheer as this is done to you?
“I can show you the scars if you want to see them. Some scars though, you cannot see, they are in places you would not want to look.
“You don’t understand,” he said, regaining some calm. “The minute it was declared I was the homosexual, the one in love with the American boy, it was over for me. In here I’m nothing, not a man, not a human being. Maybe on the outside there was a place to hide, run away. But even that I doubt. And in here? That’s not possible.”
“What about the guards?”
“The guards?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “If they’re not participating, they watch from the outside. Even the supervisors. I have no one, Suleiman. It’s over. All I can hope for is that Andrew gets freed somehow, that the Americans can make enough pressure for him to be released.”
“Are you giving up too soon?” Suleiman asked hesitantly.
“No,” he answered confidently. “I didn’t give up too soon. If I did, I wouldn’t be here. Giving up in this country, for me, would mean not living. So I took a risk and got to live. I don’t know if it was worth it. I don’t know how you answer those questions. Maybe if I did I wouldn’t be here right now. All I can tell you, Suleiman, is that what I got from what I did, I would have never gotten if I did not do it. And for a time it was more magnificent than I had ever imagined life could be. What’s better? To live so you can be old, filled with regrets and bitterness, just to stay breathing? Maybe. No one can say. I chose one way. I refused to give up, and along the way discovered things I didn’t know were possible. And now this is my fate.”
When he sensed Suleiman was still incapable of speaking, that he had no real response to Thomas’s sober assessment, Thomas spoke again. This time his expression and tone softened. The distress on Suleiman’s face reminded him how much he did in fact mean to him. Thomas felt remorse for dismissing that. “You have been a good friend, Suleiman. Better than I could have ever asked for. Certainly better than I deserved. And it means a lot to see you here, trying to help. But seriously, there isn’t anything you can do for me now.”
Thomas could see Suleiman’s face and understood that it was now he who needed to offer consolation. “Do you remember when you told me one time that maybe in the future our world wouldn’t be so upside down?”
Suleiman nodded slightly at his friend.
“I remember it well. You had this look on your face that said to me you really hoped one day that would be the case, that his place will be less upside down. Well, it still is.” Suleiman forced a smile. “You are a man with many abilities, certainly more than me. You must do what you’re best at and write your articles to document the madness of this place, so one day people may grow so sick of reading it over and over, and they will wake up and demand change. And when that day comes, when this world is not so upside down, there will be evidence to pass judgment on the real criminals, the ones who have committed the real crimes. And if my story, and you writing articles about it, can maybe have a role in that, well that could be some satisfaction. Right?”
Suleiman tried to nod his head to show agreement but it refused to cooperate. His face was incapable of hiding his anguish.
With nothing left to say, Thomas shifted his tone. “Come, brother,” he continued, “ask me your questions.”
“It’s okay,” Suleiman said. “It’s okay.”
27
Expecting crowds and traffic on the first day of the trial, the police brought Thomas and Andrew to the courthouse early. As a result, and to their surprise, they were kept together in a small holding cell in the back of the building until the trial began. It was the first time since their arrest that they were left alone. Well, not completely alone – a security camera hanging from the ceiling pointing in their direction served as an ominous warning against doing anything that could be perceived as incriminating. Still, they were the only two people in the room.
“I miss you,” Andrew said, speaking to the ground.
“You too.”
“Are you better?”
“I’m okay. They need me to look handsome for the American media,” Thomas said, hinting a smile. “Has Maya brought you any news?” he asked. “What does she say is happening?”
“I haven’t heard from her in a while. She said they’re working on it. Whatever that means.”
“Are they optimistic?”
“I dunno.”
Thomas was looking right at Andrew, wanting to say something.
“What?” Andrew asked.
&n
bsp; “Nothing,” he answered, before continuing, “it’s nice to be alone with you.”
“This counts?”
“In a way,” Thomas shrugged.
There was a discernable difference in their temperaments and Thomas was trying to lift Andrew up.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew said, “I’m just...”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said. Their eyes met, making the frustration apparent. Andrew sighed before looking away.
“Are you mad?” Thomas asked.
“Mad? At who?”
“I don’t know. Anyone. Me?”
“Why would I be mad at you?”
“For getting you into this.”
Andrew looked back up at Thomas and saw the concern on his face. He wasn’t mad at Thomas. He was mad, furious in fact, at everything else, but not at Thomas. “You’re like the only thing I’m not mad at right now. And,” he added with a tiny smile, “don’t take all the credit for this.”
Thomas smiled back. “You have to promise me something,” he said, his face turning serious again.
“What?” Andrew asked quietly, nervously.
“That if Maya comes to you to take you out of here, you won’t think for half a second about it. That you’ll go with her as fast as you can back to the U.S. It doesn’t matter what. Sign whatever papers you have to sign. Say whatever you need to say about me. I don’t care,” he said, putting his hand out to stop Andrew from interrupting. It was clear he’d thought about this and needed to get it off his chest. “You can do so much more to help me from the outside. Even knowing that you’re safe back in America will give me comfort. You have to promise me that whatever it takes, you’ll do it and you’ll go.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“It’s not about fault or blame. I’m past that. In the beginning I blamed myself, but we all believe we’re protected from these things. I don’t think you and I behaved any differently than someone else would have. But that doesn’t erase the fact that we’re here now, and you could have a chance to get out. If you didn’t do that because of how you feel about me, it’s something I couldn’t deal with. I would blame myself for it, and I don’t want that to happen.”
“Okay,” said Andrew, uncomfortably and tersely, hoping to mollify him and move on to a new subject.
“Promise me,” Thomas insisted.
“I do,” Andrew said, widening his eyes as if to show he too was serious. “I promise. I’ll go,” he added, before turning to face the ground.
“Good,” he answered, keeping his gaze fixed on Andrew, waiting for him to lift his face back up. When Andrew didn’t, Thomas spoke again. “Andrew, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, speaking to the floor.
“I know that’s not true. You can tell me.”
There was a pause before Andrew raised his head. His expression was different. Before, he tried to be reassuring in an effort to appease Thomas. Now, his face was tired and forsaken. “That’s the problem. You’re always trying to help me, or watch out for me, or take the blame. Every time something happens, your first reaction is always me. I’ve tried thinking of times when I’ve done the same for you, but can’t.”
“What?” Thomas exclaimed. “Andrew, you’re being…”
Andrew didn’t wait for Thomas to finish.
“Like, I still don’t know what happened to you, what was actually done to you. And what’s worse, in all this time, I haven’t really asked. I don’t know if it’s because I’m scared to know. All I know is that my experience has probably been nothing compared to yours, but I haven’t asked you, and you’re always the one trying to look out for me.”
“That’s not true. I never thought once…”
“But it is true. And now, with this, if I have the chance to leave. What about you? Where will you go? Some nights I wonder why I didn’t try to convince you to run away. How instead of me coming back for a year, why I never said we should leave together.”
“Andrew, we both…”
They were jolted by the sound of the door swinging open. Four guards marched in and ordered them to their feet. Their unfinished conversation heightened their shared sense of helplessness as they were forced to stand silently, side-by-side, their arms out front as their handcuffs were placed on. Andrew watched as the silver buckles clamped tightly around Thomas’s wrists. They were led upstairs to face an overflowing courtroom, with spectators forced to stand, lining the walls. They stood in the doorway, peering in.
It was bigger than the magistrate’s court. The ceiling was higher, making it less suffocating. Before being led through, unexpectedly, the guards removed their handcuffs, letting them enter with their hands free. Looking into the room, they could both see Maya, who must’ve arrived early. She was seated in the second row, behind the defense table. Thomas tried to make out Suleiman but couldn’t find him.
Something overcame Andrew as he stepped into the courtroom, dulling his faculties. Even the sounds, spectators conversing waiting for court to be called into session, became muffled and distant as he was led to the defendant’s table. Abdou waited for them. He looked overwhelmed. His table was a mess of papers and different file folders. He rummaged between them, seemingly incapable of finding what he was searching for. His worn briefcase, fallen on the floor, had more papers spilling out. By contrast, the prosecutor’s table was neat. The government’s case was led by Mr. Touray, the country’s chief prosecutor. He was tall and rail thin, with a stern and judgmental face, the product of a serious career that had no time for frivolities. He sat patiently behind a table organized into neat piles of papers and binders. Andrew counted at least five.
Unlike Magistrate Colley, the judge, when he entered, projected calm. He slowly made his way up to his seat. After he sat down he looked up and out into the courtroom, first at Mr. Touray’s table and then at Abdou’s. His expression was ordinary. His name was also Touray, an incredibly common surname in Gambia, and he had no relation to the prosecutor. Something about Justice Touray, who had a short and round figure, made him appear less intimidating than Mr. Touray. His face too. Andrew saw how his cheeks drooped from the side and fell from his face. They looked like they’d be smooth to touch. As Justice Touray took his time to arrange his notes, he did so with an expression exuding more curiosity than authority. Abdou had told them both that Justice Touray, one of the longest serving judges in the country, had a reputation for being fair. Seeing him in person made it easier for Andrew to believe.
Justice Touray was polite in welcoming everyone after the court registrar opened the trial. There was an air of business as usual when he asked for Andrew and Thomas to confirm their pleas, or change them if they so desired, which they did not. Everything about him in those first few moments suggested he wished to resist the hysteria that increasingly defined how the case was being portrayed outside the courtroom. Andrew had a hard time accepting it, but he found something about Justice Touray welcomingly reassuring.
By contrast, Mr. Touray delivered his opening statement in a harsh but measured tone, with an air of self-importance he derived from the occasion. He spoke from prepared notes but relied on them only periodically. His argument was simple and his words were to the point.
“Mr. Turner, a practicing homosexual, came to The Gambia knowing full well his lifestyle was in direct contravention of our laws. Nonetheless, he still came, determined to spread his unlawful lifestyle to the Gambian populace.” But it was only when he met Thomas, Mr. Touray said, turning to draw Thomas into his severe gaze, that Andrew found a partner willing to participate in his perverse criminal activities. “Together, the two of them embarked on an illegal romance in direct contravention of criminal laws meant to ensure our society stays pure and remains consistent with our values.
“Andrew’s illegal romantic partner, Thomas, wanted to run away from his Gambian life. He ran away from his family and came to Banjul. But in Banjul that wasn’t enough, and he took employment at a place where he could com
e into contact with as many foreigners as possible in his desire to act upon his homosexual predilections.”
Over the course of the trial, Mr. Touray promised, the prosecution would call various witnesses, persons who saw Andrew and Thomas together in private and public settings, who would testify they were engaged in what he called romantic conduct of the most reprehensible kind. The court mustn’t forget what this conduct truly represents while the defense, he said, now turning his gaze to Abdou as if to challenge him, “parades individuals before the court who will ask us to disregard our laws and values. And if in the end the words of witnesses are still deemed insufficient, one of the accused himself has given us, in written form, all the necessary evidence to prove these two were in fact involved in a sexual relationship,” he said, emphasizing sexual with disgust. “The same accused that, as a witness will attest, never had a girlfriend in The Gambia but still had condoms in his personal belongings.
“In the end, Your Honour, there will be no doubt the acts of the accused are in clear violation of the laws of this nation and of mankind.”
It was surreal for Andrew to watch it begin. He and Thomas were actors in a play they never auditioned for. They were cast in their roles, forced to sit there and endure – helplessly unable to speak out against the theater unfolding all around them. It was debilitating to watch as Abdou, Mr. Touray, and Justice Touray took control over their fates. As Mr. Touray spoke, Andrew’s anger and incredulity became hard to contain. He was horribly uncomfortable in his chair and kept subtly repositioning himself. Thomas kept discreetly looking at him, as if to try and calm him. At one point even Abdou caught on, turning to Andrew and asking with his eyes, are you okay?
Yes, Andrew nodded softly. But it was a blatant lie. Inside, he was squirming. I can’t believe this is actually-fucking-happening.
The only witness scheduled for that day was Isatou’s nephew, whose name, Momodou Jobarteh, Thomas and Andrew had only recently learned. Seeing him enter and walk up to the witness stand was the first time they ever saw the man responsible for what happened to them. Walking past them, Momodou turned his face towards the two of them but didn’t react.
The Order of Nature Page 27
