The Order of Nature
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
© 2017 Josh Scheinert
All rights reserved.
ISBN 10: 1775160009
ISBN 13: 9781775160007
To Mark,
Because everything else is commentary
Article 144: Unnatural offences
(1) Any person who—
a) has carnal knowledge of any person against the order of nature; or
b) has carnal knowledge of an animal; or
c) permits any person to have carnal knowledge of him or her against the order of nature;
is guilty of a felony, and is liable to imprisonment for a term of 14 years.
—Criminal Code of The Gambia
Contents
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Part Two
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Part Three
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Sundays had a slower start. Unlike other days of the week, sunrise on Sundays gave way to stillness and silence. The city’s low-rise buildings and narrow lanes stood frozen in sunlight. Street hawkers kept their carts covered longer. The markets opened later. Roads were mostly empty – the broken-down cars and vans that crowded the city streets kept off the road. There was a brief respite from the usual hum of horns and mufflers. Stereos that otherwise provided a soundtrack to daily life stayed off. Not many fishermen ventured out on Sunday mornings. Their small colorful boats dotted the blue and turquoise sea, stretching far off into the vast ocean. It was the most peaceful time of the week, and one that only a few took time to appreciate.
Usually, Thomas was one of the few. He’d get out of bed, put on his running shorts and sneakers, and head down towards the beach. He loved the emptiness of the small dirt streets between his home and the main road. Normally they were filled with men sitting in groups and small children playing with balls and rubber tires. Now only a few stray dogs rummaged through trash. Running down the deserted main road through Fajara, Thomas would pass one last row of palm trees before hitting the sand. It was at that moment when he normally stopped and ran on the spot for a short while, taking in the sight before him. There, under the canopy of palm leaves, he stared out from the white beach, sand still undisturbed, as it gave way to dancing crystals of light on the water.
But on this Sunday, Thomas skipped his run. Actually, he hadn’t been running on a Sunday for some time. Sunday had started to take on a new meaning. It was his day off, and he spent it with Andrew. It was their day to wake up together, lazing around in bed until they felt like getting up. Later they would go out, not as a couple, but as two friends enjoying all the day had to offer. Their relationship was still a closely guarded secret, even from the friends and colleagues with whom they spent their time. But being together all day from start to finish was what mattered. They had all day to laugh together, to eat and drink together. It was the closest to normal they’d get.
Secrets can be burdensome companions, and Thomas and Andrew were never without theirs. The paranoia that subsided over time never quite vanished. They were always wondering if someone saw them coming back at night or leaving in the morning. Were they too loud? The curtains were always drawn before the sun went down. During the day there was concern that an affectionate look, a suppressed blush, or some other interpretable sign may be noticed. But there was something about how they’d been spending Sundays that disarmed their fears. Even if they couldn’t hold hands, it was nice to be out.
Thomas always woke up first. Sleeping in was foreign to him. Growing up in a small house in the countryside with siblings and dogs running between the houses, mornings were never a quiet affair. Andrew, on the other hand, was the quintessential American college grad. He loved to sleep in, and Thomas was reluctant to disturb Andrew’s sleeping. In those moments, lying awake waiting for Andrew, Thomas would replay the reel of their burgeoning romance trying to predict what might happen next.
A combination of brightness and heat woke Thomas up that day. The summer rains were approaching, with the heat and humidity at their peak. The air was stiff and heavy, leaving everyone a little sweaty. Making it more unpleasant, the fan wasn’t working because the power had gone off, again. He turned to his side, opening his eyes just enough. Andrew was still sleeping, his breathing rising through the still air. Normally he’d have given Andrew a bit more time, but after work the day before, Thomas knew that if he stayed in bed awake he’d only think about the previous day’s events and go crazy. He needed Sunday’s distractions; he had to get out.
“Wake up,” he said as he nudged himself up to Andrew. “Lazy boy, get out of bed.”
“You’re so annoying,” Andrew mumbled.
“According to you, who sleeps through the morning leaving me alone,” Thomas grinned.
Andrew turned his head and grinned back. “It’s hot in here. Why isn’t the fan on?”
“Why do you think?”
Andrew didn’t have to ask. He’d been in the country long enough.
“I’m hot,” said Andrew, turning to face Thomas. “Why can’t the power stay on?” By now they were both lying on their sides, foreheads touching, speaking in that low morning voice when tiredness can mask as tenderness. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine.”
“Are you still pissed about last night?”
“Yes, but I’d rather not talk about it now. It was embarrassing enough having to deal with it then. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s going to happen again. It wasn’t the first time he punished you for spending time with foreigners. It won’t be the last either.”
They both knew this was true. Of all the hotel staff, Thomas had always been the friendliest with foreigners. Even though they weren’t in on his secret, he felt a connection to them. If they did know they’d surely understand, unlike his own people. Most of the time his socializing with them didn’t matter. But if he – for whatever reason – upset a guest, or worse, did something so right that he was publicly rewarded with an extra tip, his colleagues unleashed mockery and jealousy on him. Last night was one of those nights. So he had to work late, and miss the dinner he and Andrew planned to cook.
Andrew closed his eyes, leaned in, and gently kissed Thomas. “I’m sorry my people get you in trouble.”
Thomas smiled. “You don’t get me in trouble. I do it to myself.” He leaned back in for another kiss. And then they lay there, in a still and silent embrace as their bodies woke up.
The fan
started and broke the silence.
“Yesss,” Andrew said, as he turned away from Thomas, throwing the sheets off to let the fan blow directly on him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to relax and cool down. “It’s so fucking hot.”
Thomas leaned in to cuddle Andrew but he pushed him back. “I can’t. It’s sooo hot.”
“Then let’s go. I want to enjoy my day off,” Thomas declared as he got out of bed and pushed the mosquito net off to the side. He stared down at the pile of clothes on the floor to figure out which were his, grabbed a t-shirt and boxers and put them on. Then he picked up Andrew’s t-shirt and threw it at him and smiled. Andrew smiled back and sat up while wiping the light layer of sweat off his forehead.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said, as he put the t-shirt on.
They had breakfast – Thomas had toast with two boiled eggs and Andrew ate imported British muesli. They each had a mango, freshly picked from a tree in the yard. And Andrew made tea. They ate sitting on the oversized couch in the living room in front of the fan.
Thomas was still a bit unnerved from the night before. A group of female British tourists at the hotel remembered him fondly from a visit the year before. They spent quite a while chatting with him at the bar. After some time, they bought him a drink. Staff weren’t allowed to drink on the premises so at first Thomas refused. But they were the only people at the bar and it was late in the evening. He relented.
That’s when his boss appeared. The look he gave Thomas was enough to signal his displeasure and the women immediately started defending Thomas.
It was our fault. He refused and we kept persisting. He was only being a good employee. Really sir, please blame us. We apologize and it won’t happen again.
Thomas’s boss smiled politely, assuring them he understood. But later that night, when the women had gone back to their rooms, he reprimanded Thomas in front of the hotel manager. He called Thomas a wannabe white, which made the manager laugh. He told him he would have to work the next three Sundays without pay as punishment.
“Can he even make you do that?” asked Andrew.
“They can do whatever they want. There are no laws in this country for these things. If a boss says you have to do it, you do it.”
“It’s only three days, I guess.”
“It’s not the working.”
“The comment?”
“Yes.” Thomas turned his face away from Andrew, pausing for a second before looking back up. “It’s fine. As long as I’m not fired they still pay me. I don’t care what they think of me. And by the way, he’s the wannabe white, not me. He’s the one who always walks behind the tourists, laughing and agreeing with every stupid remark they make, or telling them how wonderful they look in those stupid khaki vests with all those pockets. Please!”
Andrew laughed. He owned no such vest.
After they ate Andrew walked into the second bedroom, picking up the blanket and frisbee left behind by his old roommate, Alex. They were two travel essentials Andrew had never thought to bring with him, but learned he couldn’t do without.
Thomas stood by the front door ready to leave when he turned to Andrew in the doorway of the other bedroom. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Andrew walked towards him, gently kissed his lips, looked at him, and said, “Okay.”
It was their routine. They realized early on that it would appear suspicious if they always showed up to places together. So to keep the ruse going, they decided to arrive at least fifteen to twenty minutes apart. It was prudence meets paranoia.
When Thomas left, Andrew spent a few minutes cleaning up from the night before, picking their clothes up off the floor, neatly tying up the mosquito net over the bed, and doing the dishes in the sink. Then he looked at his watch and waited another five minutes before leaving.
After the long head start, Andrew hopped on his bicycle and made his way down to the beach. The dirt and sand on the roads were so thick that at times he struggled and had to walk his bike; the ground was parched this time of year. He stopped in at a bakery he liked to see if it had any fresh croissants; it didn’t, and unless they were hot, the croissants weren’t worth buying.
The afternoon at the beach was uneventful. Everyone was a bit sluggish because of the summer heat. A smaller crowd meant people dispersed more quickly, making it easier for Andrew and Thomas to wander discreetly up the almost-deserted beach. Even the locals were escaping the heat. They walked with their bikes slowly at the water’s edge where the sand was hardest, mostly telling jokes and laughing at funny memories from the trip they took with Alex and his girlfriend Liv several weeks back. Sometimes when they laughed, their eyes inadvertently met and locked. The laughs then turned into shy, blushed smiles. Andrew always looked away first.
“What?” Thomas asked.
“Nothing,” Andrew answered, looking back up and still smiling.
They walked this way past the few empty hotels on the northern stretch of the beach, past the wooden shack selling grilled fish and rice, and past a small group of kids playing soccer at the top of the beach who tried – but failed – to get their attention by repeatedly yelling hi. They kept walking as the sun started to set, tingeing their faces with the softer light of dusk.
Eventually, under the cover of darkness, they made their way back to Andrew’s house. Not wanting to attract suspicion, they again arrived separately. Thomas locked the gate behind him, left his bike up against one of the mango trees and walked across the grass yard through the compound up to Andrew’s little beige bungalow. The kitchen lights were on. When Thomas entered, quickly closing the door, Andrew was already in the kitchen, looking to see what they could make for dinner.
“We might have to eat pasta again.”
They enjoyed cooking together. It made them feel normal. Not that cooking pasta was any great feat. Still, it was domestic. Normal couples were domestic.
Dinner was eaten inside where they wouldn’t be seen. That and because a past outdoor experience proved eating saucy food in the dark was a bad idea. They mostly talked about Andrew’s upcoming work week. He was supposed to spend three days at meetings with officials from the education ministry to talk about group learning strategies, an area he’d been singled out for. He was dreading it. Constant over-the-top introductions and greetings that went on forever, the overly ambitious presentations that rarely translated into concrete action, and the food. The food at these meetings was never very good.
“And because Mr. Jalloh is going to be there,” referring to his principal, “I have to participate. He loves meetings. It’s terrible.”
Thomas took pleasure in these moments. It was Andrew’s initiation into how things did or didn’t get done in his country. “At least you’ll have air conditioning.”
“True.”
At the school where Andrew worked, only Mr. Jalloh’s office had air conditioning, and even it was broken most of the time.
When they finished eating, Thomas asked if they could lie outside for a bit before they cleaned up. Andrew was usually not one to leave a mess, but he felt lazy and agreed. He took the blanket out of his bag and they set it out on the grass. There was only a sliver of a moon out so the night sky was awash in silver specks of stars.
Lying on the ground, Thomas nestled his head up against Andrew’s shoulder and his arm around Andrew’s chest. But for the occasional car driving by on the main road, all they heard were crickets and each other. Thomas tested Andrew on the constellations, which he was getting better at. Stars didn’t exist much in suburban Chicago and Andrew never knew much about them. But Thomas knew a lot. As a boy, he and his father would often fish on the River Gambia at night. Thomas was always awed by the night sky. His father didn’t know the constellations’ names, but like any good father who doesn’t want to disappoint his son, he made things up. When Thomas was older and able to read, he found a book on the constellations, realizing most of what he and his father labeled was wrong or didn’t even exist. Still, for som
e of them he ignored their real names and preferred the make believe explanation. It gave him something from that period of his life to hold on to.
After a while, when Andrew dozed off, Thomas heard the sound of a car he thought was getting a bit close. There was a small path off the main road that cars would sometimes use to get to the dirt road that ran adjacent to the house. At first Thomas assumed this was the case. With the noise growing louder, he realized there was more than one car. Headlights could be seen through the cracks of the gate bouncing up and down as the cars navigated the bumpy path. They should have turned away by then to get to the other road, but they were still headed straight for the gate. Thomas stood up and took a big gulp as the sound and lights drew nearer. His sudden movement woke Andrew who only had a few seconds to process the lights and noise before three cars stopped outside the compound.
Part One
1
It was nearly dusk when Andrew walked off the plane in Banjul. He looked around at the empty tarmac. Theirs was the only plane. A fire truck sat nearby, but from the looks of it, Andrew wasn’t sure it was working. The terminal building was worn and crowded. Women wore shiny colorful dresses with big matching headdresses. Many of the men wore long shirts that resembled pajamas. People gesticulated wildly and spoke loudly, often yelling across the arrivals hall at people who appeared to be strangers. Everyone seemed to be sweating. Andrew noticed he was one of only a handful of white people. Realizing this, his eyes scanning the crowd, Andrew was struck that for the first time in his life, he was the minority.
There were only two immigration officials working the long line. Andrew had heard stories about foreigners landing in Africa and having to bribe immigration officials. He worried this would happen to him, but entered without any fuss.
Exiting the terminal, Andrew faced a throng of unfamiliar faces waiting to pick up arriving passengers. Pressing himself between the hordes of people, Andrew wearily pushed his luggage through a crowd reluctant to part ways for it, accidentally rubbing it against a disgruntled-looking man, his “excuse me” to no avail. Making his way past, he spotted his name on a piece of paper, held by a middle-aged woman. She dressed in Western clothing, her hair in a ponytail, carrying a distinctly large handbag, and with sunglasses atop her forehead. She smiled at him as he walked over and extended her hand. “Hi Andrew, I’m Haddy. Welcome to The Gambia!”
The Order of Nature Page 1