“It’s not bad. It’s... it’s a unique environment. You’ll see. The people are amazing. Don’t get me wrong. I’m loving it and have made great friends here. But it has its... well, interesting side. You’ll learn and discover a lot. Plenty of conversations to be had over beers. Did Haddy take you to your placement today?”
“No, she said we’d go to the school tomorrow.”
“They’re mostly the same – the school placements, I mean.” Alex started to walk towards his bedroom before turning back. “Oh, did you meet Isatou yet?”
“Yeah, this morning.”
“She’s great. Her daughters are nice too. She’ll try to get you to marry one so you can take her back to the U.S.”
“For real?”
“Totally serious,” he said. “Watch out!”
In the evening, Alex’s girlfriend Liv came by. Andrew liked having people around who were familiar. Liv was from the UK, and he discovered there were enough similarities between them that she also counted as familiar. Her and Alex’s knowledge of the country and daily life was also reassuring. Earlier in the day, Haddy suggested a few nearby restaurants Andrew could go to for lunch. He went to one of them but was surprised to discover it only served local food. Andrew didn’t yet know any of the local dishes. When the woman at the counter offered Andrew yassa, domoda, or benachin, he was left staring back into the pearly-white smile of an obese woman who was clearly amused by Andrew’s bewilderment. He picked domoda because she told him it was the only dish they had ready and that he should “try, because you like it.” He did, sort of, but other than knowing it was chicken, he didn’t fully know what he was eating.
“It’s a peanut sauce,” Liv interjected. “But I prefer yassa. It’s chicken or fish cooked with tomatoes and onions. It’s not as heavy.”
Alex and Liv also said they would introduce him to a group of expats who hung out together on most weekends. They would take him tomorrow to meet them. Americans and Brits made up the biggest nationalities.
“Mostly Brits, though,” Alex said.
The next day, Alex and Liv took Andrew to one of the country’s five-star resorts on the beach. He stepped into a different world. The lobby was white marble and stucco. Bouquets of flowers lined the tables. Everything smelled so fresh. Walking through the resort, the staff called him Sir. There was a rectangular pool with perfectly clear water. Lounge chairs with cushy, white mattresses surrounded it. There was a bar in the corner where some people were drinking. They were laughing with the young bartender. Andrew noticed how every patron was white.
Alex walked over to a small group of people on the deck by the pool. He introduced them to Andrew and like the other night with Liv, the same first-encounter questions were asked of Andrew and the same answers were given. Chicago. Just graduated. Teacher’s college. I wanted to try something different before going back to school. Older sister, Lindsay. No girlfriend.
For the rest of the day, Andrew was back with people he felt he could relate to. In the back of his mind he asked himself if this was why he was in Africa – to spend time at fancy pools with more white people – but he reminded himself this wasn’t his every day. And, he just arrived.
As the new arrival in the group, most people were interested in talking to Andrew, giving their perspectives on what he might expect. Regina, an older British woman in the country for her second year, was critical of the local population.
“They’re lazy,” she professed midway through their conversation.
“Don’t be so negative to the new guy,” someone with a Scottish-sounding accent chimed in, turning towards Andrew. “It’s merely a different way of living. Don’t let the old grump turn you off. I’m Nathan, by the way,” he said while extending out his hand. “Nice to meet you...”
“Andrew.”
“Nice to meet you, Andrew.”
Some people spoke about local politics, and others offered newcomer advice, like where to get the best imported groceries or where to travel. “You must go upriver,” a young woman named Emma instructed. Andrew sat patiently through all of this, holding his head up attentively as people took turns speaking to him. He sat up on his lounge chair and quietly listened, quickly forgetting peoples’ names, but still nodding politely, injecting the occasional wow or interesting to show he was still paying attention. At some point, when no one was talking to him, he took off his shirt, lay down, and started listening to music.
Alex asked if he wanted a beer. They walked over to the bar at the other side of the pool and each ordered one. Alex explained that he wasn’t a regular at the hotel and preferred going to the beach where the locals hung out.
“Sometimes it’s nice to come here to relax. But I try not to make a habit of it.”
On Sunday, like all Sundays, there was a locals-versus-expats soccer game that Andrew should join. “It’s a better environment than being here. A bit more genuine, and a lot less posh, to use a word I learned from Liv. And it’s also a fun way to meet people.”
“Cool,” Andrew said. “Sounds great.”
Their beers arrived and Alex paid and thanked the bartender. Walking from the bar, Andrew turned back to get another look at him. He was wiping a glass clean with a napkin when he looked up, his eyes meeting Andrew’s. Andrew instantly and nervously turned back away and kept walking with Alex.
2
The next day Andrew visited the school where he would be volunteering. It was a dilapidated building at best. Its pale walls had been bleached by the sun and assaulted by years of dust, rain, and neglect. Most of the classroom windows were open cut-outs to the outside. Long wooden desks had been picked at and were missing pieces. The uneven blackboards were dusted with past lessons that didn’t completely erase. Without students it looked like a deserted building, a ghost from a previous era.
The principal, Mr. Jalloh, was middle-aged. He had closely cropped hair and narrow, thick-rimmed glasses that made his large face appear even bigger. He wore one of the traditional long shirts Andrew first saw at the airport. This one, light blue, was a little different. It extended outwards around the bottom and pointed to the front, falling at an angle off his protruding belly. At first he appeared to forget who Andrew was and looked puzzled when his secretary brought him into his office. After she reminded him that Andrew was the new international volunteer, he greeted him warmly, revealing a wide, welcoming smile. His hands were huge but surprisingly soft, and his handshake was far less firm than Andrew expected from a man of his size.
“Ah yes, of course, of course! Andrew. How are you?” His voice leapt out, filling the room with a thundering timbre.
“I’m good, thank you, how are you?” Andrew said, speaking in a much more reserved tone.
“I am very fine, thank you. It is our pleasure to have you here. Have you been to The Gambia before or is it your first time?”
“It’s my first time. My first time in Africa,” he added.
“Ah wonderful, wonderful. I believe you will like it very much here.” He spoke with confidence and enthusiasm.
“I think so,” Andrew agreed.
“And if I remember correctly, you are about to begin your teacher’s college in America, right?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m sure you’ll do an excellent job here. You can take some of what you learn back to America with you,” he said.
“I hope so.”
“Are you married?”
Andrew, somewhat unsettled, answered that he wasn’t.
“Eh! Why not?” Mr. Jalloh responded jokingly.
Andrew didn’t know how to respond to the unexpected line of questioning. It was in stark contrast to the safe subjects he’d stuck to with Alex and Liv. Maybe it was a cultural thing.
“I guess you are still young to be married in America. I myself have two wives,” Mr. Jalloh proudly proclaimed.
Andrew was taken aback despite knowing polygamy was legal in Gambia. Men were permitted to marry up to four wives, a custom rooted in
its Muslim traditions.
“Never mind,” Mr. Jalloh announced. “Let me introduce you to our school.”
The school wasn’t much more than a long hallway with different classrooms branching off it. The students would only start to arrive in a month. Mr. Jalloh finished the tour in the schoolyard – dirt and a few trees, next to which some of the school’s teachers had come to find shade. They all introduced themselves to Andrew and started asking him questions about his life back in the United States, his experiences in college, and then on subjects he couldn’t answer.
“What are the biggest crops the U.S. produces?” He didn’t know. Wheat maybe?
“How does snow feel?” Um, he’d never had to think about it before. It can be fluffy or hard? And wet.
Mr. Jalloh, squinting very curiously through his glasses, with his mouth partially opened, turned to Andrew. “Tell us, Andrew. Why are Americans always going so crazy over homosexuals? Why do you make a such a fuss about those people?”
Those people, he thought. It wasn’t how he said it, or that it came out of nowhere. Mr. Jalloh asked the question as candidly as all the other questions. It was the words he chose. Andrew looked around at the half-dozen faces fixed upon him. They all were intent on hearing his answer. About to open his mouth, he froze. He had no answer. A sinking feeling overcame him as he tried to come up with a generic response.
“Well, Mr. Jalloh,” he spoke slowly, before pausing to organize his answer. “In the U.S. laws require equality, and those laws also apply to homosexuals.” He was careful not to label himself as one who agreed, and couldn’t believe he was using the term homosexuals. “It’s been decided,” he continued, removing himself from the decision, “that homosexuals are no different than anyone else, really.”
There was a nervous pause.
“I think,” Mr. Jalloh proclaimed as he looked at his colleagues to garner their support, “I think your country is too concerned with people like this. It is very unnatural.” The other teachers nodded in approval. “Thankfully in this country we have a very strong president who does not tolerate this type of abnormality. I hope we will stay this way, Inshallah,” he added.
Andrew swallowed. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say.
“Let them all stay in America,” one of the teachers snickered before adding a sentence in Wolof, making the whole group laugh. Andrew stood motionless. His eyes scanned the small crowd as their laughter and smiles faded.
For the rest of the day, Andrew was quieter and more reserved than usual. He wondered if he made a mistake. Maybe he was better off at home trying to come to terms with himself. Why did he think accepting a placement in a country with widespread anti-gay sentiment was ever a good idea? This was his punishment for making a rash decision.
Andrew didn’t have a wealth of gay experiences to fall back on for reassurance. He had only been with someone once, earlier that year during spring break. A group of his friends went to Mexico for the week. He shared a room with another male friend of his. They weren’t the best of friends, but were close enough and nothing about them sharing a room was awkward.
The all-inclusive was overrun with loud college kids stuffing themselves with burgers, fries, and watered-down margaritas. They shifted between the pool and beach, only breaking for lunch. Some nights, the local resorts would throw combined parties that turned into an orgy of booze, drugs, and, well, orgies. On those nights, there was always at least one group of friends Andrew could find to dance with or talk to who weren’t busy trying to get laid. The friend he roomed with was normally in the group too.
Most nights he and his friend got back to the room drunk and passed out. On the second last night of their trip, Andrew walked into the room and fell onto his bed, lying flat on his stomach, his head buried in the pillow. Instead of walking to his own bed, his friend fell on Andrew’s. Drunk and stunned, Andrew froze and couldn’t look up. He thought it was a mistake that within a second his friend would figure out. But his friend didn’t get up. Andrew’s heart started to beat faster as he tried to discern whether his friend was just too drunk or if something else was happening.
Uncertain, Andrew slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head up off the pillow. Turning to face his friend, he saw he was looking directly at him. His friend didn’t say anything, and instead brought his face to Andrew’s and kissed him quickly at first. When Andrew didn’t resist, he kissed him some more. Pulling back from Andrew, he sat up. Andrew, excited and confident, sat up towards him, put his hand on the back of his head and pulled his friend back into him. Andrew felt a hand going up his shirt and pressing into his chest. They took off each other’s shirts, kept kissing and fell back down together. Andrew loved the feeling of their bodies pressed against each other.
Andrew had never known how his first experience with a man would be, or who it would be with. He certainly didn’t picture it unfolding this way, especially with a friend he assumed, and probably still assumed, was straight. Andrew always imagined it would be sweet and romantic. This was not. But he wasn’t thinking about any of that now. On his bed, he was too busy letting himself be guided by a desire that until then was hidden deep in his closet. Having someone’s hand pressed tightly against his chest, slowly moving down, excited Andrew in a way he didn’t think possible. He gasped when his friend held him.
When they finished, Andrew was breathing heavily. They were both lying there silently in the dark room, naked. It didn’t take long before Andrew was as confused as when they first started. After a short while his friend stumbled into the bathroom to clean himself off. Andrew followed. They made brief eye contact in the mirror before Andrew’s friend looked away. It was a look that might have contained a hint of shame or regret – Andrew couldn’t quite tell as they stood there, sharing an awkward silence.
That night, Andrew barely slept. At some point not long before the sun started to rise, he began to doze off. By the time he woke up the next morning, his friend was already gone.
The two of them never spoke about what happened. When they were back at school the awkwardness continued, which left Andrew feeling confused and disappointed. By the end of the year, they only saw each other when out with mutual friends. A moment that had been Andrew’s most liberating quickly pushed him deeper into the closet.
Andrew retreated from the schoolyard into the teacher’s room to fill in forms from Haddy when Mr. Jalloh walked in. He spoke loudly and quickly on his mobile phone. At first Andrew thought he was angry, but when Mr. Jalloh let out a laugh so loud it nearly shook the room, he realized this was simply how Mr. Jalloh spoke. His face was still frozen in smile as Andrew turned back to his forms. The only words in Mr. Jalloh’s conversation Andrew understood came at the end. They were “Inshallah,” followed by, “okay, I will see you then. Goodbye.” After that Andrew felt a hand of giant proportions squeezing into his shoulder.
“So this is where you will come when the children are too much for you,” Mr. Jalloh joked. “Hopefully it will not be too often.”
Andrew looked up and nodded at Mr. Jalloh. His amused expression was caricature-sized. It was friendly and inviting, and as Mr. Jalloh towered over him, Andrew tried to reconcile this man with the one from outside. Taking his hand off Andrew’s shoulder, Mr. Jalloh reached down to the forms, pushed around the sheets of paper and leafed through them.
“What are these? The forms from Haddy?”
“Yes.”
“So many questions,” Mr. Jalloh said, flipping through the numerous pages. “Everyone is always so careful with toubabs,” he giggled.
Andrew had heard the word a few times now. Alex told him it meant white person.
“Ah, do not worry,” Mr. Jalloh said, as he put the forms down and placed his hand on Andrew’s back. “If there is anything you need, or things we can do to help you, you must ask us. In The Gambia, there is no problem we cannot fix!”
That evening, Andrew walked up to the gate of their compound and saw Isatou was leaving with a bask
et of his clothes.
“Washing,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Closing the heavy gate felt like putting up a barrier between him and reality. Whatever existed on the outside would stay on the other side. Alex had already shown that their house would be somewhere he felt safe and comfortable. He picked up some mangoes off the ground and walked inside, sat on the couch, and took out his journal.
Interesting day. Met Mr. Jalloh. Seems everyone at the school hates gay people. WTF.
In other news, interesting curriculum reform work to be done. Jalloh is excited about having me on board. Said having a white teacher should make the students more serious. I don’t fully know what that means. Nice roommate. He seems more comfortable here than I do, but he’s also been here longer. No need to be dramatic, this is what I wanted. People stare. I try to smile back but at times it freaks me out a bit. Kids are really cute and mostly yell hello when I walk by. I don’t miss home so much. I should tell Lindsay soon. The food’s been okay.
For all the anticipation of excitement and adventure, routine defined Andrew’s Gambian life. Isatou became a regular fixture in the morning. As Andrew woke up she’d already be hanging laundry in his yard or sweeping. On a number of mornings Isatou’s daughter Awa would accompany her. She had her mother’s shy smile and mostly kept in the background, collecting Andrew and Alex’s clothes for washing. Awa was in secondary school, but Alex told Andrew he rarely saw her out of the compound and wondered whether she was actually enrolled. Isatou’s other daughters rarely came by. Apparently a young man lived with them too, a cousin or nephew, Alex thought.
“I’ve only seen him once.”
Andrew’s mornings were always rushed – he still slept like he did in college, so he never had much time to talk with Isatou and Awa before having to run off to work. He went in to school each morning for eight thirty and spoke with Mr. Jalloh for half an hour, sitting in his nondescript office cluttered with files, listening to Mr. Jalloh’s curriculum concerns. Mr. Jalloh believed the teaching methods prescribed by the government were not engaging enough. He tasked Andrew with coming up with new ones in the hopes of improving student performance.
The Order of Nature Page 3