The Order of Nature

by Josh Scheinert

  “Never mind that you haven’t started teacher’s college,” Mr. Jalloh shot back as soon as Andrew questioned his qualification for such a responsibility. “You have been admitted to an American teacher’s college, and you certainly remember proper teaching skills from when you were a student. Sharing this perspective is invaluable to our success.” Mr. Jalloh often spoke in a grandiose manner. Over time Andrew realized Mr. Jalloh was of a generation that deferred, on some level, to the presumed expertise of a foreigner without a basis for doing so. Alex called it Empire-lite.

  Mr. Jalloh watched Andrew’s confidence grow over the first weeks. He took more initiative talking to teachers, proving he was serious. As time passed, he proposed more and more ideas to Mr. Jalloh to re-engage students and make certain aspects of teaching less formulaic.

  “If your ideas work here, and I am sure they will, you must stay with us longer than one year. You will fix all our schools and take for yourself a pretty Gambian wife,” Mr. Jalloh said laughing. Andrew let out a nervous laugh to equal Mr. Jalloh’s.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe you will be like me and marry more than one wife,” he bellowed, unable to hide his amusement. “That would make people in your country think you have gone mad! But you would be an authentic Gambian.”

  “I would be,” Andrew answered, smiling politely while averting his eyes to the bulky computer in the corner of Mr. Jalloh’s office that never seemed to be turned on.

  Conversations referencing the need for Andrew to take a Gambian wife became commonplace.

  “I don’t see you with a girlfriend,” one of his coworkers pointed out one day after school.

  He became skilled at politely laughing them off and changing the subject. After each one of these entreaties from Mr. Jalloh or another teacher, he wondered if Gambians were this forward with each other or if it was because he was foreign. Either way, he quickly came to view it as innocuous. They were trying to be friendly.

  Personal space isn’t so much of a thing here. I get at least one comment a day, said as a joke, about why I don’t have a girlfriend. Even though it’s a joke they do want to know and it’s strange. I want to tell them why. I want them to know that I’m different, but the same. I want to point out to Mr. Jalloh that I’m not judging him for having two wives. They all like me. I wonder what would happen if I said it. It would be a huge shock, that’s for sure. Probably not a good idea. Let’s start with Lindsay. And Alex.

  Lindsay was a year older than Andrew and had spent more time than him pushing the family envelope, however gently. She inherited the athletic genes and the parental admiration. She was often attending sports tournaments in high school and college. Lindsay also had a steady boyfriend since the tenth grade. These features made her more curious and independent than Andrew. And also more confident.

  Fiercely protective of her little brother, Lindsay had always been close with Andrew. At college – they went to the same one, though they occupied different social circles – she always invited him to parties. She regularly checked in on him. Except for one, there were no secrets between them. Andrew didn’t doubt that she’d have no issues accepting him. But for a reason he could never figure out, he was never able to tell her. Lindsay’s interventions were instrumental in helping their parents accept his decision to go abroad, and the frustration of hiding his secret from the person who always had his back kept growing. He’d resolved to tell her before leaving for Gambia, but when the two of them were out for dinner before he left, he chickened out.

  On the morning Andrew left home, Lindsay walked into his room holding a shopping bag. He was sitting on his perfectly made bed looking out the window.

  “You look like crap,” she teased him.

  “I didn’t sleep.”

  Lindsay looked around the room. For the past four years Andrew had barely used it, and it had the sterile feel of a room that was once lived in. The desk was wiped clean. His bookshelf was perfectly in order. A newly framed college diploma hung on the wall. On his bedside table was a frame that held a picture of their entire family at Lindsay’s graduation. In a sharp break with tradition, they had all decided to make silly faces. The result was actually quite a funny picture that always made Andrew laugh. Lindsay noticed that the frame was now empty. She thought to say something but didn’t. Instead, she handed Andrew the shopping bag.

  “Here. It’s nothing big. Just some things to keep you busy on the plane, and some snacks in case you get hungry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You look nervous,” she said.

  Smiling at her, he asked if she was nervous for him.

  “A little, obviously. It’s a big step. But we both know it’s the right one. Don’t worry,” she added stepping closer to him, “it’s going to be awesome. A great adventure.”

  “I know. I’m excited.”

  “Good. I’m secretly jealous. I can’t wait to see pictures.”

  Andrew stood to meet her as she walked up to him. They hugged. It was a quick hug. One that felt constrained, almost superficial.

  Lindsay would’ve been proud to see her younger brother settling into his new life. It wasn’t only the excitement of living in Gambia. Andrew also relished how different his social world was from home. His new friends were unlike many of the people he’d left behind. When they asked probing questions they did so not to gossip but because they took a real interest in him. In the beginning, he was guarded in his responses. But he quickly shed some of his suspicions and opened up more.

  For the first time, he sensed that he wasn’t being judged. He found himself spending less time worrying what others might be thinking about him. When they went to the beach on the weekends, he didn’t feel bad for sitting out most of the soccer games at first. As weeks advanced, however, he was pressured into joining the game. To his surprise though, no one cared about his poor skills. Even Simon, a British volunteer and talented player who took the game more seriously than others, wasn’t fazed when Andrew kicked the ball into the sea.

  “Beginner’s luck,” he teased.

  Before long, Andrew became a regular player. It was fun.

  This carefree life became the antidote to his anxiety. He was less rigid and became more comfortable. His obsessive application of insect repellant waned. White t-shirts found themselves in the same pile as colored ones. In social settings he smiled more. He relaxed more. He was even better in markets.

  Andrew’s first trip to a local market had been overwhelming. All the stalls were crowded close together. Each vendor called out to him as he passed by.

  “Hey, toubab, what do you want to buy? Some mangoes? Papaya?”

  Scanning from table to table, Andrew was inundated with nearly identical colorful fruits and vegetables spread out, bananas dangled from strings tied between umbrellas. The stands all had the same items. How was he supposed to choose? Looking down at the aisles in front of him, he grew weary of how crowded they were. The women, with children strapped to their backs, or holding large rubber basins overflowing with goods, left little room for him to pass as they haggled with the many vendors.

  He started to feel himself sweating in the humidity when he decided to stop venturing further into the market and try his luck at whichever stall was closest. He asked for a few bananas and oranges. The price sounded high, but the woman at the table assured him.

  “It is a fair price. Very juicy oranges.”

  Andrew had no point of reference, so he handed her his money, which she placed in a plastic bag filled with crumply looking bills.

  That night he showed Alex what he had bought. Alex asked what it all cost.

  “250 dalasis. She said the oranges were expensive because they’re from South Africa.”

  “Ouch. You got ripped off.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  That was then. Now, Andrew marched confidently deep into the market stalls, pushing his way through, undeterred by the crowds and heat. He haggled with vendors.


  “No toubab prices,” he would say. “I want Gambian price. Give me the Gambian price.”

  He even impressed himself.

  The only occurrence that kept him slightly unnerved was at the hotel pool. It was the bartender, the same one who all the tourists seemed to get along with so well. Andrew noticed him the first time he was there. He had a presence. He was confident behind his bar.

  He also seemed to like watching Andrew. The bartender’s eyes and subtle closed-mouth smile followed him each time he walked up to and from the bar. When Andrew was sitting with other expats, sometimes he could feel the bartender’s eyes on him. Not knowing who he was, or anything about him, Andrew wondered why he kept looking at him. Maybe somewhere else it would have been more obvious. Here though – at the hotel pool in a completely foreign culture, where he was extra careful to repress any of those feelings – it never occurred to Andrew that the bartender might be seeking to attract his attention, hopeful they’d come to know one another.

  3

  Thomas had been working at the hotel for over a year. He started out as a cleaner by the pool. He was charming and attentive. Guests liked him. When families arrived he made sure to ask the children their names, managed to remember them, and always snuck maraschino cherries into their drinks. He could always tell when people needed an extra hand gathering up their belongings at the end of the day.

  His affability with guests led to conversations about their experiences at the hotel. He discovered people loved proffering opinions and suggestions on everything. There was little he could do about the speed of the restaurant, or the Wi-Fi, but he could see about fixing their drinks. One of the more common criticisms Thomas heard in his early days working by the pool was how the drink menu was too plain and boring for a hotel that tried to be as plush as it did. Its cocktail menu lacked imagination; the margaritas were never consistent.

  “We are a Muslim country,” he once explained to a friendly Finnish couple who took issue with the poorly-crafted mojitos and too-sweet daiquiris. “Not many people here drink alcohol, so maybe this is why they do not know how to make them properly.”

  As he got tired of giving the same explanation, he asked for suggestions on how to improve the drinks. After a few weeks, when his boss saw how Thomas’s drinks were popular with guests, Thomas became the new bartender.

  He was young, only nineteen, and came from one of the country’s smaller villages upriver from the capital. It was a community of thatched roofs, red mud trails, wandering chickens, and a simplicity since disappeared from most other places on earth. It was also one of the few Christian villages, with a small church occupying a central piece of land. Its center was surrounded by fields for subsistence farming that turned a lush green during rainy seasons. Many of the men fished on the river. Women sat on short stools outside homes frying all sorts of foods. There was one primary school, still without the windows or floors the government had long promised to install. It made for a challenging learning environment during the rains.

  To Thomas, the village represented the best and worst of his country. It provided a warmth and hospitality rarely on display in the city, but one often coupled with ignorance to life outside its small existence. It was at once nurturing and suffocating.

  Tourists were always curious about where Thomas came from. Fully aware they weren’t seeking an indictment, he kept his answer to what he thought they wanted to hear.

  “It’s very small, tiny. You can reach it by road or from the river,” he told a group of tourists one late afternoon. “You grow up running around from house to house. Even those who aren’t your family take care of you. Everyone is friends with one another. And it’s a very beautiful place.”

  “You were lucky to grow up there,” one of them observed.

  “Yes.”

  Invariably there were predictable follow-up questions. What else did you do in the village? Not wanting to let on that he spent much of his time alone, Thomas kept to his happy history and spoke about evenings and nights fishing with his father, gazing up at the stars, and learning about the different constellations.

  “We had a small dugout boat, made of wood. Or sometimes we sat on the edge of the river to do our fishing.”

  It sounds amazing, was a common response.

  He left the village in search of more economic opportunity, he told them, landing a job at a restaurant when he first arrived in the capital. Eventually, thanks to his strong English skills, he got his job with the hotel. He started working by the pool, cleaning up after guests, clearing their towels or dirty dishes. It wasn’t glamorous like he’d hoped, but it was dependable. Also, the grounds were pretty. He felt calm there, protected – it didn’t look like the Gambia he knew. For this reason, he was especially happy to hear one day that his boss wanted to talk to him, about something good. At the end of his shift, Thomas went to meet his boss in the office behind the front desk.

  “Come in,” he said, looking up from a pile of guest registration forms. “Rules,” he huffed, dejectedly pushing the papers aside. Thomas was doing a good job. “You are a good worker, and the guests like you.” He was being promoted to bartender. “It is clear you are more skilled at the job than Patrick.”

  Thomas blushed, tried not to appear boastful, quietly responding, thank you, sir. Not only was Thomas getting a new job, a better job, but it came with a raise – five more dalasis an hour. Things were starting to look up.

  It was a story of positive upward mobility. And he always spoke kindly of the village when people asked if he missed his home. He didn’t want to sully anyone’s imagination. It is a beautiful place. Calm and quiet. But that type of life isn’t for everyone. Those in Andrew’s circle believed Thomas was becoming one of the country’s success stories. Absent from his story was any mention of vitriol, the bigotry, or his early struggles in Banjul. He withheld all the stories about the loneliness and solitude of his existence, his community of one.

  As far back as Thomas remembered, he was uninterested in girls. It never registered with him to be attracted to them. At first he didn’t realize this made him any different from the other children growing up around him. It was just who he was, and he took it to be normal. He didn’t know precisely when, but at some point approaching his teens, when he better understood the basics of life, he noticed more people talking about how one day he would have to marry.

  “Don’t learn from your brother,” his mother instructed him when he was around thirteen, making reference to Thomas’s oldest brother, Sheriff, who’d by then finished secondary school. They stood in the kitchen and she watched through the window as her oldest son took some treats from a few girls passing by outside. He was sitting in a plastic chair with some friends when they walked by.

  “Give me those sweets,” he demanded, before reaching his arm out.

  “He is not nice to those girls,” his mother told him. “He does not respect them the way he should. When you take a girlfriend and wife, you should be more soft around her. Your brother is too stern and he puts himself above them.”

  But I don’t want to take a girlfriend or a wife.

  Entering his early teens, as talk of girls and marriages became more commonplace, Thomas began to appreciate that he was different. And he knew enough to know he wasn’t different in a good way. There was no label for what he was, if he was something. In their small village, no one spoke about gays or lesbians. But from his observations of how boys went off with girls, and the village’s collective insistence on boys marrying girls, he knew his growing desires were pushing him up against the established way of life. There was so much talk about a person’s future in this respect. It didn’t seem like a future for him, at least the future he wanted, was possible.

  As his self-awareness grew, he struggled to find ways to cope. He couldn’t think of anyone to turn to for help. His parents, he feared, wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t want to understand. There were no other relatives or teachers he could think of approaching, either
. As far as he could tell, no one else in the village was like him. It was his secret. At some point during this time, he learned there was a word for him. He was a homosexual, or gay. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one after all. With this knowledge came another piece of information: being gay was a sin.

  Most of what Thomas learned came from the pastor at their church, who began pontificating on homosexuality with greater frequency. At first he tried not to let it get to him. Ironically, the pastor’s words sometimes gave him a little optimism. Living isolated and shut off from much of the world around him, it was only through these sermons that Thomas learned homosexuals could form relationships, and even in some instances, families. It was something he never fully thought possible and it was this discovery that sparked a fast-growing urge within him. He wanted what the pastor was telling him mustn’t be permitted. He wanted to have someone too.

  Thomas’s urge grew in tandem with the pastor’s obsession with homosexuality. Initially, Thomas was mostly puzzled. He couldn’t understand the pastor’s fixation. It all seemed for naught. No one spoke of anyone being gay in the village and Thomas detected no homosexual army waiting to invade. In fact, it was clear to him that it was he who was most threatened. With the pastor’s obsession taking greater hold within the congregation – meaning most of the village – and disdain and disgust towards homosexuality became the norm, Thomas felt that it was he himself who was being denounced and vilified by his entire community. It was then that he finally began to wonder how much longer he might be able to take it.

  His only problem was that he had nowhere else to go. The entire family was still in the village. Of his two older brothers, one was now married and embraced his role as the patriarchal head of his family, socializing with the village men while his wife did most of the farming and all the cooking. Sheriff, who was single and entrepreneurial, would be the first in their family to leave the village for Banjul. Thomas knew he couldn’t run away with his brother. He needed a clean start. If he left, he would have to go alone.