Andrew sat for a while, doodling in the sand with a stick, watching the people pass him by. He tried not to think about anything. But since not trying to think about anything most often means you really want to be thinking of something, Andrew’s mind kept filling with thoughts. This went on for a while. At some point he asked himself what he was so afraid of. When most of the sand in front of him had been dug away, he brought himself to his feet and turned south, which was the opposite direction of home, and started walking.
The hotel pool area was almost empty. The rainy season had ended but it was still before the tourist season began in earnest. By the time Andrew arrived, the sun had mostly set. The white marble path leading from the beach up to the hotel’s pool area was illuminated by pot lights in the ground reflecting up into the palm trees. He’d never observed it this way, so empty and dim. Walking up, he saw it as a tableau, and before stepping into it, he had one final opportunity to second guess himself. He did, paused for a brief moment, then continued.
Thomas was cleaning and organizing behind the bar when Andrew approached. The last guests at the pool were busy trying to get their children out of the water. Andrew stood motionless in front of one of the pot lights, keeping him largely in the dark. In his work clothes – pants, an untucked shirt, and a knapsack over his shoulder – he appeared out of place.
Just as the parents ushered their children away, Thomas turned around and saw the silhouette standing across from him, knowing instantly who it was. For a few seconds they both stood there, inadvertently re-enacting their look from the previous week. The distance between them was not bridging itself, and Andrew decided he had to make the first move. He would walk to the bar and buy a drink. Making his way towards Thomas, he was unsure of where to look.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Andrew had never dated, or seriously flirted with anyone for that matter. The words didn’t come naturally to him. The shyness he spent the past months shedding started to reappear.
“I’m Andrew, by the way.”
“I know. And I’m Thomas.” Thomas’s smirk hinted confidence.
For the past many weeks, it was probably more than a month by now, Thomas played his game with Andrew. Eye contact, smiles, nudging close to him when taking group orders. It wasn’t solely to tease him. Thomas treaded a fine line and knew it. People were friendly, and at times entirely unassuming. Thomas needed to be sure before he took any risk that might leave him exposed and vulnerable.
Based on the crowd Andrew spent his time with, Thomas assumed he was in the country for an extended period of time. Offhand conversations with friendly patrons quickly confirmed this, which meant Thomas didn’t have to rush. Andrew wasn’t going anywhere and competition was unlikely to spring up.
Week in and week out, the routine would play itself out. Thomas would be extra friendly when Andrew and his friends visited the hotel. He found reasons to make repeat trips over – delivering menus, dropping off coasters, bringing the drinks two at a time instead of all at once on a tray. Sometimes he’d let an arm accidentally fall or rub up against Andrew’s shoulder, always quick to pull it back in a nondescript way to dispel any suspicion that he was being deliberate, except to Andrew, who caught on quickly, and never objected. There were the smiles, subtle but unmistakable, to which Andrew always reciprocated. And each time Andrew left, they always managed to sneak a look at each other. That look became the most honest shared expression of their existence. It was a resigned and despondent look. It was a maybe another time look, when another time didn’t necessarily mean tomorrow.
And so, when Thomas saw Andrew standing alone at a time when he had no reason to come to the hotel, he lit up. His efforts, his patience, had paid off. Another time meant now.
He watched Andrew slowly rest his knapsack on the ground, pull out a stool, and sit down.
“Can I get you something?”
“Uhh, sure. A beer. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“Do you want to have one too?”
“I can’t. We’re not allowed while working.”
They spoke like it was their first date.
Thomas asked Andrew what brought him to Gambia, how long he was planning to stay, and how he was finding it. He enjoyed talking to Americans. Most of the tourists who came to the country were from Europe and it was nice to meet someone from elsewhere. Andrew remarked that Thomas’s home village must be a nice place.
“I’ve only seen a few of the villages along the river. They all sound pretty, with the river and forest.”
“And the hippos you have to watch out for.”
“Yeah, well... I guess not everything about them is ideal.”
“No,” Thomas sighed, “not everything.”
A waiter from the restaurant walked over to drop off drink orders. Thomas saw Andrew shift his gaze away. His eyes looked like he was thinking. He didn’t know how to respond. Better to keep the conversation simple, Thomas thought, at least for now.
As Thomas prepared the drinks, Andrew checked his watch.
“I should get going.”
“I’m happy you came by.”
“Me too.”
“Will I be seeing you tomorrow?”
“I think so.”
And with that, Andrew stood up, leaving his dalasis on the bar.
“Goodnight, Andrew,” Thomas said with a mischievous smile.
“Goodnight,” Andrew responded, before walking out through the lobby, propelled by excitement.
Over the next few weeks, Andrew returned to the hotel bar late on Friday afternoons. The conversations started out light. But when it became laborious to keep talking about the challenges and idiosyncrasies of Gambian living – Andrew not wanting to sound like a stuck-up Westerner and Thomas wanting to retain some pride for his homeland – the conversation became more personal.
Thomas spoke of his frustration growing up in such a small house in such a small village. He shared a bedroom with his two brothers and not much separated them from their parents. Everyone in the village knew everyone. Neighbors’ doors were always open. As he discovered more about himself, he wished he had places to retreat alone. He and his father spent hours fishing in boats or on the river’s edge. Often they’d lose track of time and arrive home well after the time to eat when Thomas’s mother would sarcastically but playfully berate them for always being off on their “adventures” – especially when they returned empty handed. She’d tease that they didn’t truly appreciate all her work to cook a good meal while they were out having fun together and letting it get cold. While this went on, Thomas’s father would position himself behind his wife, and try to make Thomas laugh with silly faces, only to increase his mother’s frustration. She always caught on, turned around, and jokingly raised her hand to her husband as if to smack him.
“And then we would always all laugh,” Thomas said through a wistful smile. “It’s very frustrating to have people with whom you have such memories, who raised you, but then on the other hand, they do not even know you.”
“And if they did know you?”
“Well, I had to come here...”
“Right.”
“But I don’t think about it. In this place it’s not worth it to spend your time thinking those things.” Thomas always had a gentle way of hinting when he no longer felt like answering questions.
“Right.”
“What about you? Do you have parents?”
It was a strange question to Andrew, but he began to appreciate how different life in Gambia could be.
“Yes, I have parents. And a sister.”
“How lovely! What are they like? Are you close with them?”
Andrew had been thinking about his family, especially his parents, quite a bit these days as he confronted becoming more comfortable with a life he was unsure they would understand or accept. Still, he tried to be less harsh on them than he had been at home. He couldn’t tell if the distance changed his perspective, making
him more sympathetic towards his parents, or if it made him forgetful. Without them hovering over him, he was in no rush to judge at that moment.
“My parents are, well, interesting. We’re close, but probably not how you would define close. We don’t talk so much, or have much in common. I don’t know if that’s anyone’s fault. I don’t think anyone sets out for it to be that way. We’re just different. They were so mad at me when I told them I was coming here. If it wasn’t for my sister, they wouldn’t have let me come.”
“Really?!?”
“Well, not exactly. Ultimately it was my choice, but they weren’t happy. My parents, and I guess me until coming here, live a pretty sheltered life. They’ve never really faced challenge, or had to deal with difference. And I’ve started to realize a lot of who they are is because of that. But they mean well. They’ve always been kind to me, given me what I needed or wanted, and let me be,” Andrew ended, cutting himself off.
Andrew looked up at Thomas. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I should shut up.”
“No. I like getting to know you.”
6
Thomas’s brother, Sheriff, moved to Banjul shortly before he did, and started making his living working at a shop. His earnings were well beyond those of a regular shopkeeper, and he even had leftover funds to send to his family back home. They were initially suspicious, though ultimately grateful for the unexpected help. Eventually, Sheriff let on that he was making money as part of an auto-part smuggling ring bringing cheaper parts to the city from Senegal. Knowing his father was the unofficial village mechanic – being the person everyone went to in order to fix a broken motorcycle – he began suggesting the rest of the family move to Banjul, where life would be easier. Their parents, John and Grace, always rejected his entreaties; they were content in the village, with Thomas and their other son still living with them. Life was peaceful on the river, the fish were still in abundance, and Grace didn’t want to stop tending the family plot. “I don’t want to be someone who can only get food in the market,” she would tell him.
After Thomas left, Sheriff continued pressuring their parents, using Thomas’s leaving as further incentive. It would be easy and comfortable; he had already done all the hard work for them. His home, he said, had room for both of them, and his other brother and wife if they chose to come. “And I have a generator,” he told them. “Your lives won’t depend on Nawec and always having to worry about cash power anymore.” As enticing as escaping the woes of the country’s power supply was, John and Grace stayed put.
On his way home from work one night, Thomas called Suleiman and asked if he wanted a visit. Thomas was feeling celebratory on account of meeting Andrew. Even if nothing had materialized, Thomas achieved what he wasn’t sure was possible: he met someone. The irony of celebrating good news with a friend while keeping that news a secret wasn’t lost on Thomas, but in the circumstances, he would take what he could get.
Their last celebratory evening was when Thomas got his promotion. He had used some of his tip money to buy a nice cake at the restaurant he previously worked at and where the two of them had met. It was then, while they indulged in cake and ice cream, that Thomas saw how generous Suleiman was, how lucky he was to have found him.
Thomas boasted to Suleiman how with higher wages and tips he’d be able to save more money and eventually move out. “Soon you won’t have me taking up your space any longer.”
“Don’t say this,” Suleiman said. “I want you to stay here. This is your home.” Sometimes Thomas wondered why Suleiman was so giving.
The night after seeing Andrew, Thomas returned with another cake.
“You’re always telling me I don’t visit you enough. Now you cannot say such things, at least for a while.”
Suleiman didn’t question why Thomas visited when he arrived at his door holding a cake in a box. He frequently reminded Thomas it was important for them to keep in touch and appeared pleased that his friend took initiative.
“It is good of you to visit.”
The feeling of too much icing eaten too quickly was settling in their stomachs when Thomas’s phone rang. It was his father, but it was unusually late for him to be calling. Suleiman pretended to busy himself to give Thomas privacy.
When Thomas hung up the phone he was silent, his eyes and furrowed brow signaling a mind flush with thoughts.
“What is it?” Suleiman asked him.
“My parents,” he answered hesitantly. “They’re moving to Banjul, to live with my brother,” he continued, speaking slowly, digesting the news himself. “My other brother is staying, but my parents... they’re coming here. And they think I should also move there, with them.”
Thomas had never told Suleiman the real reason he left his family and village behind. The desire for more opportunity was sensible enough that Suleiman never questioned Thomas’s motivations. Still, the infrequency with which Thomas spoke about his family suggested there was more to Thomas’s relationship with them, with his home, than he let on.
“But Banjul is farther from the hotel,” Suleiman said. “It would take you so much more time going to and from work. Your life would be much more hectic.”
Suleiman was right. It was also the most practical and banal excuse Thomas could think of without having to address the unspoken.
“Yes. Yes, you’re right,” Thomas said excitedly to Suleiman, realizing he had a valid reason to refuse.
When Thomas called his father the next day and explained how driving from Banjul to Serrekunda every morning, and back again at night, could add an hour each way to his commute, his father reluctantly understood.
“But you must visit us,” he told his son. “After all, we will be very near to you.”
“I know, father. I will visit. Of course I will.”
That night, Thomas lay awake, unable to fall asleep. With his non-acclimatized parents living with him, Sheriff would again have the opportunity to demonstrate his skillfulness, navigating his family through life in the big city. He would be the expert, the guide, the model. The contrast between how Thomas and Sheriff lived would exacerbate the childhood tension that never seemed to evaporate from their relationship. He could hear his parents speaking. Why isn’t Thomas more like his brother?
The space he worked so hard to carve out for himself would be squeezed.
Thomas’s father would fall easily into Sheriff’s orbit. John never went to school. He was a self-taught man who could fish, farm, and fix things. And he’d done well enough by that. He believed that life isn’t easy and requires hard work and discipline, and Thomas knew his father would be impressed by the life Sheriff had built, the material things he acquired that ostensibly certified his success. You just need to work more like your brother, Thomas.
With the family living apart for the past couple of years, conversations placing Thomas’s difference in the spotlight became infrequent. Lying awake in bed at night, growing increasingly anxious and restless, Thomas knew that was about to change. Heightening his anxiety was the thought that he risked putting into focus how different he was, at a time when things were starting to fall into place.
Andrew was surprised at how quickly he was falling for Thomas. But even with his feelings, he knew he couldn’t be the one to make the first move. First, there was the practical. There was nowhere the two of them could be alone. Andrew still hadn’t said anything to Alex, though he planned on it. Second, Andrew was scared. So much was unknown, and Andrew didn’t like the unknown. As much as he desperately wanted to move things forward, the prospect of figuring out how had overwhelmed him. So he was content to let Thomas take the lead.
It was their fifth Friday. Andrew took a shared taxi to the hotel instead of walking along the beach. He would walk down to the beach almost automatically when he left school earlier in the afternoon. These Friday dates became his favorite part of the week. But this time he stopped himself when he turned to start his walk towards the hotel. The nerves were getting to him. He knew sooner or later he
and Thomas would have to confront what existed between them – the good and the bad – and he wasn’t sure he was ready. None of this had been in his plan. Upon arriving at the beach, he pulled his journal out of his knapsack, sat in the sand, and tried to make sense of the jumbles of thoughts slinging back and forth in his head.
This might be a big mistake. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m most definitely not thinking. Or maybe I am. No one would tell me this is a smart thing to do. But isn’t that the point – that this is the time where I listen to me? I don’t think it’s dangerous. I’ve spent enough time in this country to know there’s a lot of talk and not a lot of action – nothing will happen and it’s easy to keep something quiet. Alex won’t care and Isatou is really the only other person who comes to our compound. And Awa. But neither of them would say anything if they ever saw anything, which they won’t.
It’s not hard to figure this place out. Sure, people aren’t accepting, but hold on anyways. I’m not starting up with anyone. This is about two people, starting to like each other, in private. No harm should come of that. And, nothing’s happened, and I can’t see how anything would anyway. For the first time, I am clear on things and that’s what I find so confusing. No one knows how anything ends. But that doesn’t mean you don’t start.
While Andrew sat alone on the beach that Friday night and tried to make sense of everything, Thomas stood behind the bar, waiting for the approaching silhouette. Other male hotel guests flirted with Thomas before – the brazenness of some amazed him. But it was precisely that attribute that led Thomas not to trust them. From the start they assumed they could have Thomas, but they never took any time to try and talk to him, to actually know him. Only Andrew took a real interest in him. It was the first time a courtship developed on equal footing. Physical attraction brought them close, but something deeper drew them even closer.
The Order of Nature Page 6