“When will that be?” Thomas asked.
“Later today, I’ve been told.”
They both looked at each other.
“So much for not telling anyone,” Andrew said lightheartedly, not knowing what else to say.
Thomas wasn’t interested in Andrew’s poor attempt at levity. He turned quizzically to Abdou. “Mr. Bojang?” he asked, looking concerned.
“Abdou,” Abdou responded.
“Yes, Abdou. Tell me, exactly how did the police discover us?” It was a question on both of their minds the whole week. They’d each reconstructed as much of their relationship as possible and came to the same conclusion. They had been exceedingly cautious and had no idea who would have betrayed them.
He didn’t know, he told them. When their arrest was formally announced it would come out, he imagined. He would have access to all of the state’s evidence, so they would find out in due course.
“Patience, as challenging as it may be,” he told them, “is crucial.”
In the meantime, and until that point, Abdou began to explain how the arraignment proceedings would work. They would be led into the courtroom where Abdou would be waiting for them. The charges would be read out and they would be asked either to deny or admit to the charges.
“I assume you both want to deny the charges,” he asked, to which they both nodded in response.
Following this, the court would address bail and scheduling the trial. Abdou was upfront and said he expected bail would be denied. “The government will move to deny bail on the grounds of Andrew’s nationality and concerns that you will abscond.”
“Abscond?” Thomas asked.
“Flee. They’ll say because he’s American he will run to the American embassy, which the Gambian police cannot enter. The court, I’m sure of it, will agree and deny bail.” He told them he could fight it, and they could have a separate hearing on bail, but he was so sure they would lose that all it would do is prolong their pre-trial detention and delay getting to the actual trial.
“So, I’d like permission from both of you not to contest in the event the court denies bail.”
They both nodded, clearly because he told them to and not because either had thought the matter through himself.
Abdou continued hurrying through his explanation of other formalities. That this would all take place before a magistrate and not a judge, but such a distinction mattered little. There was a chance, he added, the government would request, to prove how seriously they approached this case, to move the matter from a magistrate’s court to the High Court, which they also needn’t worry about. As he told them how often he would visit and his priorities going forward, he struggled to follow their expressions. It was hard to tell if they were focusing on anything. Abdou understood that little of what he now said was registering with either of them. The more in-depth he got into the specifics, and he wasn’t getting in-depth at all, the blanker their faces became. Looking across the table at his clients, he saw through their stillness and silence that they appeared overwrought and small. Only a week into their ordeal, he worried about their ability to cope.
“You’re fortunate,” he said, hoping to soothe their anxieties. “Because of you, Andrew, and the attention it will bring to have a foreigner on trial, the government will be extra careful to ensure the trial proceeds fairly. There will be a lot of media attention and observers. They will not want to take any chances. So you mustn’t be so put off.”
Shrugged reactions suggested they appreciated his failed attempt to make them feel better, and an ominous mood descended over the room.
Abdou didn’t want them leaving deflated. “We’ll get through this,” he added.
After the hearing he would be coming back for a detailed discussion about the case and apologized he couldn’t stay to talk about it more then. But while he organized his briefcase, he said there was one more question.
“What about your mobile phones?” he asked, looking quizzically at them. “Text messages, pictures, you know, that kind of stuff.”
“There’s nothing,” Thomas said quietly. “We always deleted text messages after we read them.”
Abdou turned to Andrew, who nodded in agreement, before looking down to the floor.
“That is good,” Abdou proclaimed, nodding. “Very good. Is there anything you can think of, either of you, that the police may have found when they searched your homes? Anything that might be incriminating and support their allegations?”
“They searched my house?!” Andrew asked incredulously, looking up at Abdou and Thomas.
“Of course they did,” Abdou answered.
Andrew slumped his shoulders and rested his face on his hands at the news, understanding even more that this situation was not about to disappear. He thought to himself for a minute before suddenly looking up terrified, and turned to Thomas and then to Abdou. “I have a journal,” he announced, not being able to close his mouth afterward.
Abdou took the news in stride. “Okay,” he said calmly. Turning to Thomas he asked, “and you?”
Thomas, visibly troubled by Andrew’s declaration – he didn’t know he had a journal – shook his head. “No, nothing.”
“Okay,” Abdou said again. “Condoms?” he asked, hesitantly treading into the private. Thomas and Andrew gazed guiltily at each other before Andrew nodded. “Okay,” he said once more. “That is important information.”
As he took his briefcase in his hands, he implored both of them to stay strong. Turning to Thomas he added, “especially you, please,” and in doing so he created an uncomfortable feeling between Thomas and Andrew. Thomas was embarrassed by the implication his situation was more precarious than Andrew’s. He tried to shrug it off while Andrew turned to him with eyes that expressed urgent concern, mouthing silently, are you okay?
Yes, Thomas mouthed back dejectedly, but still wanting to be convincing.
“See you tomorrow,” Abdou said, his deep voice breaking up their moment. He reached out and shook their hands before knocking on the door for a guard to come and open it.
If Thomas and Andrew thought they might have a moment of privacy once Abdou left, they were mistaken. As soon as the door opened, the same guards who brought each of them down appeared and they became fearful of looking at each other. They took Thomas out of the room first, pushing him to walk too quickly for someone in his state. When Andrew was led out, the hallway in front of him was already empty.
While Andrew and Thomas were being led down separate hallways, the government was finally going public with the arrest, just in time for the nightly news and talk shows. Their pictures were displayed on television screens throughout Gambia. Mobile phones across the country lit up with the news. Mr. Jalloh sat eating dinner with his family in disbelief. Liv was so bombarded with text messages from nearly everyone who knew her and Andrew that she stopped responding to them. Abdou worked late into the night keeping the radio on in his office. Thanks to the internet and social media, it didn’t take long for the story to break internationally. Perspective depended on the news source, foreign or local: AMERICAN VOLUNTEER ARRESTED IN AFRICA FOR BEING GAY or POLICE ARREST AMERICAN VOLUNTEER WHO CAME TO SPREAD HOMOSEXUALITY. When the head of the country’s police force announced the arrest, he proclaimed it as a giant step forward in the country’s defense of African values.
“Today,” he declared, “The Gambia has acted on behalf of all African states and refused to accept foreign and alien cultural practices that have no place here.” The state’s case, he assured, was incontrovertible. After a tip from a neighbor who suspected illegal activity, the police had monitored the individuals and since taking them into custody had amassed the evidence needed to secure a conviction. As he closed his remarks, he looked up from his prepared text to face the cameras and journalists in the room. “And let me say to the people of The Gambia. I know, we all know, how seriously you view these crimes. Let me assure you we share those beliefs and have acted in a deliberate and calculated manner
to ensure our efforts will be met with success. Justice will be swiftly delivered,” he promised. “There will be no mercy.”
Going to the courthouse for their hearing was the first time Andrew was made to wear handcuffs. They were cold and heavy, and it was intimidating to hear the buckles crackling as one of the guards tightened them on his wrists. His hands trapped in front of him, he walked unnaturally. Stepping out into the parking lot, Andrew was hit by sunshine and faced an open sky, an unexpected but welcomed respite. He looked up and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the rays relax his body.
He was driven to a nearby building and led into a back entrance before being paraded into the courtroom with officers on either side, his hands still cuffed in front of him. Andrew was familiar with embarrassment, but on this day he learned the true meaning of humiliation. As he was led through the small and cramped courtroom, whose smell immediately struck him – the smell of a room constantly filled with people whose scents lingered long after they were gone – Andrew for the first time in his life truly wanted to give up and disappear. He had no family, no friends, and except for a lawyer he did not yet know or trust, no allies. He only had Thomas, who was just as powerless as he, and they weren’t even together at that point. It was only Andrew, walking in handcuffs, on display for curious onlookers to gawk at, for journalists to try and analyze, and for guards and police officers to stare at and suspect. Walking into the silent courtroom, he could hear and feel everyone’s condemnation. It fell upon him unexpectedly, a weight that felt too great to bear.
When he reached the defendant’s table, Abdou was there. He immediately leaned into Andrew. “When they bring Thomas through, try not to smile at him. Better to keep looking forward.” He did as told. As Thomas was led to the same table, limping forward in pain, Andrew didn’t once lift his face to him. In fact, when Thomas arrived next to Andrew, neither acknowledged the other. They just stood in silence.
The court was called to order and the magistrate was called in, Magistrate Colley, a woman. Andrew wasn’t sure why, but he had figured it would be a man. For whatever reason the sight of a female magistrate put him slightly more at ease, a feeling quickly dispelled when they made eye contact. She looked impatiently at him like her mind was already made up.
It all happened very quickly. Each was called by name and stood up. The clerk of the court read out the charges, which they were asked to admit to or deny. Each did as planned.
After his turn, Andrew turned around and scanned the courtroom, looking for support. He found Maya standing in the back corner of the courtroom taking notes. She was looking down when Andrew’s eyes passed her way and didn’t see him. Liv, however, had her eyes firmly fixed on Andrew the whole time. She must’ve arrived after him and was seated diagonally behind him, positioned so he could easily turn his head to the side and see her. She was with two other friends of Andrew’s, but his eyes locked immediately with hers. The look she gave him said everything and he swiftly turned away for fear he’d lose his composure. He turned his face to the ground and closed his eyes, wanting but unable to pay attention to the proceedings in front of him. He wondered what Thomas was thinking at that moment and wished he could ask him. He wondered what his family was thinking and wished they were with him. It was easier for him to focus on others because every time he tried to sort out what he was thinking, he grew exhausted from the onslaught of conflicting thoughts and emotions and gave up.
Looking back into the courtroom, Andrew saw Suleiman writing in his notepad. He was looking down, scribbling quickly, and didn’t notice Andrew. Andrew turned his eyes back to Thomas only to see that Thomas was also observing his friend. Then, as if sensing the stares fixed upon him, Suleiman lifted his head from his notepad, his eyes meeting both of theirs. His expression was neutral, but Andrew thought he sensed a pang of guilt to it. Maybe he was reading too much into it. Shifting to face Thomas, Andrew saw that his expression was empty. By the time Andrew looked back at Suleiman, he had returned to scribbling notes on his pad. Andrew wondered what his article would say.
When Andrew brought his focus back to the proceedings, he could tell they were talking about bail. The prosecutor, as Abdou predicted, argued that bail should be denied.
“We cannot risk the chance that Mr. Turner will attempt to enter the U.S. Embassy or flee the country.”
“And Mr. Sow?” Magistrate Colley inquired.
“Given his association with Mr. Turner, we feel he might try to leverage Mr. Turner’s nationality and also attempt to abscond.”
As if she’d been briefed by the prosecutor beforehand, Magistrate Colley agreed that the argument was persuasive. She asked Abdou if he had anything to say in response, to which he answered no.
Bail was denied. Also, as Abdou predicted, the trial was moved to the High Court as requested by the prosecution. The trial would begin on a Monday, in three and a half weeks. “Until then,” Magistrate Colley proclaimed, “the accused will be remanded back to the custody of the state. This case is adjourned.”
As Magistrate Colley excused herself, Abdou turned to Thomas and Andrew before they were whisked off. “I’ll come to see you tomorrow. This was fine. Surprises are bad and today we had none. Don’t worry.”
Then on cue, four guards came to lead them away, paraded out as they’d been paraded in.
25
Thomas and Andrew were taken to the remand wing of Mile 2 prison after their arraignment but were immediately separated and led in separate directions. Overcrowded and filthy, it was the country’s largest and most notorious prison. Walking in, Andrew recoiled at the smell of unwashed bodies. He was led past rows of communal cells packed with desolate-looking men, many of whom had visible wounds. They all turned their gaze to him upon seeing a white man in a prisoner’s uniform. Is this where he’d be kept? he asked himself frightfully. Fortunately for him, the answer was no, and he was again led down more hallways through a final door. Another short hallway followed. A lone, dying lightbulb hung from the ceiling. The rains hadn’t arrived but the narrow concrete passageway soaked in the humidity, trapping whatever moisture it could. It smelled like mold. Two empty cells stood on either side at the end. He was placed in one – a small private cell, this time with only a mat on the floor instead of a mattress, and a small blanket. The floor was sticky and grimy, filthier than his cell before.
The barred door slammed closed with a jarring bang, echoing through the hollow space. Inspecting his cell, Andrew ran his fingers along the threatening scratches on the concrete walls, tracing the history of others who once occupied the lifeless room. He looked down at the floor and at the tattered sleeping mat and crumpled blanket – both most certainly infested with something. He sat down on his mat, buried his head in his hands, and without having to feign courage any longer, wept.
He’d regained his composure by the time Maya visited later in the afternoon. She wanted to let him know the U.S. government was continuing to do all it could on his behalf. The Ambassador had already made several phone calls and had a meeting scheduled with officials from the justice and foreign ministries.
“Do you think anything will happen?” he asked.
“We’re hopeful, but we must be realistic. The government won’t want to look like it caved to American pressure, so we need to approach this delicately, and probably with a little more patience than you might want.”
She did bring some good news, though. “Your family is on a plane now. They’re coming here.”
“What?” he exclaimed, looking happy for the first time in over a week.
“They took the news as well as anyone could’ve in the circumstances. They bought tickets to Banjul right away. Their flight from Dakar arrives this evening.”
“What?!” he repeated. “What happened? What did my father say? Please tell me everything,” he asked her intently.
“I will,” she replied. “But, first, before you get too excited, I want to tell you I’m not convinced they’ll be allowed into the country.
”
“What do you mean?” he asked her, his expression forlorn.
She went on to explain how she thought the authorities would refuse entry to individuals who might be coming to advocate or voice support for persons accused of breaking the homosexuality laws.
“Oh,” he said, not hiding his disappointment.
“But I wanted you to know that even with this possibility, your family still wanted to try. I’m going to the airport to meet their flight. Regardless of what happens, I’ll let you know.”
Maya returned several hours later, after having to convince the guards to let her in at night, only to tell Andrew that his family had been flown back to Dakar. They planned to find a hotel and liaise with the embassy there.
“Okay, thanks,” he said to her softly. “Did you see them?”
“No. Your father called me from the immigration area.”
He looked back at her with the same forlorn face.
“We have to take things as they come,” she said.
He nodded without saying anything, but opened his eyes a bit wider to communicate that he knew. But after Maya left, for the second time that day, he sat down and cried.
Andrew was thankful the next morning when he was taken from his cell and led to an interview room where Thomas and Abdou waited for him. He was happy for the human interaction, which was in short supply in his prison cell. However, the news Abdou brought quickly unnerved him.
“Isatou?!” Andrew’s face contorted every which way. “Impossible,” he said, squinting his eyes, trying to see something he didn’t believe existed. He turned to Thomas, whose calm demeanor suggested Abdou had already told him, or that he had less trouble believing Isatou would have given them up. “How did she know?” he demanded.
Abdou explained that Isatou’s nephew had reported them. There were three Saturday mornings where this man saw Thomas leaving the house very early in the morning, before dawn, hopping over the gate. The man was on his way to prayers at the mosque. Thomas didn’t have the look of a robber when he saw him the first time, and when he spotted him the second week he thought it was strange to see him leaving again so early in the morning.
The Order of Nature Page 24