You, Thomas thought.
He seemed regular and lacked any distinguishing features. He was probably a few years older than Thomas, maybe around Andrew’s age. He looked like a local, if there was such a look, wearing a shiny and colorful bazin dashiki, with a white-knitted taqiyah on his head. He swore his oath on the Quran, Bismillah Rahman Rahim. When Mr. Touray thanked him and asked him how he was, he replied, “Alhamdu lillahi Rabbil ‘alamin.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jobarteh,” Mr. Touray replied. He nodded, satisfied that Momodou had established his credentials as a pious man before the court.
His testimony was brief but unnerving. Mr. Touray used simple and direct questions. During the late spring and summer months when the days were longest, Momodou generally left for the mosque at five in the morning to recite the morning prayer, Fajr. Speaking in accented English, he told the court he was one of the main volunteers at the mosque, so he tried to arrive early on the days he attended. He confirmed that on early morning trips he usually encountered only a handful of other people on the streets, mostly men who were also on their way to prayers. He had been doing this since he was a teenager. He knew what the streets looked like in the dark.
“And during these trips to the mosque, did you ever encounter individuals you suspected were burglars?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you suspect they were burglars?”
“From how they dressed, how they moved, and what they carried. A person doing a robbery tries to hide and go fast.”
Thomas was the one who had to restrain himself most during Momodou’s testimony. He knew the questions Mr. Touray was going to ask and was uninterested in the answers. Instead, he was trying to contain a burning desire to stand up and demand Momodou answer his own questions. If Momodou saw Thomas hop the gate, but didn’t think he was a burglar, Why was it any of your business?
“And why didn’t you think he was a burglar?”
“Because he acted like a regular person. He didn’t carry anything. He dressed in normal clothing. He acted like a person going to begin the day, not in a hurry.”
“How many times did you see him this way?”
“Three.”
So, why did it matter to you? What did I ever do to you?
He told the story of the sport shorts in the laundry and concluded that upon seeing Thomas the second time, “I knew they must belong to this man.”
So what? Why did it bother you so much? It was the same question Mr. Touray closed with.
“I know this behavior is wrong. It is prohibited by the Quran, and by the laws of this country. I needed to do my part.” His answer, in contrast to his earlier ones, sounded rote and pre-programmed.
Abdou’s cross-examination was very brief. Though he’d barely said a word the whole day, Abdou looked worn out. In contrast to Mr. Touray’s crisp appearance, Abdou seemed hastily put together. His barrister’s robes hung unnaturally from his broad shoulders; his sleeves were too long, making it more difficult for him to hold his notes. But just like when Andrew met him for the first time, as soon as he opened his mouth, letting his deep baritone fill the courtroom, he dispelled at least some of the doubt cast by his appearance.
In his questioning he merely wanted to confirm that Momodou had never seen Thomas and Andrew together, never heard them together, and never heard stories of them being together.
“No.”
“And did you ever see, with your own eyes, Thomas inside the house located on the compound you claim you saw him emerging from?”
“No.”
Abdou subtly nodded to Justice Touray signaling he was finished. Justice Touray adjourned for the day and announced that court would reconvene tomorrow. Abdou told Thomas and Andrew they would be taken to an interview room in the courthouse so he could speak to them briefly about tomorrow’s witnesses. “And Andrew, Maya wants to speak to you too,” he said, eliciting unexpected looks from both of them.
Maya’s visit turned out to be disappointing. She had no news except to say she planned to update Andrew’s parents on the case. They were following as much as they could from their hotel in Dakar, and she and Abdou promised to call after each day’s proceedings. She also delivered messages of support they sent for Andrew, which he accepted with appreciation but also with haste, as Thomas looked on acutely aware that his family was nowhere. He looked away to give Andrew more freedom to react without having to worry about upsetting him. But as he tried to count the pockmarks on the wall, he felt a hand on his leg. He looked down and then at Andrew. Maya, too, saw what was happening and stopped. Thomas smiled appreciatively at Andrew in the brief silence.
Leaving, Maya told them that the embassy and State Department had one big idea, a new one not traditionally used, that she couldn’t mention yet. They were going to try later in the week. It’s something that would be difficult to walk away from, she told him.
“We’ll see. Stay hopeful.”
The session with Abdou was quick, a few clarifying questions before they were led out to the vehicles for the trip back to Mile 2. Only this time they weren’t driving under the cover of the early morning. They saw the full extent of the fuss their trial created. The streets were packed. A huge crowd gathered outside the courtroom and there were too many signs to read, mostly deriding homosexuality, but one – Thomas is not one of us – stuck out. The number of news vans and journalists stretched for half a block. They could make out logos for CNN and BBC.
In Thomas’s vehicle the guards turned to him, grinning. “You’ll never escape this,” one of them said. “No matter how far you try and run.”
28
That night Thomas drifted in and out of sleep. He thought back to how he’d dismissed Suleiman when he brought up the prospect of trying to flee and claim asylum somewhere. And what if Andrew had asked him to leave with him, would he have said yes? Could Andrew really have gotten him out? Stop, this is not helpful.
He awoke feeling entirely unrested and stepped forward out of his cell with trepidation; there was a more immediate concern. His supervisor, Mr. Bah, was scheduled to testify that day. Knowing the contempt Mr. Bah had towards him, especially when it concerned the favor he curried with foreigners, Thomas was dreading what he expected would be exaggerated testimony about witnessing his and Andrew’s courtship. It was also the first time since the whole ordeal began that Thomas would be confronted by someone he knew.
Mr. Bah had a hard time containing his excitement throughout his testimony. Thinking that testifying on such an important matter made him a bigger person, Mr. Bah played up not only the substance of his answers, but his form, aggrandizing his voice and mannerisms to distract from his petite, overworked figure and small, beady eyes.
It was an onslaught. Thomas loved foreigners... uninterested in his African brothers and sisters... He never quite fit in...
Thomas listened to the indictment calmly. It didn’t upset or anger him as much as he expected. In a sense, he thought to himself, Mr. Bah was right. Only the blame lay with him, not Thomas. It is you, Mr. Bah, who pushed me away. You and all the others. The part that did anger him, that infuriated him, was the blind self-righteousness, the hypocrisy of the accusations. As it began to sink in more and more, he struggled to put it out of his mind. He folded his hands over one another on the table to steady himself. When he sensed Andrew’s gaze upon him, he turned to him and read Andrew’s expression.
Try not to let it bother you. We both know it’s not true.
What good does that do for us now? Thomas thought.
But when Mr. Bah went on to explain how Andrew regularly sat alone at the bar with Thomas, bringing him into a monologue of moral opprobrium, Thomas saw Andrew’s body movements turning impatient, joining in his fury.
“Was there anything unique about Andrew’s visits to the bar?” Mr. Touray asked.
“Yes.”
“And what was that?”
“You could see how they...” Mr. Bah paused for effect. He was obviously well-rehea
rsed in how his testimony would go, and prepared for its climax. “You could see how they were in love.”
A few disdainful gasps and whispers murmured throughout the courtroom as Mr. Bah proceeded to testify about how Thomas and Andrew behaved around one another. How they would reach across the bar and touch each other’s hands or faces if they thought no one was looking, which was, at least the three of them knew, untrue. He also lied about how Andrew would sit at the bar, saying he often sat with his chin resting on his interlaced fingers.
“You know, like how the girls sit when they are dreaming about men,” he said with ridicule.
As he spoke, Andrew was shocked at the flagrancy and shamelessness of his lies, as if the truth meant nothing. Thomas though, stuck in his seat, was past the point of feeling upset or betrayed. Instead, he grew embittered watching people he knew have no compunction for ruining his life with their lies. He thought he had outran them, but they caught up to him. And now they were pulling him down.
Two of the Gambian soccer players from the Sunday matches also testified how they perceived a different type of friendship between Thomas and Andrew.
“Not like the rest of us, who were normal friends,” one of them said, without offering any specific example. “They weren’t normal together.”
Another noted that over time Thomas arrived earlier and earlier. “Before he would come just to play, but later he was there early, to spend time and not just for football.”
Abdou’s cross-examinations of all three were similar to that of Momodou the day before. Appearing tired, but managing to come across more comfortable in his clothes, he asked if any of the witnesses had ever seen Thomas or Andrew engage in the type of physical, sexual conduct prohibited by the law. He asked if there was any basis upon which they drew their conclusions, or if they concluded Thomas and Andrew engaged in the illegal acts solely on account of their subjective interpretations of their behavior, “which, I would like to point out, at the precise time you observed them, did not amount to a violation of the law.”
His questions could be long-winded, but he still got the answer he wanted. No. No one had actually seen them break the law.
“But if you saw them, and saw what I saw about how they were together, you would agree that this is the only logical conclusion,” implored Mr. Bah, trying to preserve his credibility.
It impressed Thomas to watch Adbou try valiantly to emphasize how none of the prosecution’s witnesses ever saw Thomas and Andrew break the law. It felt nice to have someone stand up for him. Even so, he couldn’t help but lose hope. The trial was a facade, a formality to be performed before the conviction everyone believed was coming came. A thick air of impatience hovered in the court as Abdou began his line of questioning. Everyone understood where he was going, but it was clear how little it mattered. Even Justice Touray, reluctant to appear biased, looked bored. We know, Mr. Bojang – they didn’t catch them in the act, but so what? What about everything else?
They were just close friends didn’t seem to be a convincing enough explanation.
Desperate for distractions, Thomas frequently scanned the courtroom. He quickly found Suleiman, always diligently taking notes, rarely looking up. They locked eyes on a few occasions. Suleiman consistently seemed uncomfortable and Thomas couldn’t tell if it was because he was trying to maintain professionalism or if he felt guilty. During one of the breaks between witnesses, Thomas turned to Abdou and said he wanted to read copies of Suleiman’s articles.
“He’s the one who came to try and interview me in detention. I would like to see what he’s writing.”
“Sure,” Abdou said quickly, pretending, like Thomas, that Suleiman was a stranger to him. “I will get you a copy.” He spoke so quickly and failed to make a note of it that Thomas figured he’d forget. But during the next break he came back into the courtroom with a newspaper.
“Here,” he said, placing it down in front of Thomas. “It’s from yesterday.”
GAYS ON TRIAL IN BANJUL read the headline. Beneath it was a picture of Thomas and Andrew that took up half of the page. It was, like so much else about the country’s newspaper articles, sensationalistic. The subheading said it all. U.S. and Gambian homosexual couple accused of undermining Gambian society, values. By Suleiman Darboe. The article took up the bottom half of the page.
The trial of accused homosexuals, American Andrew Turner and Thomas Sow of Banjul, began today in the High Court of Banjul. The accused, appearing weak and forlorn, were led into the courtroom of Justice Touray for the first day of their five-day trial. The state’s case is being handled by Chief Prosecutor Amadou Touray and the accused are represented by Abdou Bojang, a young barrister.
Global attention to the case is high due to Mr. Turner’s American nationality. Journalists from several American media companies and the BBC were present.
Inside the courtroom it was clear there will be no special dispensation on account of Mr. Turner’s citizenship. The government presented what it claims is evidence of a romantic relationship between the two men going back months. It suggested that Mr. Sow, who has a proclivity for foreigners, and Mr. Turner, purposefully acted in disregard of The Gambia’s criminal laws to, as it was suggested in the courtroom, “challenge the very fabric of our way of life”.
Many outside the courtroom agreed. “Let them rot in jail. We cannot have them here,” said Awa Camara, a mother of four who came to show her support for the government. “We are standing up for our culture as Gambians.” Another spectator, Musa Bittaye, proclaimed, “They want to make us impure, and live as sinners.”
The silence from the country’s legal and human rights community, who normally side with unpopular accused persons, underscored the condemnation and disapproval across Gambian society.
Others not attending the proceedings in Banjul, but also watching the trial closely, include the families of the accused. Mr. Turner’s parents are in Dakar, trying to be as near to their son as possible after Gambian immigration authorities refused their entry into the country. Mr. Sow’s family, some of whom live in Banjul and others in a village in the Mansakonko LGA, is hoping for the trial to come to a quick conclusion and for the maximum sentence to be handed down. “If Thomas is this homosexual, and we think now that he is,” one of his brothers said, “he doesn’t deserve his freedom and he’s not a part of this family.”
The trial is scheduled to last for the whole week, possibly more if witnesses require extra time. It will be interesting to see what defense Mr. Bojang is able to put forward to disprove that the two were in fact lovers. His first foray into cross-examination was underwhelming and it does not bode well for the accused. With little evidence of a strong defense, and the prosecution confident, a verdict is not expected to take long.
Mr. Touray, the prosecutor, told this reporter that the prosecution has been working tirelessly. He said he intended to expose Misters Turner and Sow. “By the end of the trial no one will be able to look at these two men and think anything except that their very existence is, to borrow a phrase from our criminal code, against the order of nature.”
Thomas had to temper his rage. His first instinct was to turn around and ask his friend why he betrayed him like this. Appearing weak and forlorn? Little evidence of a strong defense? Was that necessary, Suleiman? And why couldn’t Suleiman find anyone to speak in our defense? What happened to your plan? That your articles can help people see what’s going on around them? Where is that in here? Just as he was about to hold up the paper and turn to face Suleiman, he felt a hand on his wrist. It was Andrew, who’d read the article over Thomas’s shoulder.
“Don’t,” he said. “What did you expect? He’s only doing his job.”
“He was my friend.”
“He still is.”
As court adjourned for another night, Abdou noticed Andrew was slow to get up. His face was stoic, impervious to the commotion all around him. It was distressing to see him like that.
“I will talk to Manima tonight an
d we will make you and Thomas some fresh domoda that I will bring to you tomorrow. The guards will let you eat it at the lunch break.”
“Thanks,” he said, expressionless, still seated, and seemingly unaware Thomas was being led away.
“Andrew, what’s wrong?” Abdou asked, knowing it was a stupid question.
He looked up to Abdou, just as the guards, running out of patience, started walking towards him to take him from the courtroom.
“I just didn’t think this is how it would turn out. That this would be my life.”
Abdou didn’t have a chance to respond before the guards took Andrew away, leading him through a side door and finally out of sight.
29
That night in his cell Andrew was again alone with his thoughts. He hated thinking so much. It was all he did – think over and over, about the past, present, and future. And it was all so depressing and exhausting, but his thoughts became his only companion. He tried to transport himself away from them, to memories of happier times. But like so many other nights, his thoughts invariably led him back to the present and a growing heap of desolation and anxiety.
He tried sleeping longer, refusing his body’s command to wake up. When that failed, and he grew uncomfortable on his mat, he faced the day with reluctance. It was the day of the trial he was dreading most, the one he felt most responsible for. The morning’s witness was the police investigator who found his journal and he was being called to read certain entries. And though his use of the journal was highly erratic throughout the year – he could never quite get the hang of it – in retrospect, the times he did write in it now struck him as some of the most inopportune times to do so. The vindictiveness of his journal as the most definitive piece of evidence was almost too much to take.
Why did I ever write in it? I was such an idiot.
The Order of Nature Page 28