[True Life Tales] how i met the african

[rawTOP]

Click here to see Nick's original blog post on True Life Tales...

I first met the African when I was in Kenya the first time, back in June 2008. I was in a small town in the Rift Valley working for a few weeks, working on a particular project with an NGO. The African arrived about a week into my stay, he was there from another organisation to help evaluate the project we were doing. There was maybe two dozen people from different groups based at this community centre

He says he vividly remembers the first time he laid eyes on me, but I cant for the life of me. I dont have a recolection of the first time I actually saw him, people were coming in and out of this place all the time. I know I became aware of his presence in the days after he arrived, but I was so focused on what I was doing that to me he was just another guy on the periphery.

The first time I remember clocking him was one sunny, early morning. It was so early that the air was still clear and fresh, it gets dusty and muggy in the late afternoon heat. Someone had asked me at dinner the night before if I would go with a few of the others to a larger nearby town to help pick up supplies. I was eager to see more of the country and to make myself useful.

The African was standing by a jeep at the front of the compound, talking to another man who was coming along too. He turned to say hello, and I took a good look at him. Same height as I, but slimmer, with long arms and hard biceps tucked away under his shirt. His face was thin, and with his colouring and hair that had was about half an inch thick, he looked a lot like a young Barack Obama.

I didnt spend too much time checking him out though, I was in Kenya working with some serious people on some serious issues, so I wasnt exactly on the hunt. I do remember how clean the bottoms of his jeans were, where everyone else struggled to keep the red dust out of every item of clothing they owned, he managed to look exceptionally well dressed.

He and the other man spent most of the three hour drive arguing about the election violence that had been happening, and I sat in the back, listening intently, trying to soak up all the information, occasionally piping in a thought, but usually being shot down by one of them saying 'But what you must understand...'

The African did not have a Kenyan accent, in fact it was almost an English one, well refined, pronouncing every word with care. By mid morning we had arrived at the depot and spent 30 minutes in the hot sun loading up the jeep. I noticed his muscles flexing as he lifted up boxes, and at one point got a glimpse of the top of his ass as he bent over the back of the jeep. His skin was smooth and brown, lighter than most of the Kenyans I had seen, and with his posh accent I couldnt work out where he was from.

The man who had came with us decided to stay in the town to sort out something or other, so it was just the African and I as we drove back to our village. We immediately built up a good rapport. When he had first arrived he had watched me working for an afternoon, and he told me he liked how I did it. He asked alot about me for a good hour, and we only vaguely skirted the issue of relationships.

As it turned out he was South African, what they call 'coloured,' which during the Apartheid years was a race above 'blacks.' I was fascinated by South Africa and the ins and outs of the country, and he told me much about it, but whenever he talked about his own life and where he lived, he would talk about his friend that he lived with. They way he said it and how he talked about his 'friend' was intriguing, and it sounded just like he was talking about his 'boyfriend' but deliberately not mentioning it. I pressed him a bit to tell me about his 'friend,' who it turned out was a white Afrikaaner, and they had been living together for a few years.

I thought I was just about to get him to spill the beans when we pulled to a stop. We were out in the country by now, and a dozen boys had pushed some crates on the dusty red road, trying to make a roadblock. The African was unalarmed. With an almost apologetic air, he told me to wait there as he sighed to step out the car. Just as he did, he leaned over to my side, just touching my knee to open the glove compartment and pulled out a handgun, which he handed to me.

I was just about to enquire what I was expected to do but he was already walking over to the group of boys, who had lots of sticks and a few knives. I couldnt quite hear what was being said but he had the air of a teacher telling off a group of boys that had been caught misbehaving.

They seemed restless, and I was worried about a couple of them at the side of the road who were keeping out of the discussion, and it looked like one of them was hiding something under his jacket. But after a few minutes of some raised voices, soon the boys were laughing, and the African walked back over as the boys moved the crates off the road. He was grinning like he had just shared a big joke with them.

He got back in the car and started up the engine again and laughed, 'Ha, Kenyans! Always trying to make a buck!'

'What did you say?' I asked him, surprised.

'I told them that this was a public highway, and if they wanted to run a toll road then they would have to show me a business license.'

'And what did they say?'

'They asked me where they could get one!' He was killing himself laughing at this point. Of course they are not allowed to run a toll road.

'And then what??'

'I told them they would have to go to the police station in the town 10 miles west of here to get one!'

Sure enough, as we drove off, they were all heading off west into the setting sun.

'The police aren't going to be happy if they walk in and ask for a business license to run a toll road, are they?' I asked.

He kept laughing, 'Exactly!'

We started talking about his life in Cape Town again, and about his 'friend.' As we weren't far off our village, I decided to ask him,

'So your 'friend,' I said. He turned and looked at me with a grin, larger than the one he had had after outwitting the roadblock kids. I couldnt stop smiling either,

'Is he your boyfriend?!'

He was laughing,

'Ok, you got me! Now you tell me about your boyfriend!'

I was shocked, 'What?!'

'You tell me about your man back in the UK.' he commanded.

'How did you know I was gay?!' I was really shocked, I hadnt said a word to anyone the whole time I had been there!

'Oh please, I could tell you were gay the second I saw you. I used to live in London, you British gays are all the same!'

The first time he had seen me, I had been sitting in a circle with a group of women, who were trying to teach me how to make baskets from beads, and I was trying to talk in my very limited Swahili. Basically we were just having one big laugh.

'You were sitting gossiping with your fag hags!'

'I had no idea I was that obvious,' I said.

He could only keep laughing, and after a few minutes of feigned indignation on my part, all I could do was laugh with him.

That night we sat at the same table at dinner, he put everyone in stitches telling them how petrified I was that a bunch of school boys were going to shoot me up. And later we had a laugh running some games together with some of the kids. The African and I were starting to enjoy stealing lustful glances at one another.

More...