we’d have our blackboard and supplies.
“You have money in Australia?” Damu asked. I understood he was asking if I had personal wealth, not if we actually had currency in my country.
“Some,” I answered with a nod. It was hard to fathom the money in my bank accounts when I was sitting on a dirt floor in a hut made of mud and cow shit, with no water or lights.
“We not have money here. Need it but not have it. The Maasai were a people who lived by the land. Everything we need came from land and cattle. But not anymore. This country, this… government… make us live like white man, but we are not that way.”
“How does that make you feel?”
He was quiet a moment. “I cannot change it, so I give it no mind.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“I am not like Kijani. I not believe everything should have price.”
I smiled at the darkness. “You’re a good man, Damu.”
He stilled and was silent a while, then he said, “We sleep now.”
We shuffled down until we were comfortable on the mattress. Like every night, I was the little spoon and his arm was my pillow. Damu pulled his shuka over the both of us so his bare chest pressed against my back, and he settled his arm around me. I could have sworn I heard him sigh, and soon after, the tension left his body and he slept.
I revelled in the feel of him, the hard planes of his body, his strength. His safety, his comfort…
I closed my eyes, and this time when sleep crept in to take me, I went willingly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Tell Jarrod I said hi,” Becky says with a sweet smile and wave as she picks up her handbag.
“Will do,” I reply.
“Usual Friday night then?”
“Yes, we’re boring.” I roll my eyes. “Dinner, drinks, home in bed before ten.”
“You’re the oldest twenty-five year olds I know.” She winks. “Have fun, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Yes, you will.” The door closes behind her. The office is quiet just after six, so I make one more note for the Janson’s family holiday trip to New Zealand and shut my computer off.
“You’re here late,” my boss says as she closes up the office around me. I’ve worked here for four years and quite often work late… “Thought you had plans tonight?”
“I do. Meeting Jarrod at the pub. It’ll be quicker if I leave from here instead of going home first.”
She waits for me at the door. I collect my jacket from the back of my chair, pat down my pockets, looking for keys, wallet, and phone, and walk out into the still-warm Sydney evening.
“Have a good weekend,” I say to her as she locks the front door.
“You too, Heath. Take care.”
I walk the two blocks to the pub, finding Jarrod sitting at a table, waiting for me. He’s wearing his work suit, his tie pulled down to expose his first button, undone, and his whole face lights up when he sees me.
I want to take his face in my hands and kiss my hello, but it’s something we aren’t comfortable in doing in public. We’re both out, but public displays of affection, especially in pubs we aren’t too familiar with; it’s not an option.
“Hey,” I say quietly, sitting across from him at the table.
He sips his beer with smiling lips and never says a word.
I just want to hear him speak.
I would give anything to hear his voice.
Then we’re leaving, a few beers happy, and step into the street. The night is dark and my heart is hammering, dread and fear spiking my blood, because I know what’s coming.
“Hey faggots! Where you going? Party’s this way.”
I turn to get a look at the man who spoke, but there isn’t one. There are three… and they come at us in the dark, their intentions as obvious as the bats they’re holding.
Jarrod looks at me, his face etched with fear and panic. He opens his mouth to scream at me to run, run, run, just like he did that night.
But before he makes a sound, everything snaps back.
The alley is gone and we’re on the Tanzanian plain, in the sunlight and
“You have money in Australia?” Damu asked. I understood he was asking if I had personal wealth, not if we actually had currency in my country.
“Some,” I answered with a nod. It was hard to fathom the money in my bank accounts when I was sitting on a dirt floor in a hut made of mud and cow shit, with no water or lights.
“We not have money here. Need it but not have it. The Maasai were a people who lived by the land. Everything we need came from land and cattle. But not anymore. This country, this… government… make us live like white man, but we are not that way.”
“How does that make you feel?”
He was quiet a moment. “I cannot change it, so I give it no mind.”
“But you don’t like it.”
“I am not like Kijani. I not believe everything should have price.”
I smiled at the darkness. “You’re a good man, Damu.”
He stilled and was silent a while, then he said, “We sleep now.”
We shuffled down until we were comfortable on the mattress. Like every night, I was the little spoon and his arm was my pillow. Damu pulled his shuka over the both of us so his bare chest pressed against my back, and he settled his arm around me. I could have sworn I heard him sigh, and soon after, the tension left his body and he slept.
I revelled in the feel of him, the hard planes of his body, his strength. His safety, his comfort…
I closed my eyes, and this time when sleep crept in to take me, I went willingly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Tell Jarrod I said hi,” Becky says with a sweet smile and wave as she picks up her handbag.
“Will do,” I reply.
“Usual Friday night then?”
“Yes, we’re boring.” I roll my eyes. “Dinner, drinks, home in bed before ten.”
“You’re the oldest twenty-five year olds I know.” She winks. “Have fun, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Yes, you will.” The door closes behind her. The office is quiet just after six, so I make one more note for the Janson’s family holiday trip to New Zealand and shut my computer off.
“You’re here late,” my boss says as she closes up the office around me. I’ve worked here for four years and quite often work late… “Thought you had plans tonight?”
“I do. Meeting Jarrod at the pub. It’ll be quicker if I leave from here instead of going home first.”
She waits for me at the door. I collect my jacket from the back of my chair, pat down my pockets, looking for keys, wallet, and phone, and walk out into the still-warm Sydney evening.
“Have a good weekend,” I say to her as she locks the front door.
“You too, Heath. Take care.”
I walk the two blocks to the pub, finding Jarrod sitting at a table, waiting for me. He’s wearing his work suit, his tie pulled down to expose his first button, undone, and his whole face lights up when he sees me.
I want to take his face in my hands and kiss my hello, but it’s something we aren’t comfortable in doing in public. We’re both out, but public displays of affection, especially in pubs we aren’t too familiar with; it’s not an option.
“Hey,” I say quietly, sitting across from him at the table.
He sips his beer with smiling lips and never says a word.
I just want to hear him speak.
I would give anything to hear his voice.
Then we’re leaving, a few beers happy, and step into the street. The night is dark and my heart is hammering, dread and fear spiking my blood, because I know what’s coming.
“Hey faggots! Where you going? Party’s this way.”
I turn to get a look at the man who spoke, but there isn’t one. There are three… and they come at us in the dark, their intentions as obvious as the bats they’re holding.
Jarrod looks at me, his face etched with fear and panic. He opens his mouth to scream at me to run, run, run, just like he did that night.
But before he makes a sound, everything snaps back.
The alley is gone and we’re on the Tanzanian plain, in the sunlight and
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