Nasi

Derek practically leaped out of the car. He felt electric. The night air was cool, and he was looking forward to dancing with his new colleagues. As they filed out of the car, he reached back into the car through the driver’s side window to shake the driver’s hand. Like all recent arrivals from the West, he had a nearly imperceptible feeling that he and Razak were not on equal footing, but he wouldn’t acknowledge it. For now, they were new colleagues too, and would soon become friends.

“Yo boss, why don’t you park and come in. Might be a while,” said Derek. Derek called Razak boss and vice versa. In fact, everybody called everybody boss here. A term of endearment to efface the clear differences between the internationals and the locals.

“Sure boss. Got to check in with the family first. Go on in.” said Razak. Derek understood. The fee to enter the club was a meaningful amount for Razak. And Razak was tired, he had a baby back at home, and it was already past one in the morning now.

“Ok call me when you’re ready to come in. I’ll cover you,” Derek offered. Like last Friday, he didn’t expect to hear from Razak. While Derek would be in the club dancing, Razak would lean back in the driver’s seat and nap until they were all ready to back to the housing compound in a few hours.

Derek rejoined the others and walked to the entrance of the club. Everybody was in a good mood after the long dinner and the drinks afterward. The small team had been undergoing changes lately with beloved members leaving and newcomers like him joining. But, they all seemed to be getting along and enjoying each other’s company. Aleem from New York, a recovering investor. Joy, a consultant from London. Robert, the real boss, also from London had been running a think tank. Matthew, a banker, was the only member of specialist team actually from Sierra Leone, but he had been educated in America and returned, also from London, to Freetown to do this work last year.

The music pumped rhythmically inside: a variety of hip hop hits with Akon on heavy rotation. Having grown up in adjacent Senegal, the American rapper was the crowd favorite on the dance floor lit up in bluish neon lights. A mass of bodies pulsed to the beat: a mix of foreigners and local elites. He was already starting to recognize familiar faces of the small international community. Derek thought he saw the girl he’d met from some part of the UN with a group of her colleagues in a corner of the floor. In the middle of the floor were a couple of groups from NGOs. There was a bar was on two sides of the floor, and all around the outside of the floor separated by a railing were people standing with drinks, talking, watching, flirting. He noticed a particularly attractive group of locals talking amongst each other energetically while eyeing the floor.

“The first round is on me,” Scott said and handed Derek a beer. Aleem raised his bottle and waited for Derek to raise his.

“To the fucking new guy.” The rest of the group raised their bottles and cheered.

“Hey, is that the girl we met at the meeting with the UN last week?” Derek asked Aleem pointing to the dance floor.

“Where?”

“Over there in the corner.”

“Oh - yeah! Emily. Em. Il. Ly.” He enunciated to noone in particular. “You already have a crush new guy?”

“No, she’s not my type.” An image of Julia flashed through his mind. A picture actually. The one of the two of them in Jamaica. They must have gone to a club like this there.

“Bullshit brother, but let me tell you. She’s a crazy bitch. They all are, otherwise they’d stay in London instead of coming here.” He looked over the rest of their group, before turning back to him. “Yo let’s go say hello.” Aleem started dragging him over by the elbow. “We’re hitting the dance floor,” Aleem announced over his shoulder to the rest. Scott and Joy were shouting in a vain attempt to have a conversation over the music. They gave up and began to follow.

“I’ll be right there,” Matthew said as he headed in the direction of the crowd of locals. Derek watched him navigate the crowd toward the group he’d noticed earlier. His eyes had since adjusted to the darkness and he could count out the individual bodies: seven of them, all women. But really there was one his attention was drawn to because she seemed to be watching him while he weaved through the dance floor. Medium height, athletically curvy, attractive. That’s all he could make out in the darkness.

“Yo, Emmie - ” Aleem was now shouting to get the attention of the scrum of UN workers, or Yunis as people here called them, as they approached. They all took a moment to recognize each other and exchange sweaty hugs. “Yo, this is Dobbie everybody.” Dobbie waved. “He’s the new Jason.” Derek was replacing Jason on the team who had recently left. He felt their eyes scanning him as they all resumed dancing. He could always tell if somebody was interested in him, and he was pleased to see Emily make eye contact as she danced. They moved toward each other as the songs played on. Eventually, he was close enough to where he could smell her hair and begin to dance synchronously. She was clearly interested, and he wasn’t opposed to the night going this way he thought. He made up his mind to suggest stepping off the floor at the end of the song to get a drink and talk.

“Dobbie -” he felt a tap on his shoulder. He ignored it, not wanting to interrupt the connection with Emily. “Yo Dobbie -” another tap and poke. He felt annoyed, he had to turn around. It was Matthew.

“Matthew - what?!”

“Dance with us man!”

“I’m already doing that man.” He tried to turn back to Emily, but a friend of hers had begun to dance with her. He’d have to start over on that project. He felt even more annoyed, and gave Matthew a look. Matthew ignored the look, and became more insistent.

“Fuck the lame Yunis. Dance with us.” He made a motion with his eyes to the right. Derek noticed that several girls from that group he had seen before were with Matthew now including the one who had made eye contact.

She was even more beautiful close up. She had big, almond shaped eyes. Exaggerated hoop earrings and a protrusion of hair framed a small face with delicate, sharp features. Matthew seemed to be saying something to him, her name maybe, but she was speaking directly to him over the music.

“You got any moves American boy?”

“Canadian actually.” She grabbed his hand, and pulled him towards her. And she began to move to the beat. Derek, looked back over at Emily who was still dancing with her friends, and didn’t look up. He began to dance with his new partner. She moved with energy and rhythm that Derek found captivating. Even more so when she would look up at him from time to time and break into a smile that was almost a laugh.

He didn’t have any moves, but he’d learned in the cold Canadian winters of his youth that even if he couldn’t dance, whiskey could. He just need to pay homage to the liquid gift of his Scottish ancestors. He’d also learned that dancing in this context was not about choreography and coordination. It was about vulnerability and self acceptance, about letting go enough to create space for the rhythm of the music and the energy of your partner to produce the magical alchemy of release and movement that created connection.

He suggested drinks after a couple of songs and she agreed. “You better be buying American boy.” She was smooth and knew how to make her presence felt by the bartender to get prompt service.

“Where are you from?” he tried to start conversation. She smiled and bobbed her head to the music, but didn’t say anything back. She took her drink down and ordered another for the both of them. Then she said a number gesturing toward the bartender. As Derek pulled out the cash and paid up, he turned his head to the left to see Scott and Joyce. He hadn’t noticed them until now.

“Having fun I see?” said Scott knowingly.“Who’s your new friend?” He reached over his hand. “Hello.” She nodded and took his hand, but didn’t say anything. “Listen, Dobby, Joy here is about done. I think a few of us will head back shortly with Razak. I assume you’ll find your own way home?”Joy made an exaggerated gesture of putting her head on a pillow and mouthed sorry with an apologetic look. Derek thought for a moment. He had only been driven around by Razaak so far; he had no idea how he’d get home on his own. There must be taxis he thought. He was about to pose the question, but didn’t get the chance.

“This song – we must dance,” she said and began pulling him back towards the dance floor effectively ending the conversation. Derek managed a wry glance and a shrug of his shoulders before he was too far and Scott and Joy were swallowed by the crowd in between.

She led sure-footedly as they danced and danced, closer and closer. One song followed another, and then another. Soon the music blended into an unceasing backdrop of energy and light. The world simplified. There was only rhythm. He felt the beat, his heart, her hips. Time dissolved into desire.

When the DJ announced the night’s last song, it genuinely surprised him, and brought pulled him out of his trance. The song played out, and he felt unsure of what to do next. Thoughts appeared in succession through a fog as if the whiskey and sweat had seeped into his brain. Should he try to take her home? Was this that? Or did he actually like her and just leave it here? Who was she anyway? How would he get home?

She pulled his hand, “what now American boy?” He felt gratified by her interest. But no, it was enough for tonight. He liked her, and was curious enough to not push straight into a one night stand that he’d regret in the morning and possibly worse, soon forget. In any case, he wasn’t sure what the cultural rules were anyway. He figured it would be safer to take it easy.

“Thanks for the dancing lessons. I’m glad Matthew introduced us tonight,” he looked into her eyes. “It would be great to meet again for a drink or dinner sometime this week,” he paused. She didn’t say anything. She looked a little uncomfortable and he felt a pang of anxiety. Were they not on the same page? Did she not want to see him again? Was she dating somebody? There was no turning back now, “can I have your number?”

She didn’t respond, but pulled him through the doors outside into the night. People were milling around trying to find smokes, friends, and taxis. “Where do you live?” she asked. It was half past four in the morning. He looked back at her. She was looking at him. Still beautiful, but lacking the self assuredness so abundant moments ago. She looked anxious. He wasn’t sure what to say. Why wasn’t she giving him her number? He felt annoyed and angry now. His thoughts turned to thoughts of getting home.

She abruptly tried to kiss him. He wanted to, but it all felt desperate, wrong somehow. He dodged.

“Whoa - are you ok? How are you getting home?” he asked her.

“How are you getting home?” she repeated his question back to him.

“I don’t know. My driver has left with the others earlier, remember?”

“Come,” she walked over to the path and waved a waiting car down. It was beat up without any particular marks of a taxi.

“That’s a taxi?”

“Get in,” she said after climbing in.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Just get in.” He got in reluctantly and spelled out his address. The driver didn’t ask her address. Nor did he move.

“You need to pay him ahead of time.”

“What? Why?”

“C’mon American boy.” she said the amount even though the driver hadn’t said anything to her. It was a sizeable number, much too high for a taxi ride. She looked scared and tired.

“That’s a lot for a taxi. I think I’ll ask one of the other ones,” he said starting to work the door. Whatever this was, he was over it. His only thought was to head home. She snatched at his shoulder.

“You would still need to pay me,” she said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Derek’s mind started to swirl.

“Dancing is not free,” she said. For the first time, she didn’t make eye contact.

“I don’t have even have that much.” He really didn’t. It was dawning on him that he lacked much besides just cash. A basic understanding of how his night was going for one thing.

The driver said something in the native Krio that didn’t need translation. He began speaking to him threateningly. Derek didn’t understand but gathered that his watch might cover his unexpected debts. He was thankful none of his ATM cards would be any use in this place. The girl interrupted, and the taxi driver or whatever he was addressed her directly. A heated argument began that seemed to continue for an interminable amount of time. Derek watched with increasing desperation as the crowd in front of the club thinned out along with the line of taxis. He wanted to run out, but he felt a lingering sense of connection to this woman and felt both protective and simultaneously stupid. Eventually, he grunted, and she nodded. Whatever had been the matter, it had come to some manner of a conclusion.

“Get out of the car,” she ordered. They both got out, and the driver sped off hurling several words at him out of the window.

The parking lot was completely empty now. She sat down on the curb and looked forward sullenly.

“How could you not have any money?” she asked and looked like he was going to cry.

“Are you serious? Get away from me,” he said to her trying to think of what to do. He wasn’t even sure which way to walk. Could he call the cops? It was well after five now. Maybe if he just waited till sunrise? He wondered. Or maybe he could go back in the club and try get a number for a cab? His mind hurt.

“I have other numbers for taxis but they won’t come now.” she said. “I’m calling one of my friends. She owes me.”

“I can’t believe this. So this is what you do?” he was angry now.

“Oh fuck off.” she said. “You know nothing about me.”

“No, I think I have a pretty good idea.”

“I’ll leave you to your smug superiority. But, let me ask you? What are you doing here in my country? The purest of intentions I’m sure.” She walked several feet away, and then headed back into the club.

He rocked back and forth while sitting on the curb to try and sober up, his mind racing. The girl meanwhile returned with a couple of bottles of water. She handed him one silently, and sat back down.

“My friend is going to be here in another 20 min,” she said.

He sullenly looked at the ground. How could he have missed the signs? Goddam Matthew! Did he know? He revved the anger to mask the feelings that felt worse. Either way, how the hell was he supposed to know? And, he’d managed to strand himself. Fuck! Did his other colleagues know what was happening before they had left? Oh for shame! To think he’d felt some sort of actual connection with this, this - whatever she was. His thoughts turned to his family in Toronto. What were they doing now? Settling into bed. How absurd it all seemed, so far away. Here he was, in some parking lot in Freetown stranded with a – say it, an inner voice commanded menacingly – a. He couldn’t say it. Instead, out came a chuckle. How absurd it all was.

“If only my family could see me now,” he said out loud.

“They think you’re some kind of saint?”

“Who?”

“Your family. You said if only your family could see you now. Do they think you’re a saint?” She looked tired, her mouth small. Her arms crossed in front of her grasping opposite shoulders to ward off the pre dawn chill in the parking lot. He felt irritated with himself for wanting to rub her shoulders to warm her up.

“Something like that. What about your family? Do they think you’re some kind of angel?”

“Something like that,” she echoed his words. He wanted to give some indication of his incredulity, but thought there had been enough conflict for a night. He was too tired to be angry. A car turned into the parking lot.

“It’s Fatima, my friend,” she said. The car pulled up, and she motioned him to the back. It occurred to him that they had never exchanged names.

“I’m Derek,” he said. She gave him a look that asked why he was saying this now. “Your friend might ask,” he said in explanation.

“American Boy will work just fine,” she said with a glimmer of that magical smile. He couldn’t help but return it.

“And –”

“And, what? Get in.”

“Well, what’s your name?”

“What does it matter.”

“Really? After all we’ve been through?” He feigned injury. She paused.

“Nasi.”

Image Credit: Laura Faraci