Forest Lights

Outsiders, Bassey thought as he sat on an upturned crate, at the base of a hill, watching the big trucks and tippers struggle through the small road that Bassey had cleared for them to enter through. The road wasn’t the best they had to offer, by any standards, but it was the only one that led to where Bassey was sitting: the space that had been prepared for the arrival of the outsiders.

It was a large, open field that had just been cleared of low bushes. Four-thousand square meters of space, enough for a training center to be built upon and it was deeper inland than the rest of Akpata that sat on a river side. The fact that it was enclosed by hills on almost all sides made it the safest place for strangers like the people coming in. They were going to need all the help they could get, after all.

Skeptical as he was of predatory companies who parroted charity as a motivation, he’d dug deep into All For Kids (AFK), noting their long history of community support all over Nigeria. Akpata wasn’t the first town they’d taken interest in and they had a positive track record with the places that they’d set up in the past. Bassey needed the support. He was willing to accept it.

Even though he was doing so with an armed hand behind his back.

The locals had erected two canopies for the welcoming ceremony. AFK was set to break ground on Monday. They were making a big deal of this because they wanted to greet the community leaders and avoid stepping on toes. Which was fine. Bassey didn’t have a problem with it.

After all, he wouldn’t have to stay till the end. He wasn’t a town elder. Not in the typical sense. He was dark-skinned with the looks of a man in his late twenties. Muscled and tall, Bassey towered over most people. He’d grown up that way and he’d gotten used to the stares when people met him for the first time. It also didn’t help that he had a mountain of long, thick locks on his head. He liked the reactions he got. It made it easier for people to avoid him, or avoid altercations when they had no idea who he was.

It was a warm day, so he’d shown up in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He wasn’t planning on being in any pictures. The community leaders were available for all the press that was coming. One of the perks of being in the body of a young man was how people didn’t expect much from him. AFK would be looking for people such as Ibiam and the rest of them.

Not Bassey.

As the first truck turned into the street, the people under the canopy stood. Bassey was just about to head in that direction when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Yes?” he said, wiping sweat from his brow.

“No ‘hello’?” a calm, slippery voice asked, stopping Bassey in his tracks.

Clenching the phone, Bassey turned from the arriving vehicles as they parked on the far side of the field. He ought to be moving, but he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not when he was hearing this voice after so many years.

“Bassey?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered. He cleared his throat.

“I’m surprised you didn’t change your number.”

“You told me not to change it.”

A careless statement that had been made ten years ago still ran through Bassey’s head. Because nothing was ever really careless. Bassey lived on cues and suggestions that were more than mere cues and suggestions. He’d had to learn when total obedience was needed and when mild disrespect would be tolerated. The difference between the two was often the difference between spending the night in a nice, soft bed, underneath a rotating fan, or spending the night tied up in a dungeon, naked and bleeding.

“I’ll be coming home in a few days,” the voice said. “I’d like to see you.”

Bassey’s lips trembled as his hand clutched the phone.

When he looked, the elders were waving for Bassey to go over and join them.

“Bassey? Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see you when I get back?”

It was a loaded question, Bassey knew. There was no answer he’d give now... in this moment... that wouldn’t come back to haunt him in the future. If he said no, he would get punished for it. But if he said yes, he’d have to see the face that the voice belonged to. Standing there, at the center of the large field, Bassey suffocated under the weight of such a choice.

“Bassey.”

“Yes?”

“What’s your answer?”

“I’d love to see you, too” he said, closing his eyes and lifting his head to the sky.

“Great.”

The call ended. Bassey rubbed his fingers against his temple, reminding himself that this was not his fault. This was not his doing. After all, he’d only ever had the illusion of choice. If Ansa was back in Akpata, then it was time for Bassey to get his head out of the clouds and return to reality.

He wasn’t over-dressed.

It was a t-shirt and a tie. It was also Friday, so maybe it was a bit much. But Bassey didn’t leave the house worried about his looks. If anything, he was more worried about his scent. It was not bad. It’s not the worst he’d ever been. But he was still very conscious of it as he sat in the small roadside restaurant, holding an empty bottle of Pepsi that he’d gulped down the moment it arrived on his table.

A bunch of tables with plastic table cloths surrounded them in rows of threes and fours. The concrete floor was so old and unmanaged that it had cracks and holes in it, adding to the uneven slant of the entire building, seeing as the restaurant was on a hill. The lights flickered in tandem with the turning fan, making Ansa appear like he was stuck behind the shutters of an old window in a horror movie.

“How have you been?” Ansa asked, bracing himself against the table as Bassey leaned back without meaning to.

His head was blank and busy, screaming and screeching in all directions because everything felt so wrong. He felt like the boy from years ago, struggling to come to terms with his new reality. He’d spent years learning to be any and everything Ansa wanted and now, after just a few years without Ansa, Bassey felt like he’d forgotten it all.

How was he supposed to explain pulling away from Ansa?

Whether Ansa approached him in hostility or in affection, it was Bassey’s place to stay put, accept it, bask in it, enjoy it, regardless of what it was.

He waited on baited breath for the repercussions of his actions, but nothing came. In the quiet restaurant that had been emptied out for Ansa’s sake, Bassey felt like he was about to go mad if something did not start happening. When he looked up at Ansa, Ansa was sitting there, looking back at him like they were having a regular conversation.

Without the usual arrogance, Ansa seemed normal, almost life-size, smaller than usual, human, maybe. His back was hunched over his full bottle of Pepsi, his fingers enclosed around it like he was fighting with himself. Fighting the need to reach over and drag Bassey back into his space. Put Bassey in his place.

He was still very much the intimidating sight he always was, tall as a door, broad shoulders, skin so black he could slip in and out of sight at night without bright clothes. His hair was an afro, with his facial hair left to grow, untamed and rascally, in black, dusty tangles. His eyes were red-rimmed and dull. When he looked at Bassey, he seemed to be trying to hide the fatigue. Because, of course he was drained and fagged out. He needed Bassey almost as much as Bassey used to need him.

Ansa let go of his drink, reaching across the table to hold both Bassey’s hands in his. Bassey looked down at their hands, fighting the urge to pull back again. Because even though everyone else would swear that Ansa’s hands were cold, Bassey had only ever felt a scotching on his skin when in contact with Ansa.

“Ask me,” Ansa said.

“Ask you what?” Bassey flinched.

“Ask me how I survived four years without you,” Ansa stated simply.

Bassey tried, he really did. But in the end, he couldn’t help the gulp that dropped in his throat, aching to breathe at the absurdity of it all.

“You’ve always been resourceful. I’m sure you found a way.”

“Yeah… well…” Ansa paused, taking a long hard look into Bassey’s questioning eyes “I need you now,” Ansa said, grasping Bassey’s hand as if to restrain him.

It dawned on Bassey that Ansa was asking. Not commanding.

Which was ridiculous because they both knew Ansa could have just waltzed right in and taken what he needed. This outing, all this wooing didn’t need to happen. But there he was, head lifted towards Bassey with a look of tenderness… or openness… a look that Ansa only ever saw reserved for everyone who wasn’t Bassey.

Bassey had never been more than a tool to Ansa.

“That’s why you’re in Akpata.”

“Yes,” Ansa nodded.

Honest. Straight to the point. Nothing had changed.

“Fine,” Bassey said, rising to his feet as Ansa blinked in confusion. “Let’s get it over with.”

...so that you can leave.