Some New Friends
Abdullah is the first man I met from the Olive Grove. He’s tall and lanky, and likes wearing a soccer shirt and a striped Beanie which I assume is colored according to the national colors of Gambia, his country, although I could be wrong. Need to check on what the Gambian flag looks like, later. He’s the guy who told me about Gambia being called the smiling face of Africa. Super awesome, helpful, patient guy. He runs over whenever I’m shifted and gives me a huge smile and says, “Hello my friend, how are you?” and we shake hands and catch up.
Basil. Nigerian guy. Intense and critical, he wears two crosses, smokes a cigarette which gets blown out by the wind every few seconds and which he relights as frequently. He doesn’t like France, or French-speaking people (by which he means, the Congolese guys), and is proud that Nigeria speaks English, which, he reminds me, is a universal language. He’s a boxer. I show him my boxing stance and he sharply corrects me. “Not like that! Protect your ribs and your jaw. Punch quick and snap backwards fast. Aim for the jaw. Hit him first in the ribs, and when he bends to protect it, hit him on the other side. Step 1, and step 2, see?” Then he spits and tells me that he has a brother in Canada, so he wants to go and join him there and become a boxer one day. I’m floored by his confidence, his assertiveness, the boldness of his dreams. He seems so sure that he’s going to get there one day.
The topic changes. “Only God knows what’s in the heart. No one can judge me. You can’t judge me,” His eyes rove towards Moria, “the Arabs, no one knows what’s in their heart! They could be insurgents. Crazy. They have priority over us for asylum. They could go do terrorism. I’m a Christian. I want to work. I want to go to Athens first, and work for 6 months, and get my VISA. I want to marry a white woman. I believe God…” He looks heavenward, “I believe he will reward me…"
Later, he finds me again to tell me, “My people are Nigerians. I hate the Nigerians who are here. They act like fools. I even like people from the other countries more than the Nigerians here. These guys are fools.” I’m a bit taken aback by how strident he’s becoming, but another guy overhears us and joins us, laughing. “This man, bad!” He says, play-punching Basil in the guy. Basil mock doubles-over, smiling. “He needs to love!” I say, putting a hand on Basil’s shoulder and dealing him a hearty slap on the chest. “We will pray for him!”
Basil puts his hands together in mock prayer and laughs. He points to the cross. “See! I am a Christian! I believe Jesus died!”
“He died for all people!” I remind him. “Because we are sinners!”
Basil nods his head in agreement.
“He died for my sin."
“He died for all of our sins,” Dan Levi adds.
Basil walks off and the new guy stays. His name is Speya. He’s from Gambia.
Speya tells me that he has a brother in the UK.
“Do you want to go to the UK?” I ask him.
“No. I do not like the UK. England is a bad country. They came to our country, took all the natural resources. They do not build infrastructure… They left a power vacuum. The leader now, he kills people. If you talk about him in the streets, the police take you away. You can only talk about him behind closed doors. He’s crazy. It all started with the British. We have 8 million people in our county. They took our people. They put chains on our hands and feet (he pantomimes being chained) and took them away. I do not like the British. I want to go to America."