Choice

by Bartos Vars (Poland)

I didn't expect to find Kuwait

I'll probably forget about him as soon as I leave Kuwait - I thought when I saw him. Cream turban and torn jeans - maybe the holes are made by time, or maybe it’s fashionable here. “Salam aleikum! I'm Mohammed. Are we going to the desert?”. He takes me to his camp, only a few kilometers away from the city center. Under the bloody colored tents settled the heat left from the sweltering day. On an embroidered Persian carpet, eight men in white socks lie without T-shirts. They are playing FIFA on a PlayStation. “You got a girlfriend?” they ask. I'm turning red. Somebody saves me and brings the tea, which everyone focuses on. Somebody. I ask who it was. They say it was a servant. I ask for a name. They say they don't know. I go to him. He's low in height, his dark skin blends with the dimness of the night. His name is Sam. He shows me his room. Maximum 8m². Inside just a TV and a bed. He wants to share "gifts from the lords" with me: warm Coke, melted candies. I ask him if he's happy here. He says yes, because he can live. They shout his name and Sam disappears... Mohammed leaves the joystick: “So, did you meet our slave?” “What? Slavery existed a few centuries ago...” Mohammed is staring: “So what is it? He's been staying here for four years.” “Can't he just get away?” “He has no choice.” We're leaving. Sam waves at us like a kid to his parents to say goodbye. I’m wondering when will he see someone else here. The sand spins and covers his face from the desert skyline. I don't know if he's really happy there, but I know I'll probably never find out again. The last day. Suddenly the traditional singing breaks through the rumors of the market filled with the smell of fresh fish. I follow the sound and when I’m in front of the Mosque, Mohammed asks: “Are you sure you want to get inside?” Gold pours from the corners of the azure vault. That's probably how heaven looks like. Mohammed prays with the others. Then I become the highlight of the evening. The old man with the longest, spiral beard asks: “And you... do you believe in God?” “Well... yes,” I stare at the cup. “And what God do you believe in?” “Well... the good one,” I’m biting my lips. Mohammed coughs. “Jahwe is pure goodness.” “In my religion, there is one God in the world. For all.” – I add. Mohammed finishes his tea. Silence. Murmuring. “He's right. There is one God,” Mohammed interferes. “Yes, but ours!” the old man is outraged. The white tablecloth gets dirty with brown tea, It can't be cleaned up anymore. As the beliefs of some people cannot be changed. We go back in silence. Mohammed takes off his turban. I have nothing to lose, I take off my mask: “You know what, Mohammed, I don't really... believe in God.” - I'm just strangling myself. “You know what, Bart, I’m... I'm gay.” He looks deeply. I turn red… “Hmm… And who knows about that?” “Just the person I love.” “Where is he now?” “In prison. I visit him once a month. Sometimes I think maybe it would be better for me to sit there too, be closer to him...” He puts his turban back on, gets out, the tears remain in the carpet for a while. After one month back in my homeland the snow melts quickly and I cannot forget anyone. I write to Mohammed to thank him. After two months, a message comes in. ‘Today they finally let me use the Internet. You still remember that Sam from the desert? He escaped a month ago. I was wrong. Everyone has a choice. Sam, you and me. I got out of my own prison. I can't get close to him, but sometimes I can stare in the canteen at his hair shining from sweat. I can dream. Maybe I'll get the death penalty. But I am myself. And you, Bart, are you still afraid?’ ‘Not anymore,’ I whisper to myself and don’t turn red. Not anymore.