it’s been washed, I can see it’s not fro exactly, like looser curls, soft for touch.
So, I make him coffee in red Malteser mug and tell him to sit so I can start trimming, and we talk. Actually, it is me doing most talking at first. I try to ask him what he’s been doing, where he’s from, stuff like that, but he’s not saying much, just asking me more questions back. And I like talking, you know, so I keep going, but after some time I say to him, ‘Hey, it’s your turn now!’ But he just laugh and say oh, long story, he’s just happy he made it here, then ask more about me. And I get that. I mean, lot of guys in warehouse have shit lives before and not like to talk about past too much, especially if they don’t know you yet. So I just tell him about other guys and about work for Uncle and living in London. And for some reason I am already feeling easy with him, like, you know, he listens, and not everyone does that, right? And he’s sounding interested, he’s making jokes even… and then it just slips out. That I like guys.
I stop. I’m like, oh shit, shit shit shit, I kept that secret for so long, and now I just told to some new guy I don’t even know, who probably hates gays, or is gonna tell. I feel super-nervous, and my hands start shaking, I’m thinking I’m gonna accidentally stick scissors in his scalp. I mean, you know, he seem nice enough, but most straight African guys in warehouse don’t like gays from what I hear – but I am still hoping he will say, like, ‘Oh my God, I’m gay as well!!!!’ Haha. Actually he just say ‘okay’, you know, just ‘okay!’, like it’s just one small thing about me, like my favourite colour, like he is totally cool with it. So that was big, big relief.
I ask him, look, can you do me a favour – don’t say nothing? He say no problem, he can keep secrets. Then, still looking away from me, cos I’m cutting his hair, he say his best friend from back home is like me, and he keep that secret too, because back home you can get put in prison. He tell me how that friend, Gebre, is closer to him than his own brother, how his parents basically adopted him as kid, after his father got disappeared. I’m like: ‘Disappeared?’ He explain how before independence Ethiopians would just come and take Eritreans from where they working, or living, no warning, then they never see again, no explain, nothing. He is telling me he feeling guilty now, meeting me, because he never tried to talk to his friend about it. I’m like, ‘You mean you could not talk about his father?’ And he say no – that is bad memory, but occasionally they talk about that – no, he mean he never talk to his friend about him being gay. Then he sort of burst out how he wish he could change that now, and also introduce his friend to me. I’m like, ‘Sure! Bring him right over! And I hope he looks like you!’ (I not really say that last bit.)
Then I ask him, ‘How about you, you married?’ And he shake his head, say no, but not look at me, just start talking about something different. He never ever talk to me about any wife or girlfriend, after that, even when we good friends – always keep private about that stuff. But also he don’t say nothing to other guys in warehouse about me, not whole time we living there. He is solid guy, Professor Jojo.
At first, other guys try testing him. Make him do bins and tell him he’s got to shower last in queue, all that. I’m thinking, How is he gonna deal with that, cos he’s quiet kind of guy, and mostly guys at top of pile are alpha guys, you know – maybe they push him around. But no, he stay cool, he don’t get intimidated. He even make people start to like him, just from small things, like buying pack of cookies, offering around.
So, Uncle tell me I gonna be Professor’s mentor, you know, like, person who’s gonna show him around for work and stuff. I remember first day we get on bus together, and he’s like, amazed that seats are so nice! Stroking his like he got new puppy! I’m like, okay, so today we go to bank where all guys working there sniff coke in toilets, then later we go to gym where guys pump truckloads of iron and grunt like pigs, then tomorrow we have solicitor’s company where they work all hours in clock, and PR company with brainstorming area like pre-school art room for kids who need to roll on beanbags and draw with crayons. He think I’m just being funny. Later he realize it’s all totally true.
So, I show him main sights as bus goes into City, like tower that’s named after a cucumber but looks like massive dildo, and Bank of England that looks like palace. We have fun, pointing out people wearing weird clothes, and just chatting. And he’s good to work with too. Doesn’t mess about, like me, but picks everything up fast, like I only ever have to explain one time, then he got it.
So one morning, after one week or two maybe, I remember one guy left newspaper on his seat on bus and Professor pick it up. Headline is something like ‘Rapist asylum seeker caught with pants down taking a shit on a solid gold toilet studded with diamonds that he bought for his fifty-bedroom castle in Chelsea after selling cocaine to hardworking British businessman who believed they were just buying expensive cornflour’, and he rips it out and puts in his pocket, then carries on reading. I’m like: ‘Wait, what are you doing?!’
He goes: ‘Collecting.’
I’m like: ‘Why?’
He goes: ‘This newspaper is always talking about immigrants and how dangerous they are. Like we are about to take over.’
I’m like: ‘You’re twisted, reading that.’
He just grins. He goes: ‘I just want to know how British people think of people like us. Some of them, anyway. Lots, actually. I think this is the biggest selling paper.’
I’m like: ‘So, you wanna walk around thinking how everyone hates you? I still don’t get it.’
He goes: ‘Look, some people collect stamps, I collect newspapers, okay? It’s normal!’ He’s a geek, okay, but I still not realize how much, until we find out about library.
Oh yeah, so that’s how he got name, Professor. He start bringing library books back to read. Of course, guys start laughing at him. I remember Alfonso ask him one time: ‘How come you get library pass anyway if you’re illegal?’ And he just say he has ways. We know he must be nicking books and we tell him: ‘Hey, if you wanna steal shit, why not get us drugs or alcohol or something useful? DVDs at least! Do you think you gonna win Nobel Prize from reading all these books?’ He says it’s not stealing, he’s bringing books back to library after, and he likes to read, he studied literature at university. University! Turns out he wrote big essay on newspapers in his country. Boris was first one to start calling him Professor, and it stuck – then I added Jojo, so he wouldn’t sound too smart. He used to read so much different stuff, like history books, story books, even dictionary – like, not just to learn English better, but reading meanings of words for fun. For fun! Who does that?
Oh, other thing about Professor I got to tell you is cooking. Haha, especially one meal! Okay, so normally in that warehouse, nobody cooks. Not properly. If we got enough money, we eat McDonald’s cos it’s easy and tastes good and you feel nice and full after. If we got less money, or wanna be more healthy, we eat like soup, or spaghetti hoops, or pasta and sauce or eggs on toast, that kind of shit. Basically, nobody cooks cos we’re guys, and we’re too tired from work, and all we got to cook in that place is microwave and two hotplates anyway. But when it came near to Christmas… okay, from like October – you know how in UK shop windows get stuffed way early with gifts, flashing lights, snowflakes, discount signs, and everybody is walking around with big fat shopping bags, cos all British people have credit cards – Professor read in one newspaper that average British person spend £200 on presents! What was I saying? Oh, yeah, so when it came near to Christmas, Professor ask me what we do in warehouse. Like, for celebrations. Especially for eating.
I tell him I guess we’ll do like year before: put up tinsel and some pound shop lights, then on Christmas Day get drunk and eat chips and cheese and watch TV. And then on 27th when there is discount everywhere, last year I buy frozen UK Christmas food like mince pies and turkey and eat later. But basically there’s no big meal or anything, we all eat our own stuff like normal.
But Professor say to me: ‘How about we have Christmas feast all together?’
I’m like: ‘Well, if you get the food and cook then maybe the guys will go for it!’
He goes: