Nickrose Layne and Rae Wiltshire | Eating Papaw on the Seasore / 2022

two men in the dark reciting their names

by Douglas Messerli

 

Nickrose Layne and Rae Wiltshire (screenwriters and directors) Eating Papaw on the Seashore / 2022 [18 minutes]

 

Perhaps the first ever Guyanese gay film, Eating Papaw on the Seashore is a cry in the wilderness, the only country in the Americas, outside of the Caribbean, where homosexual sex is still illegal.

As its directors observed when releasing the film:

 

“I made Eating Papaw on the Seashore to reflect queer boys as human beings who can fall in love and that's it is not something to laugh about. It is natural. In Guyana the idea of being gay is a joke. I do not laugh and wanted to reflect human beings onscreen. It was important to capture the humanity of a group of people who often do not feel accepted by society.”

 

     Reviewer Mike Kennedy quite effectively describes the situation today in Guyana:

 

“After the Belize Supreme Court ruled in 2016 that the Belize sodomy ban was unconstitutional, that ruling should have been applied across all CARICOM States, including Guyana.  Instead, Guyana relied on a “savings clause” in its Constitution that protected from constitutional review any colonial-era laws inherited from the British Empire.  This means that a number of offences relating to homosexual sex remain on the statute books (and are enforced), including “buggery”, a felony that carries a life sentence.  And of course, in places with that kind of legal framework, homophobic violence and hate crimes flourish and often go unreported.”

 

      In this work, Asim (Rae Wiltshire) and Hasani (Isiah Lewis), two teenage boys, are from the first frames on, clearly in love. Swimming together in the ocean, Hasani is momentarily distressed when he cannot find Asim, who finally pops up near him, the two spending a long period staring at each other in clear and loving admiration of their bodies. Soon after, when Asim is preparing the dinner, his father Abdul (Mark Luke Edwards) having gone to market, Hasani shows up again, joking about his friend having been put to work like a girl, Asim responding with a joke that puts down his sexism, “And only girlies eat dinner.”

 

     Their sexual attraction again immediately becomes clear when Asim takes off his shirt, noting that it’s hot, assigning Hasani the job of making a mango curry. But Hasani loses is train of thought even in that act, beginning to remove his own shirt in obvious response to Asim’s semi-nakedness. A moment later, however, the boys hear Abdul returning, Asim quickly putting back on his shirt, while Hasani begins to re-button his. As Kennedy observes, they “are acutely aware of the homophobic world in which they live.”   

      Throughout, Asim’s father is referred to as “Uncle,” while Hasani’s mother is described as “Aunty,” but that does not necessarily mean the boys are cousins; it may be simply honorific title that exists in many cultures.

       In the next scene, the boys return to the water, the only world to which they might escape to with some sense of privacy. As Asim later says, “People can’t talk what they can’t see.” And now they do finally kiss.

       But even there, in the ocean, their actions can be observed as we see Abdul walking the beach, an open boat passing by. In such a small community, all eyes upon them. Later, on the seashore, as the title hints, they feed one another papaw (papaya) in the dark they come close to having sex.

       However, as they walk home, Hasani suggests they should take a break from one another, Asim asking why? Their responses are vague, Hasani asking “What do you want to turn into,” Asim responding, “We are turning into nothing,” suggesting that Hasani is afraid that their love is making them homosexual as opposed to realizing that it is because they are homosexual that they have fallen in love. But in such a restrictive culture, the idea of being born as a homosexual is almost inconceivable. Hasani’s final conclusion that “He’s not turning into nothing, I don’t know about you,” suggests that perhaps he is pulling away out of fear of Asim’s love more than recognizing his own feelings for him.          As the boys move apart, Abdul senses his son’s impatience, using the metaphor of fishing to suggest that with time his catch will come. But Asim does not appear to be convinced. Abdul realizes that since his son has stopped hanging out with Hasani he “is always sour.” But the only thing he suspects is that a woman has broken up their friendship, Asim walking away without answering.

      Hasani, lying on a hammock, is not much better off. Asim visits him with a basket of papaw, but Hasani claims that he is busy doing chores and stuff. Asim demands to know when he is going to have time, inquires when he might come and see him. But Hasani still feels that they have been spending too much time together. His deeply closeted self obviously feels that if he pulls away from Asim, his emotional confusion will simply desist. As Asim puts it, “You solution is to spend no time at all.”

      Asim asks him the most important question: “Is that what you want?” suggesting that his own emotions may be rubbing against their cultural demands. But Hasani can only answer, “It would just be easier.”

      When Asim drops off the papaw to his Aunty, Hasani’s mother, she too brings up the fact that he has been scare, that he has not come to see them; and Asim also can only claim the reason to be that he has been busy. But she sees the look they exchange when Hasani discovers his former friend in the kitchen, a look simultaneously of anger and deep desire. And she, like so many mothers across the globe, recognizes the problem. Asim tells his Aunty to tell Hasani that is father is sending him to Trinadad for work. Has Abdul also heard gossip or is he just instinctually acting to find a way to remove the problem of his son’s funk.

       Kennedy suggests it surely will be no better for him in Trinidad, whose laws for refugees also maintain the British Empire’s former sodomy laws, while pointing out, on the other hand, that, at least, in a larger city he might go somewhat under the radar?

       But Hasani has also fallen into a depression, his mother demanding he get up and help in her the kitchen. As she commands him to make lime juice, she asks him what he might want for his 18th birthday, but is stopped by his words: “Mommy.” Telling him to lift up his head, she demands that he need to go see Asim, assuring him that it’s all right, the recognition any young man trying to come to terms with his sexuality.

        Abdul sees Asim in the dark checking out the Papaw tree, announcing that he wants to pick one for Hasani. Abdul queries whether he might not be too late, but whether he means the hour or the time in their unrepaired relationship is not clear.

        Asim changes the subject, “Why are you sending me away?”

        Abdul argues they’ve talked about it already, Asim responding that yes it concerns his need to show himself responsible, but he adds, he has never been seen as irresponsible before.

        “It’s not what I mean,” answers Abdul, with Asim challenging him.

        But in answer, his father once again reverts to the former subject, suggesting that they are very much connected. “It’s too late to go back to Hasani anyway?” Again, we wonder does he mean to late in what has transpired or because of the hour.

        Asim is as cryptic in his response: “It never used to be too late before.”

        Finally, Abdul admits his fears. “People are talking, Asim.”

        And Asim answers him with the line I have already quoted, “People can’t talk what they can’t see.”

        Again Hasani and Asim sit on the late-night beach, putting pieces of papaw into each other’s mouths. Again they kiss. But this time Hasani asks if Asim will make love to him.

        Hasani admits that his mother was afraid to send him out into the night in case somebody might do something to him. The horror of Asim’s answer seems also to be a kind of consolation: “That’s normal.”

        Asim wishes his friend happy birthday, to which Hasani asks “What’s going to happen when you leave?”

        His reply is the only one possible: “I don’t know Hasani. I don’t know.”

      Hasani has finally worked it out: “We are not Antimen. We are Asim and Hasani,” which is a lot like saying, “We’re not fags, we’re just ourselves.”

     When such movies as this one and Bisi Alimi’s The Only Gay in Nigeria are released, it helps people to realize that even deluded governments which maintain they have no gay men or women in their country are not only obfuscating but refusing to accept reality with their inabilities to recognize the truth that queer folk exist in every culture and country on earth, that LGBTQ+ individuals are natural to the human race, and that being gay is something you can ever irradicate. The only choice, finally, is come to accept it and eventually embrace those who are different the from majority. In the meantime, couples of the same sex continue to meet up and to embrace in the night even while they fear the consequences of their simple expression of love.

 

Los Angeles, December 5, 2023

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema (December 2023).