Clothes Make the Man

It was the first time Yusuf considered Ali might have O-C-D. He had read about it in a health magazine left on a coffee table in the lobby of the hostel. Obsessive compulsive disorder. Before, he thought there had been something particular about Ali, shaping his afro in the mirror for 20 minutes before leaving his room in the morning, or moisturising every part of his body methodically, or even wiping wherever he sat thoroughly before sitting down. Before, Yusuf assumed Ali came from better conditions than him and simply ignored it. But not tonight. It’s past 1 a.m. and Ali hasn’t stopped searching for the tie he planned to wear to their first English class tomorrow and it’s driving Yusuf mad!

“Please. We’ll find it together in the morning,” croaks Yusuf, half asleep.

“If I can’t find it now, how will I find it in the morning? Will it magically appear?”

“You’re not the only one in this room.”

“I can’t sleep until I find it.” Yusuf concedes and tries to fall asleep. The scurrying continues. Ali looks under his mattress again for the fifth time. He returns to his pile of clothes in the corner of the shared room, looking in the pockets of his pants, the insides of his shoes, in places the tie has no reason being.

“Go to sleep!” yells Ayoub from the top bunk, and Ali freezes. Even Yusuf grips his blanket tight. If there’s one thing Yusuf knew about Ali, it’s that he at least respects his elders. Ali turns off the light and climbs into his bed, negative thoughts plaguing his mind of the possibility that someone in this room…

“What colour is it?” asks Yusuf. There’s no response. Ali remains seated on the edge of his bed, slouching, his stomach feeling uneasy. “It’s just a tie, come on. I would give you one if I had one.”

“That’s exactly why I need this tie,” exclaims Ali. “Clothes make the man, didn’t you know?” Yusuf’s trying his best to be helpful. He knows he doesn’t have to console Ali. They both travelled challenging journeys to be here, none more than the other, but he remains positive. “Come on. Even without the tie, in this suit, brother, you’re going to be the freshest guy in the room. I’ll even give you some of the perfume I’ve been saving.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, come on. We’re brothers.” Ali rises reluctantly. He dresses slowly, unlike the meticulous Ali they know. Yusuf wonders if he’ll even spend 5 minutes shaping up his afro today. Probably not. But that means they’ll at least be on time today. He puts on his white shirt, his black suit jacket and black pants, he wears his burgundy socks with white polka dots and takes out his black shoes from underneath the bed. He breathes on them gently and wipes them with his sleeve half-heartedly, without a hint of passion for dressing. He puts on the shoes and looks at Yusuf, who’s smiling, doing his best to maintain a positive attitude. “Man, you look great! Are we going to learn English or find a wife?”

The two friends leave their room and head downstairs towards the lesson. A passing cleaner puts her hand out in front of them and they come to a halt. The Vietnamese woman looks down into her basket without saying a word. She takes out a grey tie with light blue stripes and holds it out in front of them. Yusuf looks at Ali whose eyes glow like fireflies. His smile widening with every passing second. He flicks up the collar of his shirt, flings the tie around his neck, and whips it around to create the perfect Windsor knot. Yusuf watches Ali’s aura return, the Vietnamese lady nowhere to be seen. He wants to know if anyone else can feel this, this light, this radiance rising.