Black-Owned Business #17: Savannah

It was not until I left Savannah and got in my uber did my November’s Journey get interesting. After having a drink and connecting with one of the employees at Savannah’s about my November’s Journey, I decided to call it a night and called a uber to take me home (I was too tired to take the train home from Flatbush to Bedstuy). My uber driver (Masud) was a Muslim man maybe in his mid 40’s. While on the drive home, he picked up another young African-American male, perhaps in his mid 20’s. He sat in the front of the car, so we did not get a chance to converse. Moments later, there was another customer that Masud had to pick up. When we arrived at the destination, Masud called the young lady on speaker phone, and after hearing her voice, all three of us was convinced she was White, or so we thought. When she walked out of the building we were all shocked — she was a Black woman. I reached over and pushed opened the door for her; she said thank you and hello to all three of us in the car. When Masud pulled off, I told her how we all thought she was a white woman based on how her voice sounded. Masud joined in and said he was shocked too. The young lady replied “Oh, so what if I said (to Masud) you’re from Bangladesh, you’re from Atlanta (to the young Black man in the front), and you’re from DC (to me). I forget how Masud responded, but homeboy and I jokingly said we actually were from Atlanta and DC. While we were slightly laughing, I noticed how aggressive her tone became towards Masud, and I told her we did not mean any harm by comparing her voice to a White woman. I asked if she has anything against White people and she said, of course, don't you? I said: “Absolutely not, why would I?” She proceeded to tell me about how she looked down on White people because they lacked the melanin she and all Black people had but more specifically, because of the treatment Blacks endured from Whites. I instantly felt connected to her by a deep-seated insecurity we both seemed to have, by her being a Black woman and me being a Black man. I asked her where she grew up and she told me Pennsylvania; I thought back to between the ages 5-12 and my experience with the Fresh Air Fund. For seven consecutive years, I went to an Amish family home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, for two weeks in the summer, and while I enjoyed spending my summers there, I remember running outside during church because all the Amish children would stare at me because I guess they weren't use to seeing a little black boy. While my Amish family (The Kings) always consoled and embrace me, there was an undeniable growing pain in my heart, and for the first time in my little life, I wished I wasn't Black. I thought of this while she told me she grew up in the suburbs in Pennsylvania. She aggressively asked me why do I like White people? I asked why would I hate anyone? “We are all humans. I do not care if you are White, Black, Asian, it does not matter, we are all humans at the end of the day.” She continued expressing her discontent and lack of love or sympathy for White people. I realized I was not angry with her, but felt sorry for the experiences she must have had as a little Black girl growing up in the suburbs of Pennsylvania. I stayed quite until she got out the car and then expressed my feelings to Masud and the other young man. We all exchanged a few words, and then I noticed we were finally in front of my house, so I said goodnight and got out the car.

While lying in bed, I just stared at the ceiling and thought about my interaction with the Black woman and before I noticed, my eyes were closed and I was asking God to heal her heart the same way he is healing mine during my November’s Journey. 

Thank you, Savannah, for being a part of my journey.

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