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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