Pieces of Home

Thousands of people probably walk past him on any given weekend at South Ferry. He stands by, selling cold water, pretzels, sodas, hotdogs & other goodies suitable for a hot summer day. His street stand, which is right outside the entrance to the Governor’s Island Ferry ticketing office, is where we met.

I stopped to buy water to sooth my thirst on my way to Governor’s Island one Saturday. It was second day of my new artist residency – were I’d be writing poetry about water in African life. I think he noticed my earrings, because he asked, “Africa? Where in Africa are you from?” in his interesting accent. Stereotypically, I’d assumed he was from an Middle Eastern country. I then replied with a smile,  “Rwanda! Do you know it?” visibly elated.

His face lit up too, and he added, “Oh, I’m from Egypt!” And right then, THE moment then happened to us. When you meet a fellow African in New York & for a moment, nothing else matters besides that fact. Before your ages, you both are African; before skin colour, African; before religion, African; despite being “strangers”, African… These moments are warm – small pieces of home, channelled through an encounter of interconnectedness by shared Africanness. An apparent fondness is felt – as though something has been found that had momentarily been lost.

It doesn’t always happen this way, but a few, special times it will. And each time is priceless,  at least for me.

We talked a little more about what I cannot now remember, lingering in our newfound discovery for whatever it was worth. I then checked the time & realised I must leave, then asked to take this picture. He kindly agreed, but quickly added, “By the way, we didn’t introduce ourselves. My name is Ahmed.” To which I laughed & quickly responded, “Ohh, yes! My name is Natasha. Such a pleasure to meet you, Ahmed! In fact, please give me both water & a pretzel.” I paid him double the price, in support – for his hustle & our new friendship. On the two following weekends, I stopped to greet him by name on my way to the Ferry & he did the same.

My mind will always go back there, where my Egtptian friend stands, hustling by the roadside. I will wonder where life takes him & hope fate allows us to meet again. But for now, If you happen to go back before I do, tell him a friend he probably does not remember misses him.

~NM